Betrayals and In Between

I hate myself. I've betrayed someone, and I am overwhelmed with guilt. I've written so much, but I haven't coherently organized anything to post. My phone is likely close to maximum capacity with notes and photos, but the parts are, sadly, worth way more than the sum. I feel like a scummy husband. "I've had lots of sex.....just not with my wife." That's how I feel about this stupid blog. In reality, it's nothing more than an address in a world where very little is real. To me, it's eyes-deep reality. I've missed it, but I've always been thinking about Coffee and Valium. I doubt a cheating husband ever truly missed his wife, so I feel a little less guilty putting it in that context.

What do I do when I'm behind, and I feel almost-too-overwhelmed to start? I'm picking up where I left off. Only two months have passed, and in the grand scheme of things, that's nothing. To me, it's a long time. If nothing else, I'll get some of these fucking photos and notes off my phone. Starting is the first step. Or is it admitting that you have a problem the first step? And what did John Lennon in Yoko Ono? Shoot me before I write, "to each his own." I have no room to talk. I digress. Shoot me now.

I love this feeling of drinking wine, eating olives, and writing. I'm already reminded how cathartic it is.

Furniture isn't selling right now.....at least not at margins to which I grew accustomed. With oil prices this consistently low, the Houston economy is no bueno. The oil chart is forming a base (I still don't miss trading), but I imagine 2016 will be more fruitful than 2015. Maybe some bubbles burst in October like they usually do, and we can all go about our business afterwards. I pulled back accordingly, but there were a few pieces I loved. One step at a time.

I bought this 1954 china cabinet last.......1955? It only seems that long ago, but I think it was only July. How can time stand still and move at light speed all at once?

She sold it for far less than its worth, but....

....it's worth is only what someone is willing to pay. 

I loved how it turned out though. 

Then there was this cabinet.......

At the time, I thought it was a huge score, but......

.....I'm still sitting on it. I suppose there are worse things
upon which to sit :)

I love the cabinet, but I'm pissed nobody else likes it. I hate being artsy with a Type A personality.

Make your last shot. Catch your last pass. Get your last serve in. I'm calling it a night. I'm finishing this bottle of wine, deleting some furniture photos, and passing out. It's a crappy post, it lacks imagination, but at least I wrote something vaguely organized. Most importantly, I'm up to late-August/early-September.......only a month behind now.

Like, R.I.P. English

I can't seem to adapt to the new ways of communication, and in particular, the degrading abandonment of the English language. It has been oversimplified to the point that words have lost their meanings, effectively deforming the Mona Lisa into a stick figure. It's like a woman of stunning beauty, so full of promise, sold into a life of street prostitution. I can't even properly use 'like' without cringing because I constantly hear it used improperly. I constantly hear it. Period.

I prefer to think of language as a set of tools and materials. Singularly, each word has value, but only as a sum are they able to form a use and serve a purpose. A picture speaks a thousand words, but similarly, the perfect combination of words paints a masterpiece. For me, romance will always be expressed by the written word, love expressed by the spoken word, and passion expressed by the word unsaid.

Even, and often especially, in the darkest of life's times, I try to find humor. My sister and I often joke about the new (abbreviated, shallow, misspelled, and sans punctuation) American-English dialect, particularly among Millennials and "urbanites" (both real and fake). As I pay my respects (props in our new dialect) to a few of my favorite, dying words (they will be in italics), I will attempt to show how those same ideas can be communicated in today's moronically-efficient English. Side thought: How insanely improbable is it that I refer to the urban dictionary more often than Webster's?

After breaking up with her, a forlorn feeling overwhelmed me.

Translates to:

Bitch cold



At the time, it seemed like glorious serendipity that we met. I am perplexed as to how I could have ever thought that.

Translates to:

WTF was I thinking?


Her mercurial nature was a mystery I wanted to solve. After a few months, I wish I had just left it a mystery.

Translates to:

WTF was I thinking?



His salacious proclivities would make swingers blush.

Translates to:

He likes 2 fuck



While enjoying drinks, her repartee aroused and enchanted, but while texting, it faintly existed.

Translates to:

She won't sext



You are perfect, wonderful, and vivacious. I can't wait to see you!

Translates to:

Yo bitch




And remember......if you want to like, expand your American-English lexicon, just, like, invent a word. Like, no one will be the wiser.

Soulful Is As Soulful Does

I have a rabid hatred for country music. It's not only because of the tired stories about beer, unrequited-trailer-park love, and pick-up trucks, though the dull-witted lyrics contribute handsomely to my disdain. To me, country music lacks soul, and I feel nothing when I hear it. I'm starting to get that same feeling about people.

I've used the word soulful more times than I can count over the last month (which has been the strangest 4-ish weeks in a long while). I've used it to compliment my dearest friend. I've used it describe my 11-year old niece. Mostly, I've used it to rationalize my cynicism about dating. As much as I'd like to argue with my logic, I can't.

The technical definition for soulful is: expressing or appearing to express deep feeling.

I've simplified my definition to: expressing depth beyond handbags, fingernails, and exercising.

In the interest of joining the dumbing-down fad, maybe soulful should mean: demonstrating the abilities to breathe and to produce sound from one's mouth.

I realize that small-talk has its place, and that not all conversation is as meaningful or poignant as others. I have accepted that. But Jesus, even small-talk provides one an opportunity to demonstrate witty humor and gulp......depth!!

Rant over. It has been a slow summer for furniture. Maybe I'll start painting plastic swimming pools to symbolize how shallow the gene and people pools have become.

Nothing metaphorical about this photo