Thursday, January 24, 2013

Pet Peeves

  At present, I live with my ex-wife. Call it economic hardship or anything else with a politically correct label. We were married from 1999 thru 2003. Together on and off afterwards depending on my alcoholic nature.
  She turned 52 this past Sunday but was 'grandfathered-in', two years ago when she bought this condo in a 55+ community. 1 bed/1 bath. 700 square feet. It has already taken a lot of ingenuity to fit 'ten pounds of crap in a two pound bag', with both our belongings. [Not so much of mine because I have lost so much in life and am used to being thrown out or departing with a backpack and running away.]
  I am a jack of all trades with an engineering background. I presently work around the neighborhood at my leisure and clienteles' beck and call for home maintenance, repairs, installations and whatnot. At home, I do all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, organizing, yes I even have my own sewing machine etc, etc.

Therein lies the rub...

  Ex-wife Jodi, has a son from her first marriage. He is now 28 with a girlfriend from college. She set her sights on him and now 'they' have two children. Four year old daughter, two year old son, and she has a six month old son from a one-night-stand when they were broken up for approximately three days. Give or take.
Mismanagement of funds and bad decisions all around they now live with us-illegally by condo standards. The cat is out of the bag and they have to get out by February 1st. They have been here since mid October!!!
  This house is not child-proof. There are too many ceramic lighthouse memorabilia curios and nick-nacks. Not to mention my guitars, equipment, and art supplies. We never had problems when babysitting for them because we are attentive and spend the whole time interacting with the grandkids.
  Them living here became a different story. I have sequestered and self imprisoned myself in my bedroom. My office space, Jodi's office space, the kitchen,bathroom, and what used to be a living room has been trashed.TRASHED.
  Used to be, I couldn't wait for everyone to leave by 7am. One so I could turn off the air conditioning(can't stand it for extended periods as a south florida native raised without it), & Two, to air the place out, so I could clean. I used to affix the high-end futon we have and bring everything back to living room stature. Clean up all the discarded sippy cups, sweep, mop and sanitize. 

I gave up.

  Two months ago I bought a true Hepi-filter air cleaner. Kids coming home from day care, everyone having sneezing fits in the morning and all that. Found the perfect focal point to place it felt I was making a difference in our health. Came to realize I did not find the filter replacement costs worth the time this circus would be in town, I turned it off.

Fuck that.

  Fixing something that isn't right, comes second nature to me.
I don't think I have OCD. Something on a shelf doesn't have to sit 'just so'. But I am old school. You use something, put it back where you got it from.

I have been guilty
Of kicking myself in the teeth
I will bring no more
Of my feelings beneath.
alice in chains

Dirty diapers don't  belong in a wastebasket that doesn't get changed but once a week.

And then she just left everything astrew.
Never cleaned mountains of hair all across every room. Bottles of day old formula left behind the couch turn my stomach faster than a decomposing body.

I get to a point.
I know everyone sees that piece of garbage/debris, lingering in the hallway. you pass it every day. it is yours. pick up your garbage. it kills me to leave it there. but i have to tell myself.


Don't do it.
Walk away.

Hair on a shelf, plain as day in the refrigerator.
the miceowave......

is driving me apeshit.

she better move out soon
or someone is going over
the balcony....

probably me

as usual
thrown out again

because i am just not


Thursday, July 7, 2011

  •  Truckingudpizza has a trailer off the rails

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Submitted for your approval

I have reached the Twilight Zone. Twilight, as in the third and fourth dictionary definitions:
3.period or condition of decline following growth, glory or success.
4. a state of ambiguity or obscurity.
Lets call it a combination of both.
For over two months I have been attempting to enroll in online college. Too much time on your hands being unemployed can lead a person to strange decisions.
I have plenty of hobbies but they are pursuits of leisure. I figured at forty seven years old it was time to take advantage of opportunities to improve myself.
  The first selection was Full Sail University. My Niece takes courses there. As part of the grant disbursement they provide you with a new computer and all the required software. Apple Mac book Pro. I am not a fan of Apple whatsoever. But my own new laptop computer and the chance of earning a degree in writing was just my ticket to a more rewarding future.
  I can only describe that whole ordeal as a three ring circus. More phone calls, faxes, file transfers than if I ran a business from home. In the end, I got a letter of denial sent overnight by Fed-Ex. My application had to go in front of a review board due to my background as a semi career criminal. Don't forget, this was exclusively for an Online Degree! I've still got a bad taste in my mouth from that can of worms.
I framed the rejection letter.
Then started searching for another college.
The present college does not list a 'have you ever been convicted of a crime' question on their admissions application.
What they did require is something more ominous than the most heinous crime I have ever committed against humanity.
They wanted ten pages of my writing samples to preview.
Just great.
I want to pursue a dream.
Look to the future.
I didn't let all the skeletons out of the closet.
They only wanted a sample.
In my book, or books I should say, that's enough.
A padded room with no view would be a very conducive writing office.
But its hell to write when you are wearing a straitjacket.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Keep your eye on the ball

Springtime. Spring training time for 'The Boys of Summer'. Baseball. In this case T-Ball, at the park down the street.
I never played T ball. I started later. The next step, Farm League. Then, two years of Little League.
Farm League was fun. Coaches let you play to your abilities, taught you basic skills and took you for pizza after the games. I played in the outfield and didn't have a care.
When Little League began, I wound up behind the plate as a catcher.
The second year both coaches' sons were the pitchers.
This may not be a true case of nepotism but I just know they were not the right kids for the spot.
They sucked.
The kid in left field that spent his time picking his nose would have done a better job.
I did not want to pitch but I sure wanted someone better than the two prodigal sons that sent me chasing stray pitches to the backstop fence.
I became surly.
This earned me a new position.
If I wasn't going to play, I wasn't going to sit around.
There were girls that came to the park and a concession stand to hang around.
I wandered from the dugout continuously.
Forget THE GAME, life so I thought
was better on the sidelines.
Soon after, I turned in my uniform and never finished the second season.
I had no drive.
No desire.
No dreams.
No goals.
Its been thirty years since my baseball days as a boy.
Watching them play
the other day in the park
I realize
I still don't know
what I want
to be.
When I grow up...

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Dear Abby

Everyone wants to be an advice columnists. Or at least , I refer to the people that have advice, when you really aren't soliciting it. You share a piece of your life. Some minor dilemma or you just open up a little when they get tired of talking about themselves and insincerely ask about you.
Their immediate response is, "Oh, you know what you need to do..."
This is generally about the point where I want to respond, " No, but I know where you can go..."
I can probably count on one hand, at most, the times this opening line of advice was followed by something enlightening, inspiring or beneficial.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Born Under a Bad Sign

I was conceived on Halloween 1963.
Trust me, as the last of five children my mother knew when these events occurred.
She didn't reveal this information to me until I was in my twenties. "So thats a source of my disfunction!" I joked with her back then.
 Halloween is still, my favorite holiday.
 I donned costumes and participated up to my preteens.

 I have been wearing a mask ever since.

I was born on Soap Box Derby Day. A long gone annual ritual in Fort Lauderdale.
My oldest brother raced that day and thanked my Mom profusely for waiting to go into labor until after the event.
 Both my older brothers had cars for this affair.
 I never did and I want to say I begrudged them but I really don't think thats true.
I am sure my issues are more deep seated than that.

It never fails, somewhere at sometime, the guitar store, grocery store or somewhere in public, I hear: "Matthew! Get over here!"
"Matthew Put that down!"
"Stop that Matthew!"
I immediately think, 'What did I do?' as I turn to locate the source of reprimand although I know it is not me in trouble.
 I was a well behaved adolescent.
Later on in life,
is a whole different story...