Safe Place

I have a terrible job. Okay, it isn't THAT fucking bad, I just wait tables, and I choose to, so this isn't me complaining, I'm just stating how terrible waiting tables can be, shitty costumers, bad tips, asshole-ish demands, bad managers and lazy fucking co workers are all reasons to never want to wear an apron and say "how would you like your steak cooked?" But tonight I actually had a moment that made me love my job.

It was about 8:30 and the restaurant was slowing down, less consistent costumers, less orders going through the POSy machine into the kitchen etc. I got sat a table of three around this time, and at first I wasn't happy, only because I was hoping to be cut and sent home, but never-the-less I had a table, hey at least I'll have an opportunity to make some money.

I approach the table and I see a mother a father and a young daughter, she can't be a day over 9, but she is dressed nicely, in a long black dress, with make-up on her face.

"My name is Mike, welcome to the steakhouse, how is everyone doing tonight"

The father looks up at me and has a nice smile on his face, he looks like fun.

"I'm doing good, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing good sir," I say to him and I look over at the young girl, "special occasion tonight?"

"Me and my daughter are out on a date tonight Mike, although my wife decided to come as a third wheel," the father says to me and laughs.

I assure them that I am going to take good care of them, and I take their order. The father orders a gin and tonic because his daughter asked him not drink a beer tonight.

Their food comes out quickly and they eat, I go back to check on them and the daughter is at the bathroom, so the father takes the time to talk to me.

"Me and my daughter are on a 'date' tonight because all three of her brothers are at a 'boy's only' sleepover party, and she doesn't get a lot of daddy alone time."

"That's so nice!"

"Before we came out I went to grab a few things and I told her I was going, so she says to me that she is going to get ready for dinner. I come back from the store and she has on this black dress, and I look at her and she's got on this eye liner and lipstick! It was like a knife in my heart because although I thought it was so cute that my daughter was so excited to go out, I know what's coming next, and I know i wont be on any of those kind of dates!"

Hearing all this broke my heart man, it was warming to see such tender care for a child. When you wait on people you see people at their best and at their worse. Eating makes people vulnerable, and they let their guard down when they do it. In a world where we read stories about people leaving their kids in trash cans and child abuse, and fucking child porn, it was really refreshing to see parents that really loved their child. It made me think of the times I would spend playing board games with my mom before i had school or she had work, or when I took my Dad to a comedy show last year and he texted me that he had a good time and said he loved me. I saved the text message, and all those memories because people aren't going to be around forever, and when they're gone it's all we're gonna have.

The father asks for the check, he compliments me galore, which i appreciate almost as much as the 30 percent tip they leave on the bill, I thank them and I tell the daughter to enjoy the rest of her date.

I only got to know these people for about 45 minutes, but for those 45 minutes, I didn't feel like I was waiting tables, and for that I am forever grateful.

Till death do us part...

I don't know, maybe it's me, maybe I'm the only one that thinks like this. Maybe I'm the asshole.

Let me explain.

I have very few friends.

Okay, some of you that know me well are probably thinking, "you, only a few friends? PLEASE." Okay, it's true, there are more people that know me and hang out with me than that know you, and I know many people. But, when it comes to real friends, people that i truly care about, and truly care for me, I have a few. Sure, I'll party with tons of people, I'll make an amazing drink with my own booze for anyone that works into my apartment, or at least when i lived in one, but that doesn't make that person someone i care about, that just makes them someone I've made a drink for. I'm talking about people that will do anything for me, anything at all, no matter what lenghts they have to go to to do it.

These are the people I expect more from.

To steal a line from one of my best friends, I expect greatness from my real friends. I expect them to be as great as possible when it deals with things that involve the both of us, and especially things that involve themselves. I don't expect perfection, no one is perfect, not even myself, I expect greatness. Greatness can be described as many things. Greatness is going to a bar or a club that you fucking hate with someone who really wants to go just because they want to. Greatness is driving two hours and sacrificing pay and work time just to spend 5 hours with a person. Greatness is driving an hour and a half to pick up your friend after he gets kicked out of his house, only to have to drive another hour and a half back. Greatness is finding out that your friend is upset that someone wished all her friends a happy birthday, but not her, and you going out of your way and making sure that someone that made your fried upset wishes that person a happy B-Day but never taking any credit for it. Greatness is not seeing someone for months or even years, and being able to pick right back up where you left off the second you see them again.

These things define what makes a friend great.

These are the attributes I look for in a real friend that truly gives a double-fuck about me.

Being sick is no excuse to abandon greatness, anything less than death bed warrants no pardon.

Maybe I'm coming off too snotty, but it's what I give that makes me want in return. Ask any of the people I've come into contact with that I still talk to, ask any one of them that considers me a good friend, I practice what I preach to umpteenth degree. I sacrifice for my friends, I care about my friends and I live and die with their struggles.

Being a great friend means only wanting one thing in return for all the sacrifices and hard work and late nights spent listening and talking and helping.

The only thing a great friend wants in return is simple.

Greatness.

Tisbury Lane

It's 10 o'clock after the last class of my college career and I'm laying in the grass behind the track next to one of the sexiest girls I've ever had the opportunity to be in company with, and instead of thinking about all the wonderful things I'm about to get myself into, all I can think about is how much I'm going to miss everything.

I see a shooting star cross over the sky, my 4th so far that night.

"It's been four years man, you really can get connected to a place after only a short time," I half whisper.

"Yeah, that's the goddamn truth," she says to me, her statement said with a half sigh half exhale that lets me know she agrees, but really isn't in the mood for a deep conversation.

I catch the hint and lean over and give her a long hard kiss. I've always had the problem of needing something going on at all times. It isn't enough for me to just say goodbye to school and drive away, I need to make-out on its fields one last time, I need to do something big, even if it is only me and one other, I need to give everything a proper send off, and tonight is no different.

Even in the embrace of someone else I still can't get my mind off all the amazing things that have happened to me over my time at college. I won't sit here and list them all, because memories are like sex stories and dreams, if you aren't in them, then who gives a shit? I think of all the good parties, good people, good shows and the good things I've done at school. I think of the terrible things that have happened, the people that have died, the people I've disappointed (see my parents 100x). I didn't have the cookie cutter college experience, but what were the odds of that happening anyway?

My mind wonders to the future, and what it holds for me. I do have a plan, and I will stick to it until it is fulfilled. I know where I want to go, and what i want to do. The future is bright for me, and after another shooting star goes across the sky (number 6 of the night, no I'm not making that up) I stop thinking about anything and I do what I did for the last four years of my life, I just live in the moment. A beautiful girl, a great night with an amazing sky, and all of the world's ambitions at my finger tips, what more could anyone ask for?

A lean in for one more kiss before we pack up shop and head home. It's a good one, exactly the way to end the night.

I drop her off and I start my ride back to my house. I drive by the school's neon red sign one more time before getting on the highway to take the drive back to town. I get a little choked up, but the "Girl Talk" coming from my radio stops me from getting upset.

The last four years were fucking amazing. Tonight was amazing. The proper send off for sure.

Fuck the glam rock...

It's a Sunday afternoon, and I can think of a million places I'd rather be then at work, but at work I am.

Four or five of us are sitting at the bar, trying to get a few more seconds of relaxation before the horde of costumers looking for their "Mid Well Fillets", and unlimited refills on lemon water come barreling through the double doors at the front of the Restaurant.

It's about 1:55, and we open at 2:00, but no one really wants to move or talk, just sit and relax. No one, except Ted, Ted wants human contact, and he wants to talk. Quick back story about Ted, Ted was in a boy band in high school, Ted thinks he can sing, and thinks he looks good, real good. He isn't a bragger per se, he just lives in his own small world, and thinks everything he cares about we all care about. He is like the little puppy that constantly wants to play fetch, even after hours of catching a Frisbee, he can't read a situation, and can never tell when someone isn't interested in what he is talking about.

Now that the wikipedi biography on Ted is out there, you know what we are dealing with. Ted comes up to us sitting at the bar relaxing and he immediately shakes hands with everyone. The most awkward, tilted terrible hand shake next to a lip wrist you can get. I must have hit the daily Ted jackpot, because he sits right next to me.

"Whats up Mike, how you doing today?"

"I'm good Ted, just relaxing before the onslaught."

"I hear that Mike."

(I mumble something incoherent, but just enough to show I've heard what he said, I'm hoping this means it's all over)

"I see you went with the slick back look with your hair there Mike."

Looks like I wasn't lucky enough

"Ya know Ted, I just kind of did it real quick because I was running late."

"No, I mean I see what you did, but you should try spiking your hair like I do, because my hair looks good."

(beat)

"I gotta go make sure my section's ready Ted."

I get up and walk towards my tables, and all I can wonder is who I pissed off to deserve to win the Ted jackpot...

Magic Hours

My brother's girlfriend broke up with him last week.

She told my brother that she wasn't happy with him, and that my parents were too much of a hassle for her. Said my brother was abusive, and was too controlling. Abusive? Please, that bitch doesn't know abusive. She's got a fucking over controlling babying fucking mother, and a dumb fucking Pot head father, she doesn't know SHIT about being abused.

In typical Washington Township fashion, everyone knew before my brother did. She told her mother, her father, her brother, all her friends, before she told my brother.

She told him she was going to wait till my parents got back from vacation to break up with him, because they had plans and she felt bad breaking.

She felt bad breaking plans, she felt bad breaking plans that my brother would have to shell out money for, she felt bad breaking plans that my grandmother was going to cook for them.

She felt bad breaking plans, but didn't feel bad breaking my brother's fucking heart.

My parents gave my brother a whole fuckton of shit about him dating this girl. She wasn't the most exciting person in the world, hell he took her to see Aaron Lewis' solo and acoustic show, and she sat there emotionless. I wasn't fond of her, but I kept my mouth shut, because i knew how hard my brother felt about her. And my parents aren't making it any easier on him, but I understand they are doing what they feel is right for him, and I know it hurts them just as much as it hurts me to see him upset, but when he tells me that it hurts when they bring it up, I don't know what to do.

I did write a story about this four years ago when they were only kind of dating, and she pulled a stunt similar to this. He went back with her, and i let it go then, but I'm telling you, if I ever see this walking piece of cunt on the street, it is going to take every ounce of self will in my body not to hit her, and I have never hit a girl in my life.

But mark my words, if she is ever at a party, and I happen to be there, and she happens to be enjoying homemade jungle juice, I'll be sure to give it my special touch. That's for sure.


As far as my brother goes, I think he is going to be okay, but he sure as shit isn't okay now. He talks to me because I'm his older brother, but it isn't easy. Hearing him tell me that he didn't think it would be this hard, absolutely destroys me. I can't stand it. Seeing him trying to hold back tears is the most painful thing I've ever witnessed, and it's bad.

I tell him whatever i can to try and make him see that there is light. I tell him he has to learn from this, and that he has to apply what ever went wrong in this relationship to the next one. I tell him that although its shitty now, it's going to get better, because as we all know, it does. He tells me he thinks about her a lot, and i tell him it's normal, because it is. I tell him to listen to the music he loves. I tell him to get lost in music because it's what i did. I also tell him that till the end of time, he will compare every girl to this one. It was his first girlfriend, his first young love, it's only human for him to bleed from the inside.

I know this post is shit, and its not very eloquent, but sometimes things like this aren't polished. The look on my brother's face isn't polished, its stripped, raw, and fucking real. His emotions, and my rage, aren't sugar coated, they are sour, they are honest.

News Radio

Because I miss my friends ever so, I am going to post a story I wrote that was inspired by one of them a few months ago, enjoy!

'Alyssa'

She’s the girl who wants it.

Badly.

Just look at her.

Look at the way she’s wearing that “new; old school” Edie Sedgwick short cut she spent papa’s 52 dollars and a tip on at the fancy hair salon on main.

The way she walks through the door of the restaurant, trying hard not to seem like she’s looking around to see who noticed her walk in the door, which in turn just makes it seem even more obvious. She knows she looks good, and she knows her fathers’ cash was money well spent, yet her past won’t let her believe it.

Raped at the age of 12.

Heart broken at 19.

Scarred for the duration of the flight.

She tells all of her close friends that all she wants is companionship, love, and someone to ask her how she is and really mean it. Her friends tell her she’s beautiful and petite and that she is going to have it all one day. Her past tells her she is ugly, pathetic and going no where.

She sits down at the table with another stranger she feels might give her what she wants. He’s dressed conservatively with a plain navy suit, solid blue shirt and dark blue tie. They both order the fish and sip their waters as the man talks about whatever it is he feels she might be interested in. She isn’t and it shows by her wandering eyes.

She sees a middle age couple laughing

She sees a family of five peacefully eating.

She sees nothing she recognizes.

It’s not that the man isn’t handsome, he is, and it’s not that what he is saying isn’t interesting; its just she is incessantly worried about everything around her. Like a newborn she tries to soak it all in. Like a scientist she is trying to figure out how it all fits into the formula that is her self conscious.

They finish their meals, skip dessert and leave a nice tip. The man offers his coat to her as they walk out, it has begun to rain and neither of them are the news radio type, thus they came with no umbrella. She politely accepts the offer, and flashes one of the few “soul baring” smiles of the night. They exit the restaurant and enter the rain soaked dark. I watch them as the walk rapidly outside.

Water falling from the sky.

Water hitting the black of the night.

Water flowing through her hair.

Purge

I need something.


I need something new to outlet my emotions. Wow, if that wasn't the most Emo fucking thing ever written on here, than I don't know what is.

What I'm trying to say is, I need a new outlet for what goes on inside.

This blog is great for me, and I love it, and I am going to use it more and more, but it can only serve so much as a purpose as an outlet. I need something a bit stronger, a bit more cathartic.

I want to be in a band. I want to fucking be in the most angry band ever. I want to write songs and scream till my fucking lungs bleed. I have always wanted to do this, I've thought about it many times. It wouldn't be about being good necessarily, or even being popular, I just want to be in a band that plays basements and fucking parties, and the occasional hipster bar.


Some of you might say, "my god, are you really that angry?" And to be honest, yes and no, I'm pretty angry sometimes sure, but I have a pretty sweet life, and this is why the little things that do get me angry or upset tend to fester, because i really have no right to complain. But if I must say, all of the people I have met in heavy bands have been extremely happy, nice, content people. They use their time on stage, or behind their microphone, guitar, kit, etc, to deal with and "release" whatever it is that bothers them.


A therapy of sorts.


The only people I have met that were in sad, heavy bands, and were still sad and depressed after the music stopped, were in terrible bands that didn't actually care about their sound or what they were saying, they were just acting the part that they thought they needed to act.


One of the people that reads this blog told me the other day that they thought my blog was really good, and I thanked him for the compliment, and really it was nice to hear, but I got to thinking...am I writing this for it to be good or bad? Is this about quality? No, it isn't, and although i was glad to hear that I have people that actually read my ramblings and grumblings, I realized I don't care if this is good or bad, just like i wouldn't care about if my band was good or bad, all i would care about is whether or not it was what I wanted it to be. I think it would do a lot for my Psyche.


Or maybe i should be as cool as this kid and get a tattoo: