reality check.

I can get so caught up in the work that I get paid to do that I lose sight of my job as a citizen; a job description that is nothing short of that which is expected of a superhero in any comic book (or, for the kids out there, xBox and Regal Cinema).

Bear with me... we'll get to a point, but I got some other shit to unload first: I'm notoriously bad at any sort of schedule. It's something that almost cost me my degree and severely affected/s my credit score. I was never the kid that wrote down homework assignments, due dates, or kept a calandar in my room. Since high school I have inadvertently surrounded myself with persons that are highly organized so I was enabled: why write something down or waste energy memorizing if I can just hang with my flock and get there on time?

Well, I'm making a change. Don't be alarmed, it's not entirely of my own accord. You see, the company holding my student loans is finally telling me that I can't defer again. What this means is that I now have to rehab a very substantial loan.

I accept responsibility for this. I feel that I received a $40,000 education. I need to pay the man.

But that doesn't mean this is going to be easy -- beginning with the back and forth conversation with Cynthia (a rep of the loan holder):

Cynthia: Why have you further indebted yourself buy purchasing a new car, Mr. Planty?
Me: I had to get a reliable car to travel to work to make money.
Cynthia: I can't afford a new car so I drive a used car.
Me: That's excellent Cindy! You're such a responsible person. But, with all due respect, if we're going to talk about you and your life I'm going to expect dinner and a blowjob.
Cynthia: I'm sorry, I was just...
Me: That's what I thought. Enough about you. Enough judging. Get me through this as painlessly as possible.
Cynthia: Let me see what I can do.

As it turns out, Cindy was able to crunch some numbers re: my monthly income versus my monthly expenses and give me a figure in the ball park of $400 a month toward repaying the loan. After I fell out of my chair, I went headfirst in to further negotiations.

Since this is not what I had intended to write about I'll get to the point:

I may only have a few hundred bucks extra a month for things like beer, coffee, and pizza, but I have more than enough TIME to devote to being a citizen.

The reality of war.

This, like any job, is all about balance.

LiVE

The reason I can't focus on my work today:


They hit the stage at 6:50pm. See you all there.

BTW... for other children of the 90's -- envy me:


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^the headliner^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^


This is going to rock!

dating a celebrity.

I'm the guy that will try to make a doomed relationship work because the rest of the world thinks my partner looks like Tom Cruise.

This is no joke.

My "Tom" was lazy and boring in the sack, got angry when I refused side with him during his many insecure and childish "my-friends-don't-understand-me" rants, and even refused to understand that I was uncomfortable with him comparing me to all of his past lovers.

But, hey, he looked like Tom Cruise. And I got such a kick out of bringing him anywhere on my arm because he lit the room up with his toothy smile and engaging brown eyes. Each time I was pulled aside, butterflies similar to that of a proud parent would flutter in my stomach as I was told how handsome and charming and smart and blah blah blah. . . they didn't have to fucking fuck him!

From time to time I question my actions that resulted in sabotaging the relationship with "Tom". I mean, he was as loyal as a golden retriever, pretty enough to take to any social function (ie: reunions for the sole purpose of making an old flame green with jealousy), and he was a doctor. Yeah, a fucking neurosurgeon!

Did I make a mistake? Maybe I could've learned to be more tolerant of his childish and republican ways.

Or did I make the right choice? I mean, I don't want to be the guy who's boyfriend looks like the dude that eats the placenta of his child.

I'm going to go with "I made the right choice". However, I will not rule out dating a "Colin Farrell" should the opportunity present itself.

on coming out.

I was just thinking: what if, when I said to my mom "I'm gay!", she replied "That's great. It's good that you're happy. At least your not a fag."

Let this random thought serve as a warning to pick your words very carefully; And be prepared to say: "No, mom. I'm gay and I'm happy."

some people.

Creepy vanity plate of the week:

"Widdow"

Ok, so who's proud of that? Sounds like someone from the Buffalo PD should be looking into this. I mean that tag screams: "I killed my husband and used the insurance money to buy this Caddy", does it not?

some things take time.

This is 2006: The year of death. (or so it seems.)

Shortly after writing a post about the above subject (here), I recieved a phone call from my mother telling me that Grampa was in his final moments; that he had fought the cancer for as long as he could.

I can't remember much of the day past that phone call.

I know there was a five hour drive to my hometown, and I know that I missed saying goodbye to my grandfather by an hour. I know that I stopped at a rest area, and I know that I looked like a zombie as I wandered through the abreviated junk-food aisle.

I know that I held my crying grandmother in my arms, and that Gramps was there holding us both.

In the many sleepless nights since his death, I have thought about all of the times he has helped me. And when I did find sleep, being woken by dreams of my childhood: of riding on the tractor, of stealing his cigarettes (and getting caught because I chose to smoke them in the dark!), and of him yelling at me and D.J. for destroying windshields in his salvage lot.

I chose to document one such dream in this blog because I find that writing is always cathartic, but I was not prepared to come face to face with him each time I came back here to write. This alone has prevented me from writing since his death.

I think it's important for me to get this out - to put a post between there and here.

If there is one thing I'm learning to accept it's that I may never be done crying, but I can't be afraid to be reminded of gramps and all that he means to me.

I miss him more each day.

And I can't wait to be woken me up from a deep sleep by the next memory.