The Sofa of My Discontent

A wise man once said, “Every great adventure begins with a hatred for complacency, the absence of fear, and a love of the unknown." 

In my opinion, every great adventure begins with the decision to get your lazy ass off the couch, making an effort to pee and the search for your car keys.       

I’ve sat on that couch.  It surrounded me like a security blanket, restrained me like a straight jacket and stifled me like a cocoon.  Occasionally, I’ve felt motivated to get up.  However, like reality television or flatulence, eventually the episode passes even with inaction.  I’ve had a dream or a thought; witnessed something wonderful, lunatic or frightening about the human race and felt the urge to write about it.  But alas, even with inaction, the episodes passed.

A few times I reached over and picked up those car keys.  Once or twice, I managed to back the car out of the driveway.  Backed it right out; pointed it in the direction of somewhere wonderful, or frightening, or funny and was determined to embark on a great adventure. Ultimately, I would move the car back to its space, put it in park, and slump on the sofa.

Still there were moments when a character would start to form in my mind or the framework of a story would start to build.  Moments when in the midst of my rantings and ramblings, out came a salient point or a thought that provoked an emotion.  And when this took place outside my mind.  When I shared these ideas with people and they laughed or gasped or shook their heads in disbelief. It made me want to take that journey and see where it would lead.  Alas...

I don’t know what will become of this.  I’m tempted to delete what I’ve written.  I’ve deleted the opening lines to great novels and award winning screenplays a thousand times. Well, it felt like a thousand.  It was at least five.  Writers embellish.  I had dreams that could have been, that should have been, that would have been if I got off that couch and taken that ride.  So, “Why now?” you ask.  I mean if I allowed you to read this, you would ask.  And my sofa is screaming, “What is there to say?  Quite frankly, you say too much already.  (My sofa can be a snarky bitch.)  You’re busy.  You’re tired.  Maury is gonna tell us if Buford is the baby’s daddy.  What great thought do you need to express?!”

Mine.  The great thought I need to express…is mine. 

Whatdaya’ know?  I made it around the block.  Onward!

 

 

 

A Prozac for Your Thoughts

In general, there are two types of people; even-keeled rocks of strength who can meet any challenge with a calm steely reserve, and volcanoes who explode all over everyone and everything. In my opinion, both are good. I have a deep respect for the person who is unwavering and controlled. I understand they might not join the conga line or the group hug. I know they won’t be crying at the end of Big Fish or any movie where Debra Winger dies, but that’s okay. Someone has to describe the spider to the 911 operator or make sure the wild kid doesn’t let go of the piñata bat. Working tear ducts are a small sacrifice. What about the blow hard? He don’t bug me, either. This guy may give ulcers, but he’ll never get them and if the dog pees every time he shouts, so be it. It’s not my carpet. Yes, I actually respect people who are on both of these extremes. Each has her or his place. Be it working in an office cubicle or at the DMV. I believe people are wired a certain way. I’m not going to get into the genetics/environment discussion. That would require a clear thought process and my thinking is far too nebulous for that.

Now, just like when I’m dancing, I’m all over the place. If you have a heart attack, I’m your man. I can notify security, assign an elevator monitor, get the poor suckers emergency card copied while I describe the lovely shade of green he’s turning to the 911 babe or have the courage to say out loud to the paramedic, “No, his skin naturally has that grayish tinge to it.” I bet during all of this my blood pressure remains a constant calm; probably wouldn’t even find a pulse. I can also throw a good rant when necessary. Ignore my phone calls? (I don’t THINK so!) Tell me, “I understand your frustration, but I can’t help you. That's not our policy” (Let's just take a moment and review that policy, okay?!) I’ve made grown men cry and rendered quick talking females speechless. (If nothing else, I am a gentleman.) People actually ask me to make calls for them and “Pull a Mark.” My daughter walked into the room after I hung up with Time Warner Cable and gave me a high-five. (In all fairness, I asked to speak to the supervisor and she said she could solve my problem.)

But the rest of the time I’m all over the place, too. I can’t hear good news without my pulse racing or bad news and not feel my heart in my throat. I can’t look at a picture of my kids for too long and not tear up with joy or worry or excitement or pride…you get my drift. And the problem comes when the good news is immediately followed by the bad, and then the exciting and then the unjust and then the kids.
Have you ever had a shock to your system? I’m not talking about an ice cube down your back or a glimpse of an overweight lady's thong or a big drink of Diet Coke when you think there’s Dr. Pepper in the glass. I’m talking about real system overload. This week I’ve been going through it big time. I’ve heard it all; good news, bad news, happy and sad news. It’s been a wild rollercoaster ride without a seatbelt. I know it’s better to feel all of this than to feel numb or to feel nothing. I don’t necessarily want to change it, but understanding it would be nice. I’d ask for comments, but you’re not ready. That’s okay. It’s enough knowing you’re there.

"OH FECK!"

I’ve always thought the 1st Amendment was terribly overrated. Before you start squawking about how I wouldn’t be able to bless all of you with my Nebulous@best teachings, hear me out. (This is my right, is it not?) It seems to me that current communication standards are not what our forefathers had in mind. Although unconscionable and appalling, I’m not talking about the artist who submerged a crucifix in a bottle of urine or Sarah Silverman’s latest blasphemy. In an almost un-Christian way, I must admit, I am looking forward to peeking out from behind Jesus’ robes when these people stand before Him in judgment, aware of what they’ve said and who they’ve said it about. That’s ATAB (another topic for another blog). I’m talking about the perversion of language and how it festers at the everyday level. I once went to school with a girl who loved the “F-word” (And I’m talking THE BIG F-WORD). So much so, that she would squeeze it into any sentence she could. For example, if asked, “Do you like your bank?” She would reply, “You mean, Wells Fecked-Go!” She didn’t live in the lovely city of Fontana; she had to sell her house and get out of “Fecked-tana.” (I’m assuming you are all making the necessary substitutions.) This is only the beginning. In the short time that I knew her, she told me of being a den mother for the Fecked Scouts. That’s right. She had two little feckers (Her description, not mine). She really didn’t care for the pasta at the “Fecked-ghetti Factory.” And when she was exasperated she even gave Jesus Christ a new middle name. (This chick will be standing in between Sarah and the pee-pee artist.) The breakdown in how people express themselves is happening all around us and no one seems to be bothered.
Someone tell me, what exactly is profane?
On the first night I met my future brother-in-law, he paid me a compliment and then told me, “Mark, I’m not just not packing sand up your @$$.” (I replied, “Thank you.”) When my daughter was 2 years old, my wife told me she dropped something and said the F-word (see the title of this post). Shauna tried to assure me that she didn’t say it to anyone, but used it in its proper context. I asked, “You mean she’s watching porno, too?!!” When we questioned my little poet, she said she heard Nana say the word. Now, although my mother-in-law lived in Beaumont, a town that at the time that had one traffic signal, several trailer parks and cattle at the end of the main road, she was a very intelligent woman.

She did not, however, feel the need to censure her speech. This was a woman whose favorite phrase was, “Wish in one hand, sh!* in the other and see which hand fills up first. (I’ve asked my wife to cross stitch that on a sampler for above the fireplace.) I always judge how intelligent and/or how lazy people are by the adjectives and adverbs they use while speaking. As always, I’m not throwing stones. Anyone who’s seen me hammer a nail or step on a Lego or Happy Meal toy (I hate those things) in my bare feet knows that. I tell my kids that talking is a privilege. People who go for the cheap shock or expression are lazy. There must be a better way to get your point across. When my daughter agreed, I got so excited. I thought, “fan-FECKIN’-tastic”… but I didn’t say it.

Squeezing the Charmin - Part I

A friend of mine scolded me. He told me that blogs should be updated daily.

Wait, I mean:

An unmarried friend of mine who has no children scolded me…

Just a little more:

This unmarried guy I work with who has no children and won’t make me a "friend" and give me access to his My Space page (if you read last week’s entry, you know what THAT means… but I digress) scolded me. He said that blogs should be updated daily. I told him, “Yeah, but I have a life.”

While I’m sure that it would be a great thing for all of my fans to be able to come to Nebulous @ best everyday and receive some pearls of wisdom, a poem that would touch their hearts, or a dirty limerick to keep them smiling as they trudge on through the day, it just isn’t meant to be. It would be awesome to spend my days lying on the beach writing the great American novel or the next Academy Award winning screenplay. I’d be happy to just be able to contribute to this blog more than once a week. Heck, I might even settle for enough spare time to write a quick haiku on a friend’s birthday card. But this is not my life.

My life is house payments and crooked teeth; standing in the rain watching a soccer game and trips to Sam’s Club with the WHOLE family to buy bulk toilet paper. I’m up at 5:00 a.m. and three days a week I don’t get back home until almost 9:00 p.m. Fridays, I’m zonked. Saturdays, we’re racing around and Sundays …let’s just say Sunday is a work day not a day of rest. Right now its 10:30 p.m. and I’m writing this to the sound of my wife in the bathroom drying my son’s school books with a blow dryer. (C’mon, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried!) You know, this is not what I had planned. This is not the life I would have pictured for myself. I wonder if I even had a say in all of this or if it just “happened” to me. I look around and there are a lot of people even busier than me; single parents going it alone; married couples struggling to make ends meet.

Is this the life we chose or did this life choose us?

Know what? It really doesn’t matter. This is where I am. This is where you are. What are you going to do about it? As for me, I don’t have a house; my wife is building a home. The braces are coming off next week but it’s not his straight teeth that bring joy to my heart when I see my son’s smile. Hannah is an awesome soccer player and she gives 100% even in the rain. And I must confess nothing gets me hotter than a trip to Sam’s Club. I don’t know if it’s the fact that we’re all together; or that you can buy the good 2-ply bathroom tissue in 18-roll packages; or if it’s the hand signals I’ve worked out with my daughter so I get two free samples of the good stuff. Every time I go to Sam’s Club I regret my vasectomy.

Maybe I did stumble into this life but it's like stumbling into a bowl of peanut M&Ms. I am deeply in love with someone who loves me. My wife knows that no matter what, I’m not leaving. (I’m reasonably sure she finds comfort in that) After I get the plank out of my eye, I’ll start looking for the speck in hers. I spend Monday through Thursday doing things I love with people I cherish. Friday’s I’m zonked but I enjoy a sound sleep at night. I’ve already mentioned what Saturdays do to me. And my Sundays are filled with so many hugs, smiles, giggles and most importantly an understanding of what really matters that I am both humbled and overwhelmed. There's more…

My reason for being here

That's right web browsing world, I have arrived! There are many reasons for my starting this blog. Funny, I've never even commented on one of these things. I was tempted a few times when viewing the blog of an old (historically not chronologically) pastor at a church I used to attend. Check his spot out www.mikeduran.com. Mike is a man I don't always agree with, but will always respect.

One good reason to start this is the fact that I am a man of many opinions and even more words. My wife has actually looked at me in the middle of one of my ramblings with her eyes almost completely shut and whispered, "You make me tired." The sad part is that she was driving at the time.

Please respond. I need feedback. I'm very needy like that. If no one ever responds, I'll probably just keep posting the message, "helllloooo..." while I sit in the corner and cry. I'm half joking. (which means, sadly, that I'm also half serious.) I've already have lots to talk about; for example, naming this dumb space. You'd be surprised some of the freaky names I considered that were already taken. I'll tell you that story on a later entry.

But (drumroll, please) this is what got me off my bottom (not literally, I'm still sitting) and actually start this thing. View it, share it, realize this is the real deal. I'll comment more about this and a lot of other things later.

http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ee73e63418003b47d7d5