I’m not sure if this is awesome or scary. And because nothing cures boredom quite like danger.

Im a big fan of my titles of these little blogs.

Hey! I'm back! Well, its been a really long time and i cant say that i have missed this little blog too much. I used to use it as a way to vent some things but i dont think i was all that honest with myself on most of them. I actually sat and read some of the things i wrote (yeah, im pretty lonely) and i realized that alot of stuff i write is a lie. I dont hate children, or homeless people, or anything really. So starting sometime in the near future i will start a new blog, one that is honest, but just for both of the assholes that actually read this, the bullshit will continue!

So this could be the longest blog in my history... or maybe not. It really all depends on how tired i get. This will be a break down of the events of my summer that i can remember. Not that i am a drunk that cant remember anything, im just a really dumb guy that doesnt really remember what happened yesterday.

A really quick synopsis. This may have been the most dramatic period of my entire life. I made alot of mistakes. Fell back in love. Jumped right back out of love. Starting to lean back towards love. Discovered the renewed taste of cold beer. Was honest to myself. Was honest to someone new. Fell in love with the moon. discovered george jones. slept in a field (14 times, not always drunk). Renewed my passion for alone time with brad. Sat in front of my air conditioner in nothing but boxers and ate and entire can of salsa with no chips. discovered what it truly feels like to see something you love fade away. opened myself. made two really good friends. broke ties with some really good friends. lied. Stabbed someone in the back. removed a few knifes too. did something that i hope to do again, very soon and very much (thats so vague, and it sounds really dirty to me so im going to leave it just like that, but its not dirty at all) Truly missed my nashville friends/life. faced down more than one fear. cried. laughed for no particular reason. had the best late night porch talk in history of this house. all in all i give the summer a B-, we will see how the next couple of weeks go, maybe we can get a plus on that number. sorry this turned out to be a not so really quick synopsis.

Camp is over, that was ok, i guess. I got yelled at, pissed off, possibly pissed on, sunburned, poison ivy, farted on (repeatedly), bit (repeatedly), cried on, and many other bodily functions that im not sure about. I got yelled at by a 17 year old counselors mother and father. He is homeschooled. I have a public education so im not sure if homeschooled is correct spelling. I hate this fucker. His name shall go unsaid. We shall call him Pill Wogue (switch the P and W and then figure it out on your own from there). I didnt really like this kid before but now i hate him. He is 17 and told his parents that i picked on him alot? So they drove all the way to camp to yell at me. I dont take being yelled at by people i dont like very well. My camp director, whom i didnt really like before this summer and whom has been previously mentioned in an article about the smell of doughnut farts, comes busting up in this room and stands up for me. The mom chick was like "well someone is leaving, and it isnt Pill (replace P with W)." Nick the director says "Well it certainly isnt brad, he is second in experience here and i am putting him on my back to get through this." Coolest shit ever. I respect him now. it was alot more dramatic than that but i hit the high note.

This summer I have gone to st. lious by myself, without telling anyone. Might be the best 4 days of my life, and this would be the first time i have ever told anyone about it. I just got in my truck and drove north. Next thing i know i am in a dive bar in the lou. There are nights in the summer, though they are rare, that are prefect. After sitting in the stuffy bar for several hours, the air was almost cool. And it was quiet. There is a strange beauty to walking the streets of st. lious, the greatest city in the world, with a solid buzz on while everyone else is asleep. I loved it. I ended up at a waffle house at 4 in the morning with 5 homeless people chowing down. Best meal in my life. Problem is with all the walking i lost my truck. I thought what a lovely morning to ride in a cab, right (I was still really drunk). Stop #1 a really nice apartment building. I snuck past a doorman, rode to the 5 floor ( i think i choose the 5th floor because i once lived on the 5th floor in high rise and that made perfect sense to me that i could live on any 5th floor). I came to my senses after the 5th floor looked nothing like high rise. I rode back down the elevator, i sang last call by the clarks in honor of my facebook wife, i then called her but she didnt answer. But no, I was not finished. I got in another cab and had hime drive me through downtown. I finally saw my trcuk... it was in a gated parking lot that closed at 5 every morning. So i had the cabbie take me to a hotel. When I leaned up in my seat to pay the cabbie his fare, for some unknown reason I said: "Excuse me, sir, but would you mind waiting until I get into my building before driving away? I was shot a few months ago outside of my apartment." For all the retards in the class, this is not my apartment, this is a rundown hotel in central st. lious. The cabbie looked at me, half-frightened, half-quizzically. I think he nodded, but I hopped out the cab and go into my hotel. When the door closed behind me, he beeped. Then he pulled away.???
To be honest, I have no idea why I told the cabbie that I had been shot outside of my apartment. I don’t know if I said it to be funny (which I’m not sure it is - it might be very funny but it also might be too fucking weird), I don’t think I said it out of fear (though the neighborhood is scary, there was no one there except me and I had to walk eight feet to the door), and I don’t think I said it to be a dick (I’m usually not that much of an asshole to fuck with the Pakstani cab driver). Seriously, to paraphrase Karen’s mother in "Goodfellas," what kind of person tells a cabbie he was shot outside of his apartment for fun? I mean, what the fuck? Not a very good story... sorry. i had a good time though.

For those of you who dont know i am a cop now. A real certified cop, with a badge, a gun, some pepperspray and some other badass stuff that should not be allowed in the hands of someone, like myself, who is mildly retarded. But the cop stuff is a different story. I have decided that i actually need to try and lose some weight, actually alot of weight. But, once again, i have found something else i am not good at. I enjoy being fat, i enjoyed food, and excessive moving is just ignorant. So in an entire summer i have managed to lose a whopping 16 pounds. Wow. Right? But there is one thing I have not yet received: compliments or recognition. It’s not that I’m seeking them out and I’m not fishing for them here (from friends who read the site), but I’m being honest when I say that I really can’t tell too much of difference when I look at myself. I’m still fat and hairy. My clothes are a little looser, but I’m still a monstrosity when I’m naked. I feel better and have more energy. So while numerically I’m making progress, it hasn’t made an effect on my appearance. No one has ever said, "Dude, you look different." It’s been more like me saying, "Dude, I’ve lost 16 pounds" and a friend saying, "Yeah, well, you’re still fat." And they’re right. Six weeks ago I couldn’t run three blocks without collapsing into the arms of some unsuspecting tourist, panting and sweating and ranting about the forthcoming Race War and Armageddon and would you like to get a drink with me. But I ran 2.5 miles Saturday. It’s a start. And if it keeps up, I may actually have to buy condoms - and not just for decoration or for putting on and dancing around when I’m alone and feeling silly (not really, i've never done that). I mean, groundbreaking stuff here.

Doug Fieger, lead singer of the band The Knack, said he wrote the song "My Sharona" about a girlfriend he once had. He said, "I had never met a girl like her - ever. She induced madness. She was a very powerful presence. She had an insouciance that wouldn’t quit. She was very self-assured…She also had an overpowering scent, and it drove my crazy." Doug nailed it. The uniqueness, the madness, the presence, the self-assuredness, the scent, and back to the madness. A crazy woman and a bottle of whiskey. i think i like a new girl. its definately time to get away from the past. too many mistakes and broken promises. i think. i could be wrong.

I’m sort of a little crazy when it comes to numbers. For example, I told a girl I met recently that I’m fascinated by her birthday: November 21 (11/21). This is because, as I told her, it "resolves" itself. For example, 1+1=2-1=1. Then if you take that 1 and reintroduce it to dates, it’s 1+1+1=3, 3-2=1, 1-1=0. See? It resolves itself. But sadly, just as you stopped reading after "For example," she too stopped listening and we did not spend the night together. Yet.

Anyway, I was out at lunch the other day and noticed a woman who was wearing flip-flops. Nothing weird about that, right? Wrong, what alarmed me is that she didn't have toes. I mean she had unformed toe-like appendanges on her feet, otherwise she couldn't have worn flip-flops. But they were more like nubs than toes, though, certainly lacking the nails that you would find on fully developed toes.I thought that she should be among the last people who should expose their feet, but in retrospect, I was being overly judgmental. Who am I to criticize her? She shouldn't hide her feet in shame because of her condition. So now because of that i think i am slightly less superficial, but not by much.

I went and saw drew, that was fun. we went to "god's country" (aka. Northern Kentucky) (really it was cincinatti) some other cool kids went, i had a good talk with one of them, i respect him more now.

I drank by myself one night. And it was on that night that i discovered george jones. For those of you who dont know, george jones is a country singer who writes songs about wome, booze, and thats about it. But here I was, drinking whiskey by myself, and George Jones seemed a good fit. I read a little about him while some of his songs were downloading and saw something about how "his career was marked by heroic periods of substance abuse." Heroic substance abuse? That’s almost an oxymoron, but if it is, it’s awesome. This got me excited and I drank faster. I kept reading about Jones and was fascinated. The first offering was a little ditty called "If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will)." By the end of the first minute, George had covered drunk driving, suicide by alcohol, and using his own blood to start a whiskey still. Ladies and gentlemen, it was on. Over the next five hours, I got drunk off my ass. Blind, filthy, stinking drunk in my apartment by myself, listening to country music. I downloaded dozens of George Jones songs, songs with titles like "She Thinks I Still Care", "Just One More", and "He Stopped Loving Her Today." After I got the hang of them, I started singing along and ultimately grabbed my guitar to play along. Then I decided, for whatever reason, to put on a suit. I can’t really explain this except to say that I really look good in suits, and, I guess I wanted to look good. So there I was in my apartment, in a suit, alone, drinking Manhattans out of a pint glass, playing guitar and singing lines like "I’ll keep drinking, it won’t matter/I’ll just remember that I once had her." I realize that this may sound depressing (horribly, horribly depressing), but I had a fucking ball. An absolute blast. Just because the songs were sad doesn’t mean I was; indeed, I’ve gotten a lot sadder by being out at bars, looking at attractive unapproachable women and the douchebags they were with. The songs didn’t inspire sadness in me, but rather a profound awe. I couldn’t believe that a) people wrote songs like these; and b) I hadn’t heard them in my 21 years. Bottom line, there is a lot to be said for getting blackout drunk by yourself (on bourbon, no less), listening to country music. And if you can’t appreciate that, well, then I don’t think you should keep reading this.

I was hit by a bulldozer and lived to tell the tale. long story.

I’ve been doing a lot of experiments recently that involve fire and cans of hair spray, I’d say the blindness is more likely, but death is not that far behind.

im very sure there is more, but i cant think of it now.

After all that i think what im actually trying to say is that during this summer i did very little. I actually can't remember a single day from any of those days. I'd wake up around 12, eat, hang out, maybe mow, if i wasnt too tired, then i would go somewhere and hang out longer. Then i would sit and write long, harshly worded latters to ex-girlfriends that i would never send. Then i would go to bed. Repeat roughly 90 time. I wish i was joking.

And never again will I have that sort of time off. Which makes me very sad. For the rest of my life, I’m stuck here, doing shit for someone else. Im pretty sad that this is the last summer i will ever have to do whatever the hell i want. And none of this hit me until today.

So what have we learned?
- I’m a nice guy to women I don’t know
- Sex therapists make interesting conversationalists
- My friends are degenerates
- Gay Beer Pong is real, very real, and very scary
- Salsa is even more delicious with hands and no chips
-Flip Flops are ok, even if you dont have toes
-Most of America's major cities are overrun by packs of wild dogs that control most of the major street gangs.
-Talladaga Nights is by far the funniest move in the history of movies.
- I’m pissed at myself that I didn’t take more advantage of my time off
- I’m busy now and it sucks
- I don’t want your pity boobies
- This post is completely fucking retarded or at least very incomplete because I have great difficulty writing anything