My friend Jackée Harry (from 227) got married tonight.
I don’t know the real Jackée but out of respect I should probably change the bride’s name. (It’s Erin)
Three years ago I was invited by someone I knew in A.A. (I’m an alcoholic – thankfully sober) who was starting a group called The Experiment. The structure was very simple. Meet in a room once a week and tell the truth about what’s really going on in your life. The good and the bad. This is a safe place to bring your shit.
I had nothing to do tonight so I went to to a dog costume Halloween party.
My boss often suggests that I attend networking events. The problem is that I’m busy most nights and, oh yeah, I don’t like networking events. Well, that’s not entirely true. Put me at a blogger convention and I’ll run around talking to everyone. If there was a Fresca roundtable group I’d run a smear campaign against my opponent to win the treasurer position.
Today I went to work and I then to the grocery store. Take your pick.
Let’s do the grocery!
I have a friend that loves to grocery shop. He wheels down each aisle slowly looking for new food. As such he’s always coming home to his family with new flavors of chips, candy, or pre-cooked, marinated meat. When you walk past the frozen “what’s new” section, he’s the one buying that four pack of buffalo burgers drenched in buffalo sauce.
The problem is that my mind is always on “joke-creation” mode.
It doesn’t matter if I’m about to fall asleep, riding my bike to work, or having lunch with my favorite nun: Jokes come in whether I want them or not. This is not a “I just can’t help how hilarious I am” kind of thing. Many, if not most, of my jokes would bomb, should I share them. When something funny comes into my head I have to make a snap decision on whether to express it aloud, delete it, or save for later. My willpower is not strong, and I can rarely hold onto a joke for the future. Like a junkie I don’t save my stash for later.
I had totally forgotten I am a thief.
Notice the two conflicting tenses there! Will I resolve the grammar? It’s a nailbiter!
This morning I was listening to a podcast with the host discussing online piracy. He ended up saying that it’s stealing, plain and simple. Which, of course, is true. And then it occurred to me. I do this. Then I felt sick.
I realized something this morning as I got home from AimingLow’s NonConference.
Walking in the front door after being gone for four days is almost as pleasurable as the trip itself.
I love going on vacations. I have a self-esteem issue that tells me I never deserve one, however. When I was married my ex-wife had no problem spending good money on vacations. We traveled a lot, and, while I was involved with the planning, she was the one who scheduled the trip and did most of the heavy lifting.
I had a bit of an emotional revelation last night.
This is different than an intellectual revelation, which is a consciousness to a solution. I’m pretty good at that stuff about solving problems. Whether I’m trying to figure out a new business development strategy at work or delve into my own psyche, I usually come up with the “answer.” I can’t often implement it, however. This is where support groups and therapy and intimate friendships are helpful.
I went on a photowalk with the great Neil Kramer today.
Here at the AimingLow NonCon we headed over to a butterfly sanctuary in Callaway Gardens. There were about twenty of us.
Inside the conservatory was lush vegetation. Trees, flowers, and plants lined the glass walls. Sunlight focused in and the air was humid. The purpose of this trip was to learn how to better take photos using only your phone. After some instruction from Neil we went off on our own.
You don’t look like Ken!
These were among the first words spoken to me by TheAnimatedWoman, J.C. Little. For months the AimingLow staff has been referring to me as Ken (of Barbie’s harem), probably because I took the only hunky photo of me and plastered it everywhere online. Just Google one of my stories and you’ll see it next to the search result. In person I’m quite normal looking. I have virtually no muscle definition and my skin is ghostly pale. I’m not a monster, but nobody’s plucking me out of obscurity to dance with Thunder From Down Under.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
