11/1/12

After multiple $200 dates, 90 days of holding out and not allowing my significant other to have male friends; I finally decided it was time to make my girlfriend wifey.  I've already written my vows on keeping her dipped in matching bra and panty sets.

Actually, none of that happened.  Instead of glossing over unsolicited advice given to men and women,  I did something radical.  I built a relationship.

Yeah, you know that thing you do with someone you like and you talk about stuff and you do thing together?  Yeah that thing.  I swear on every button on every suit Steve Harvey owns (I should have just sworn on the stars in the sky, it would take less time.)  Were there some rocky sections?  Of course.  Disagreements. What do you think?  Did feelings get hurt on occasion?  Does Chad Johnson have a dome like an Ankylosaurus?  The thing is there is no blueprint, no template to a "perfect relationship."  Enjoy life, enjoy each other, communicate and most importantly love unconditionally.

You find that and pure bliss is around the corner.  I am so grateful to be turning that corner with you.  

I love her, so I put a ring on it.

*End engagement announcement* 

 

Bobby Byrd Spoke To Me Today....

Damn it Bobby, you're right...at least half way.  Already copping to, and coping with my bullshit already.

I've spent a good portion of this week mulling over a question that I've asked myself more than I'd admit.  "How the fuck did I get here?"  It's not quite the spot X marks between that rock and a hard place, but I'd be a lying son of a bitch if I said it was comfortable.  Treating it like time out, as if I have time to think about what I did and after that I can go to my room without supper.  That, or I'm waiting for permission, mercy, a pat on the head...the fuck am I still doing standing here?

Oh, that's right, it's self induced.  Instead of moving on from bad decisions and the hindsight marathon, I shadowbox with regret, and hold loathing to my wrist like a straight razor.  Misguided energy is wicked, it creates something hateful...sinister.  A newly minted beast that will devastate every ounce of what I hold dear...that monster looks just like me.

All this fury, tyranny and just plain depreciation has it's compass fucked up.  Why am I compromising my own foundation, when it is yours (and others) I need to condemn and put the wrecking ball to?   Fixer upper = controlled implosion.  Let the wind carry you the fuck up out of here, I got worthwhile reconstruction to do. 

Reality and the Fairy Tales That Get In the Way.

Sometimes you just have to watch a piece of your life start to crumble around you...
The difficult part is watching it slowly burn knowing you are solely responsible for it's perceived end.

We live in a world where fairy tales can come true and there's a book, or blog post, or some random jabroni on Twitter that claims to have lightning captured.  Breadcrumbs to bliss. Proper steps to acquire that perfect prince. That prince may be charming, but he's going to leave the toilet seat up every once in a while.  Worse yet, he may hurt you to the point where you are not even sure why you thought so regally of him in the first place...

I was that disappointing prince.  My white horse became a donkey, the field of daisies quicksand.  The possibility of my relationship being consumed by the void frightened me, and knowing the burden of fault solely laid on my shoulders made me doubt I could be the savior as well.  I didn't think about what will change, what couldn't be salvaged how or if she would look at me differently.  Abandoning all hope and living with rose colored "what-if" Blu Blockers was not an option.

It's never enjoyable falling on your own sword.  Pain reciprocates from it's origin, but only becomes more so when prolonged. Or...putting up the facade that you shouldn't be held accountable at all.  Either way, you lose.  Truth hurts, but what scar remains afterwards is completely up to you, and the bullshit you may potentially be shoveling.

Love isn't a flawless beauty.  It doesn't come from the tail of a comet.  It won't make your teeth white, nor will it keep your life free of those low moments.  What it is in it's entirety? I really don't know...but I do know it's not the stuff of fairy tales.

Fantastic Damage

Frustration and anger are dangerous if not channeled correctly.  Melanin Brooks is usually chock full of chill.  You look up "stoic" in the dictionary and there's a picture of me holding a rum & Coke.  I hit my dougie on a glacier once, and a pillow once exploded in my presence because it did not feel it was cool enough for the kid.

Then something went wrong.  Something terrible.  That day was November 8, 2011.   Under the cover of darkness, a pox was released upon the Earth.  Slowly, men and women worldwide started to show symptoms of the sickness.  These include blind rage and anger, overaggressive behavior, loss of confidence, false confidence, explosive diarrhea and the fear of green network bars. No, we were not exposed intentionally.  A major corporation promised us improvement, refinement...evolution. Boy, were they way off.

In the beginning we believed we received the promise.  Wishful thinking? Perhaps, yet slowly and surely reports started to flow in.   Of course they were dismissed as heresy, lies, bullshit.  Even I wrote off the reports as baseless trolling.  Until it happened to me.

On an unseasonably warm day in March, I decided to take a "mental health" day.  You know, sit around in your drawers, watch some Maury, make a pinata you know regular off day stuff.  In between women being 110 million sure that Lil June was the daddy, I decide to indulge in some product.  Granted, I had initially ran it over the coals in a previous blog entry, I continued to use.  Did I enjoy it?  Sometimes, but a bulk of the time I felt filthy.  I felt like I needed to conquer it, but instead the flag was planted directly and squarely, with authority, into my spare time.

Then the cool completely left me.  I would not become one of "them."  Before my brain could process what was happening (lag comp,) my hand, with all the furor I could muster, hurled the product to the ground!



GIFSoup

 My intention was not to destroy.  Panic strikes.  I frantically hurried to check the damage, only to find out the wounds are fatal:

For a moment, I held the disc.  Thinking sixty bucks down the crapper.  Most importantly the hours I spent...no...WASTED with this substance.  My remorse was nil. I continued to build my pinata as if nothing happened.

Note: This is a work of fiction.  Well the pinata part is...

Life's Good Though.

We throw words around light as a feather.  No substance, no weight.  Another Mylar balloon waiting on inevitable deflation and dolphin suffocation.  Promise, the unwanted newborn left in a bathroom stall.  Cliches, last years fashion hangs in a Ross store, next to the big ass tub of gummi worms. Worst of all you and others lob these kind words, knowing their worth is penny ante.  Jordans at the flea market, Prada shades in the beauty salon.  A keen eye and common sense usually prevail, but many will be deceived.  Flight on wings sprung forth from what was thought to be a mutual love and respect wither under the weight of falsehood.  Then poof "best friends become strangers."

Therein lies a mystery Mosley couldn't pen.  I don't have enough loot to hire the Hardy Boys, and Bill Duke got me to cop to some shit I did when I was 8 years old.  So, the resolution lies with you.  A conundrum that will be taken to your grave, or Twitter...or Facebook....anywhere but here.  Speak to the wind, long as it's not blowing the truth in my direction.  Meanwhile, I prepare for my staycation under this bus...

And all I attempted to do was be the friend I thought you were to me...

If this grows Sonic shoes and gets to you, best believe this is not a plea for any semblance of the past to be salvaged.  That shit is dead, if it ever had a heart to begin with.  I would like to close the last chapter then hurl the book into the fireplace, but not before we discuss what has transpired and you hold to your words like a decent human being.

There is no laundry being aired...only your guilt.

Skeeter wouldn't have done this to Scooter.






 

The Pledge: An Update

2012 looks to be another great year for gamers. There will be plenty of quality releases throughout the year. Oh and something called the Vita dropped yesterday. I heard it is supposed to be a big deal.


And Melanin Brooks will not be a part of it.

No, this is not some boycott. I am not giving up all my worldly belongings to protest Wall Street in a public park. Also, I am not on drugs. The truth is I just have too many damned unfinished games. I touched on my backlog (heh heh heh, I said "log") in a previous entry and decided to finally do something about it.

Until my Playstation 3 queue is at zero, I will not purchase another video game in 2012.  Yes my friends, these are desperate times.  As I type this, I would estimate that I am at around 20 unfinished games (sports titles don't count) including Bayonetta, Fallout: New Vegas and Skyrim (FFFUUUUUU)  I was able to knock off Batman Arkham City and Limbo last week.

My problem was that I was building a collection, but not enjoying that collection.  Quality titles collecting dust at my expense.  Why spend the money, if I'm not going to invest the time?

I figure this is going to take me all year.  In between work/school/girlfriend my time to game has become severely limited, and with the sheer number and the length of titles, I better brew the coffee right now.

I will attempt to update this blog as I make progress on this journey.  God willing, I won't be updating this post in 2013.

Update May 2012: We're almost six months into the year and I'm still going strong.  No new purchases so far.  I'm getting the Pookie itch because of Ghost Recon: Future Solider and Max Payne 3, but I put my addiction on the cross and will push on through my queue.  Just wrapped up Saint's Row: The Third, started my run through Yakuza 3 and grinding through Skyrim (I'll beat that on my deathbed.)

My issue is I can't play one game for extended stretches of time anymore (age? ADD?)  The days of 8+ hours of non-stop gameplay are done.  2-4 broken up through the day is about all I can do at this point.  Trust me no one wants to get through this more than I, but other things take precedence. Right now I'm feeling like the kid who broke his arm, or Little Bill Thompson in "Boogie Nights."  Keeping up with the happenings isn't enough.  I need to be knee deep in the action, like someone NOT named Little Bill Thompson.

I miss being current and giving corporations my money for online passes.

One Shot, One Kill

My pride is in the cross hairs daily.

Every roof, every window, every perch a pigeon flies from is a vantage point.

One pull of the trigger leaves my ego splattered on the sidewalk.

Foolish of me to walk the Earth as if I'm bullet-proof.