Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans

Kudos to John Lennon for giving us all food for thought.

Lennon was absolutely correct. All of this time I have been around on this earth I have been making other plans. The only real problem I lack follow through. Ask my friends and family and they would probably agree.

Why the lack of follow through? I know the answer and the answer is fear. I have a fear of failing and I guess to a some extent, we all do. That fear keeps me in check. It keeps me from going out and doing what I really want to do with the rest of my life. And do you want to know something? I am sick and tired of it.

I am not going to let it keep me under its control. For far too long have I allowed it to determine my every step with its tight grasp firmly wrapped my every thought. The fear impedes me and I am finished with it and no longer want anything to do with its Vader like choke hold on my life. Like the evil Sith Lord standing in front of me with his hand ever so extended from his torso reaching out to choke me from across the room, the fear has had too much influence in my life.

How will I escape this dark shadow that looms behind every corner of my life? Well I am going to quote Joel Goodsen when I say, "Sometimes you just gotta say, "What the fuck, make your move.". "

I am going to make my moves. For far too long have I let this division of assets thing get in my way. No more. For this I am going to turn to Flyguy from his eloquent poem that landed him the title of Pimp of the Year oh so many years ago...
My bitch better have my money/Through rain, sleet, or snow/My whore better have my money/Not half, not some, but all my cash/'Cause if she don't,/I'm gonna put my foot in her ass.

On the List:
My mother fuckin' money.
An API trip
Dogbird - I am coming for you.

Holy Shit!!!

It has been absolutely been way to long since there has been an update, so to the fans of 'So...Yeah' you have my deepest apologies. How could more than two months have gone by without an update? I have no fucking clue.
With that said, let the blogging resume.

Just a Few Questions

What the fuck am I doing? I have no fucking clue. I walked away because because I took the red pill. Now all I can think, hey dumbass you hate the Matrix! This bears the question, what is wrong with being plugged in? No I am not asking you to reply, the question is rhetorical for all intents and purposes.
The choice made was red and now I am as close to cursing myself as I have ever been. For reference sake, I care not to wish the casting of curse onto others because you never know when it may come back to bite you in the ass. Look at Lady Anne,

Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!

What did that get her? In one fail swoop she cursed herself by cursing the one person she hated most. Of course when she uttered those words of such foul contempt she had no idea she would wind up marrying the man that had killed her husband. In the long run she had doomed the lives of her yet to be born children.
So what to do now? That question is not rhetorical, in fact, feel free to comment away. Ok, I know I am not offering too much in the way of details regarding my chosen path nor have I disclosed the divergent nature of the blue pill. Regardless, the question I posed to you, which pill would you take and why?

Scratching my head,
42

You Want it One Way but it's Another Way

First let me start by apologizing for the lack of post in recent weeks. The nation's birthday celebration coupled with four days away from work lead me down a relaxation path that I wasn't able to jump off of immediately after the dust had settled. Nevertheless I am back and ready to update the ole blog for all of the 'So...Yeah' fans on the SoT.

This return to the blogosphere comes in the form of a rant. I am here to rant about the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences and their clear lack of any form of intelligence whatsoever. I will begin my rant with one simple question posed to the Academy, "Have any of you ever watched even one episode of 'The Wire'?" The academy in its infinite wisdom has chosen, again, to overlook the greatest television show ever made by granting it 'zero' nominations.

For those of you who have never watch the HBO series 'The Wire' all I can say is, do. It has to be the greatest dramatic television series ever produced. I will forgo providing a synopsis of the series other than to say the series plot revolves around the drug trade in Baltimore, MD.

Here are what some folks in the business of writing reviews have to say about the series just to give you a perspective.

"When television history is written, little else will rival "The Wire," a series of such extraordinary depth and ambition that it is, perhaps inevitably, savored only by an appreciative few." - Brian Lowry, Vanity Fair

"HBO's morally complex, richly textured series "The Wire" is not just the best thing on TV -- it's a Homeric epic of modern America." - Heather Havrilesky, Salon.com

"HBO's masterpiece series "The Wire" sucks because after you watch it, you realize that all other shows on television are so fucking bad that you would rather stare at the sun in hopes of burning your eyes out and then for good measure dig them out with a rusty spoon so you will never, if even by accident, have to watch another cliched doctor/cop/lawyer piece of shit contrived melodrama ever again." - Me, So...Yeah http://jrworthy.blogspot.com/

The number of injustices by the academy in this case are too many to examine in one single blog entry so for the sake of keeping the flow of information on the SoT as light as possible, let's take a look at one single category, 'Outstanding Drama Series.' Below are the nominated 'shows' that the academy believe are more deserving of winning the coveted Emmy award.

Boston Legal - Wow what an original idea, a drama about lawyers. A program so original in theme how could the Academy not vote this one a winner. Since it does have Captain Kirk, Murphy Brown, and the dick from 'Pretty in Pink' it must be great. Wrong!

Grey's Anatomy - Wow what an original idea, a drama about doctors. I have never seen a show that examines the lives of doctors both at work and at home. This is the same show that fired Isiah Washington for using the word 'faggot' in a tiff with a cast member who isn't even gay. Turns out another cast member, who wasn't even in the room at the time, is gay and was utterly offended by the 'bundle of sticks' reference. This show wasn't even that good when it was on another network with even prettier people and it was called 'E.R.'

Heroes - Ok, so here is a case of an original premise for a show. Characters begin to realize that they have special powers and then they become divided by the line of good and evil in their fight to destroy/save the world. NBC seems to have a sure fire hit with this one, but let's be honest here, I don't want to delve into the personal lives of my super heroes. When filmmakers and television producers try to show us a hero's non heroic life the illusion of them being greater than us disappears (see Superman Returns.) I could go on and on about Superman's bastard child but I will refrain. This show belows on the Saturday morning lineup with a Power Rangers lead-in.

House - Wow what an original idea, a drama about doctors. I have never seen a show that examines the lives of doctors both at work and at home. Does this comment sound familiar? But wait, House is different in that he solves medical mysteries right when you think all hope is lost. Great, the fucking Perry Mason of doctors. Speaking of, when will the network brass come up with the show about the law practicing doctor that solves crimes in between making rounds? I can't wait for Esq. Ira Rosenstein MD. now that would be some shit, wouldn't it?

The Sopranos - Right there in the 'last but not least' position the god father of the nominees. No don't pardon the cliche, I don't want you too. The finale season of the show was, at best, just 'ok.' The show had so many loose ends to tie up that the entire season was disjointed and had no real flow. Thank god the show is over, I would hate to see Gandolfini get any bigger. Seriously if you watched the show and had the volume level just right, in between dialogue I swear you can hear him get fatter. While that shouldn't be a justification for the show not to win, it is mine. Badabing!

"The Wire" is better than all of these shows, period. I won't explain my reasons why I think it is better, simply because I can't. How could I ever try to tell you about it when you don't know where Wallace is at? What could I muster to explain the righteous indignation doled out by Brother Mouzone? Never having grown up in the city, what would be the best way for me to tell you about the brown bag? Quite simply this is the Cadillac of television dramas, or Lexus if you don't know any better.

All in the game.
42

I Think I am Going to Die

Ever since I have been traveling down the path towards my asset division I have been living in the wonderful city of Washington D.C. Living in the nations capitol has opened up a new world to me and everyday I find solace in the fact that the hum-drum suburbs are quickly becoming a distant memory. Most of the time I enjoy this notion, however, today is not one of them.
Since my relocation I have discovered the wonders of public transportation. Sure I had ridden the Metro system on a daily basis to and from work but there remained another facet of the mass transit that had eluded me before I lived within the border of the city. The bus system. While I cannot say that I have become an expert of the routes and bus lines, I have come to believe that the system overall is fairly reliable. With a fair amount of certainty I can assume that the S1, S2 and S4 will take me down the long stretch of 16th St. NW towards the area where I most need to go for work. Another option available to me is the 42. The 42 begins in the neighborhood of Mt. Pleasant, drives through Adams Morgan, down Connecticut Ave towards Dupont Circle and beyond. I rarely ride far beyond Dupont Circle so I can't discuss the 'beyond' portion.
Usually riding the bus is a fairly benign experience and I am just happy to arrive safely at or near my final destination. Today, however, was completely different. I got on the 42 at its point of origin in Mt. Pleasant, score for me as I had my pick of seats. I chose the window seat on the right side of the bus immediately behind the backdoor. I take that seat whenever possible because, well, I am a backdoor man. I settled into the seat I open the newspaper to follow current events, read my horoscope, and catch up on 'Pearls Before Swine' (I just love that little pig.) As the ride progresses the bus begins to fill up with morning commuters. This morning everything was running as normal until about half way into my trip to work.
As I was reading the paper I could tell the rider behind me was getting a little close and then it happened. I felt a subtle but apparent burst of air on the back of my neck. The passenger behind me had just coughed on the back of my neck. He coughed on me! Ever heard of covering your mouth you disgusting germ factory? For some reason I couldn't muster the nerve to turn around and confront him. I mean, what kind of horrible individual open mouth coughs in this day and age let alone on public transport?
Slowly I turned my head ever so slightly to peak out of the corner of my eye and I could see that he was a little on the brown side. Now I don't ever want to be considered a racist nor a racial profiler but I think he was of some type of middle eastern decent. Could he be linked to al-Qiada? I think for sure he must.
Now I sit in my office typing away knowing that my fate is sealed. I am going to probably be the first person of hundreds, perhaps thousands to die from some sort of new biological weapon that has been introduced into the populace of D.C. via this new form of suicide bomber.
Why 42? Why? You have been so good to me, why have you forsaken me now?
As I further ponder my fate I can see the bright side of things. The first thing I would like to say before I part the here and now, "Good Bye student loan payments." I will miss, missing paying you on time.

The irony of 42,
42

Programming Note

As you all know 'So...Yeah' was started as an outlet for my creative flow with my dating woes as the backdrop. So far everything has gone well, but something is amiss. Perhaps it is time to change gears and explore other topics on which to muse. 'But no!!!' I can hear it now from all of my devoted fans, but fear not, 'So...Yeah' won't give up the dating genre entirely. It is just time to let everyone know that tales of tails is not my only suit. Luckily as managing editor of 'So...Yeah' I am free to direct this blog in anyway I see fit.
So in the future when you return and read stories that are unrelated to the women that I love, have loved, or just hooked up with, please do not despair. Those stories will return. For now look at it as a new day, a day where unrelated accounts, musings, and rants (etc.) can appear together like parents of a divorced child at a birthday party.

That is all,
42

Someone Else I Know

The virtuosity of patience loses ground to the forces which hold it in contempt with every passing minute. The pride in this man will not see fit to remain in check. As you wallow in your self pity my pride paces the cage, tongue bitten,eyes trained, studying, waiting.
The time has come and passed for you to step up. When I think about you I resolve that you do not stand as a man. The civility of men protects all, that by our nature, we seek to destroy. Your chosen course of action will lead my civility to unlock the cage and unleash the animal of my pride. The uneven instep of my boot will search for steady footing on the back of your neck.
On what you hold close, keep a watchful eye. Prepare your walls for defense. The guards of my cage door grow weary of their responsibility with each passing day. They hear the whispering siren song of my dignity and soon they will fall powerless, unable to remain idly by holding back the fury of my pride.

Biding my time,
42

Some People I Know

Time to update my blog on the SoT, if not for the release of my creative flow then for the three of the millions of fans of 'So...Yeah' who have commented on the lack of an update. Without further ado:

Back when I was in the CIA we used to have a roster called the Non-Official Cover list, or NOC list. If you don't know what the NOC list is, look it up. I am not here to educate you on the 'ins and outs' of international espionage. My time with the agency was short but effective and at this point I am not at liberty to discuss any of the missions or operations in which my service was integral. So for now, I cannot share with you in part or whole about Operation Moldy Havarti nor the fallout from any of the closed door Senate Hearings.

Now that I am out of the Agency, I will share with you a different list. This list is comprised of individuals that I either play, played or would like to play FPT, or Fun Part Touching.

Sleepy Waitress:
From the first time I saw you in the library I was in awe, you were a vision. Despite my best intentions, all of the wrong cards were played and I watched myself slip into the 'friend zone.' I am going to borrow from Omar and say, "We could'a made a baby." Oh, they would have been such beautiful babies and this comes from someone that fears the little walking bacteria fraps.

Butterfly:
The hippy chick, so unbelievably beautiful. A few years younger. That trick you can do, how does it get that tight? Despite your free and fancy spirit of hippy youth, no patchouli (sp), your scent is morning dew sweet. So incredibly tiny, you could make a guy with even the biggest Asian fetish looked beyond your long blond locks. Not to say you have the body of a twelve year old boy, but it is certainly small, slender and oh so sexy.

{FPT cover omitted}:
Too many fans of 'So...Yeah' could decipher your identity should I disclose too much. While this list is not presented in any order or ranking, you definitely rank high on any list. Passion is not an issue with this asset and for that matter neither are assets. You certainly do not have the body of a twelve year old boy, you are all woman and I have enjoyed every line and curve of your form. We knew each other for a year and then we met on a Saturday in a foreign country. You stated a price, I countered. In the long run I got it for free. In a heartbeat. Like I said, we met on a Saturday, the best day of the week.

Dogbird:
A kiss. One solitary kiss over a monumental sky and you got me. Something is different here, can't pinpoint it. You aren't like the one I left in the morning nor like the two on my answering machine, something is definitely different. What is it? I am still trying to figure it out. Is it the left coast roots? The Zimmerman helps me by saying, "You're going to make me give myself a good talkin' to."

Coffee Bean:
Such a naughty little temptress. When we met you worked in a coffee store and this was well before people eagerly laid down small fortunes for a venti, double caff, mocha, latte ichi-ichi ya-ya-ya-ya. So much I could share, but like us, I will exercise restraints. As it would happen, things didn't work out. You see, you are a little off. Perhaps that is why I think you were my very first stalker ever. I don't mean to belittle either stalking or victims of stalking but in the end isn't nice to know that someone cares about you so much that they will wait outside your house across the street in the rain just for a glimpse of you and then leave a note threatening you and that 'little whore you've been fucking'? Doesn't it just show you they care?

Please note that this is only a partial list of FPT assets, there are more. See below:
Quiesenberry
The Vulcan
Punkin
The Romantic's Daughter
Vanessa
Short Change
Not Bronte's Sister
Kappa Kappa Gamma - Yes, one time I sneaked over the walls guarding the Ivory Tower.
Gee
Tryst

Non, Je ne regrette rien,
42

Make it Rain

So I got separated and I am heading toward the inevitable division of assets. Again, not the first and surely not the last, right? After fighting the good one, eventually it was time to throw the hands up and be done with it.
What next? Well after going through the whole "I am never going to find anyone else" woe is me crap, you eventually have to stand up and dust yourself off. All of my friends encouraged me to get back out there and give it a shot. And so I did, I got the courage to ask a girl out. Written below is a partial account of evening details.

*What you are about to read is completely one hundred percent true, I swear.

In the interest of saving time and conserving bandwidth usage on the series of tubes I am going to refrain from sharing how, when, where of meeting this girl. Believe me when I say it is no where near as interesting as how the evening came to a close.

Again, forget the details and just assume the usual dinner, movie, and cocktails, although I feel compelled to share with you that I paid for everything. (Toot! Toot!) During drinks I was definitely getting the 'vibe.' You know the one. The one that tells you, upon arrival at her domicile, clothing may become optional. All of the subtle signs were there, laughing at my jokes and not before the punchlines, brushing her hand against my arm when we shared a commonality, the gentle squeeze on my leg just above the knee when she shoved her tongue down my throat while we made out in the corner of the bar. Oh yeah, the signs were there.

The weather complimented our evening, DC was unseasonably warm this past winter, so we walked backed to her place stopping occasionally for her to pin me against random walls and proceed to make out with me. Thoughts at the time, "Ten years off the market and you've still got it. High five yourself in the morning."

When we got back to her place it became clear that my hunch was correct all along, clothing became optional. As soon as the door was shut behind us, clothes started coming off. Maybe she seemed a little easy, but I wasn't in the position to judge and I really wanted to touch bottom as it had been a few months without any action in that department.

She lead me down the hall and her bedroom was in sight. Not so fast. She stopped, looked me in the eyes and said, "I can't have sex with you." Ok. "It isn't that I don't want to, it is just that I have a boyfriend, well we are on a break right now and I just don't think I am ready to have sex with someone else." My thought at the time, "This really is something that you could have brought up before you brought me back to your place for what I thought was going to be a fun game of the old 'in-out, in-out'." but something in my head told me to keep my mouth shut and to let her do all of the talking. Sorry this, sorry that, I told her it was ok (lie), that I completely understood (another lie) and not to worry about it (yet another lie.)

As I was about to depart, she grabbed me again and started with the kissing, touching and rubbing. The sadistic glutton for punishment in me kicked the level headed angel on my shoulder in the ass and decided, 'We can pull this one out.' Life just isn't that easy.

She pulled away one more time, and I thought to myself, "The sadist wins again! Damnit!" With the most sincere look in her eyes she said, "We aren't going to have sex..." I remained silent. "...but I will get you off if you will do something for me." Oral for oral, I have no problem with that, but again, life is not that easy. She told me that while she had no problem with giving, receiving wasn't in her bag.

What then? What would I have to do to make it all happen for me?

"I will give you a blow job...if...well, I really want you to go on me."

Go? Go on her? What was she talking about?

"I want you to piss on me."

What? A golden shower? All my life I wondered what kind of person likes to be pee'd on, now the mystery was over. Apparently pee bodies look just like you and me, regular folk.

"Hmmm, she wants me to piss on her, " was one thought. Could I do that? Could I jump across that line? I say jump, because that is not really a line that you casually step across. I, in no way, have I ever considered myself a prude but water sports is an entirely different arena. How could I go from the regular missionary, doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, etc. to what can not be described by anything other than the word 'fetish'?

Now I wish I could tell you that I got up and walked out only to never speak to her again, but I reiterate, life just isn't that easy.

It was an amazing blow job. And well, you know how it is when you drink too many beers.

Am I headed to making number two,
42

It was the 80's that night

Stop. Rewind. The year is 1987. I am a sophomore in high school and it is a Saturday in the fall. Smell those autumn leaves. In the hallways at school the buzz all week has been the party at the Raptist brothers house. Parents are out and the beer will be flowing. One thing for sure, the party is going to be bumping, and oh yes, I will be in effect.

Hold up, not so fast. See your boy has a chica friend from another school across town and her mom's throwing up the red light. What's a strapping young lad to do? Skip what is sure to be the dopest night of the year and spend it with his lady or hit the party with his boys and turn that mother out?

Amy H. rings me up on the phone after a full day of back and forth about what I am going to do. She proceeds to lay down the guantlet, "If you go to that party, don't worry about calling me tomorrow." Silence on the line. What to do, what to do, what to do? Come on folks, this is no contest. "Ok," I retort, "Take care." Click.

7:30 in the PM and the big brother drives me and my boys to the party but not without a stop at the 7-11 to pick up some beer, plus his normal twenty percent (Hey, it is a buyer's buyer's market.) With my Old Milwaukee tall boys, eight beers in the convenience of six cans, I hit the party and what clearly is a new world.

The Raptist brothers are seniors but one of my boys has an 'in' so we are golden to get the pass, free from hassle. I am seeing shit I never thought I would ever see, is that a joint being freely passed around out in the open? Over to me, "Hey, you cool?" Toke, toke. "Cool enough."

Scoping the scene and the upper class ladies are to die for. Jennifer L. and Katie C. girls in womens bodies. Allison and Laura, twins, so much beauty God had to make two. Ms. Weaver, you and your lady friends, in all of your independent flair, it is just too much for the man in this boy...for now. We will come to meet ours, but for now a hand reaches down from above and a voice rings in my head, "Walk first, plenty of time to run later." Now is the time to play with kids my own age.

Deep into the tall boys, I have a full swagger. Any writer worth their salt will tell you to write what you know, so goes the same in life, work what you know. I settle into some conversation with Elizabeth T. and Angie H. (fellow sophomores) and on the stereo this new song that is gaining traction on the charts comes on. A new band, called Whitesnake and the song is called "Here I Go Again."

Never before in the history of this man has music been so fitting. Sure I like music as much as the next guy, but when David Coverdale opens that tune with:

I don't know where I'm goin
but I sure know where I've been
hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday.
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time
but here I go again, here I go again.

It was a flash of clarity, there are in fact plenty of fish in the sea and also at that precise moment music stopped being background filler and stepped into the role of soundtrack to my life.

Right after that another voice sounds off in my head, "If you go to that party, don't worry about calling me in the morning." No problem because I am in the middle of trying to decide which of these two girls is going to be sucking on my face in thirty minutes.

Epilogue:
Amy H called on Sunday morning to apologize for her behavior, I didn't.

All for now,
42

Definitely not the first, surely not the last.

As per the title, this is my first foray into what has recently been tabbed as the blogosphere (is that spelled correctly? Who can tell these days since is seems that new words are made up on a daily basis an inserted into the lexicon as common place?)

A close personal friend of mine, Jaded Bitterman, recently shared his own musings with me on his very own blog. Upon reading his posts I figured that I too could hop onto the series of tubes and post my thoughts like countless of millions of others all the while hiding behind the anonymity in all of the glory that is the SoT.

So I have come so far as to begin this blog, but now what do I write? Jokingly in my conversation with JB, I said I could begin, in catharsis, by telling the world of my dating woes with the ladies. Surely no one else has ever used the Internet to openly discuss such a personal matter, right? JB was not impressed but he did give me some encouraging words and even penned the opener for my first ever post on a blog. Without further ado,

"hi: im {proper name omitted} , im separated and living my 20's in my 30's. do you want to have sex with me?"

For now I bid farewell but not before I ask any of the ladies, (as per JB's offering) do you want to have sex with me?

Out,
42