Everything That Has a Beginning...

I'm not a boy. No matter how much of my youth I try to hold on to, I'll never be that innocent little boy that dreamed fantastic dreams. We all do have to grow up eventually. It's odd though because I still do boyish things. Still watch cartoons. Still play video games. Still chase after skirts. I guess one never changes in regards to what they love doing but we all still grow up.

That being said, this is the last time I'm going to use this blog. I figured it's time for a change. I don't feel right using the title "The 30 Year Old Boy" any longer. It just doesn't seem right after my little moment of clarity a few days back. I'm still going to write. Don't worry, faithful readers. I don't ever plan on stopping that. It'll just be in a new place. The new blog page is the following:

http://glovebox-mannix.blogspot.com

I've decided not to delete this blog because I've written down a lot of emotions on some of them. I wouldn't want to deprive any of you of that but the next blog I write will be in the Glove Box. I hope to hear from you all there.

Hard Drive

I love the road. She calls to me; I am at her beck and call the moment I get behind the wheel. I don't understand it. I really don't like driving. I don't like being cooped up in a car all day. I prefer walking actually, given a choice. Yet, there's something about the open road that sings to me. I hearken to its siren song. That's how I felt coming into work tonight. It's almost become my ritual, driving in with the music blasting.

Truth is, what I really love is driving at night. Give me a nice open road around midnight with my iPod tunes or my Groove Select station on Pandora pumping out wave after wave of Progressive House and Trance music with the windows down and the high beams on and I swear I'm in Heaven. There's something...I don't know, epic about it! I feel like I'm in a movie or like a kid who just jacked a car for a joyride. (Not that I have any first hand knowledge to reference that to. I'm just guessing here.) I can't explain it as well as I want to. I wish I could just plug my brain into the computer for a second and recall just how good I feel on the open road so as to properly articulate the experience. It's the stuff of fantasy; in a word, it's MAGIC.

I know I sound like a kid around Christmas time but I have good reason to. God-willing, at the end of July, I'll be on the road once again. Moreover, while I enjoy a good drive alone, this road trip (and that's exactly what it is) I have the good fortune to be accompanied by a couple of great friends. Bubbles(Auri), Tyger(Danielle) Steve and I are heading north. I want to go visit Montreal but my darling Bubbles HAS to see Niagara Falls, she says to me. So, that's the plan. The Falls first and then off to Montreal. I haven't been this excited since the last road trip I went on. (Incidentally, it was also with my Tyger and my Bubbles.) I can't wait to hit the road!

The Ties That Bind.

Know you what a true friend is? Seriously? Do you know? Can you tell, out of the either handful of exclusive friends or the scores of acquaintances you have which ones are your true friends? I can. Here's how...

Have a fight with one of your friends. Call each other names. Say the meanest things you can think of. Send awful text messages and hurtful words. Threaten to never speak to them again and then...call them the next day and ask them how they're doing. Talk to that friend for hours and mention how much they are missed. Let him/her know just how much you are looking forward to seeing their face and holding them close.

If that friend doesn't even notice that little hiccup of friendly banter; that speed bump in the cordial road friends usually take, then you have a true friend in that person. Friendship isn't defined in how well you get along with someone you're compatible with but how well you get along with someone that you constantly clash ideals, motives, emotions, etc., with on a daily or weekly basis.

Sometimes they'll drive you nuts but you wouldn't have it any other way. I know I wouldn't. God has seen fit to bless me with a few of these friends. Moreover, I just now realized, once again, just how lucky I am for that.

Having My Cake...

There's a thought that's been bouncing around in my head these past couple of days. It's something that was said to me. Can't shake it. It was merely this: "I wish I could be what you want; I wish I could be what you need me to be."


It was a sweet sentiment. Sincere, as well. I couldn't help but to believe it. However, I've heard it too often in my life for me to just...settle for it. I know not how often I've heard countless women tell me that I'm a great catch but they don't see me that way or I'm not the one for them or that I'm that man they want to be with in a few years but "not just now." (That one is my all time personal favorite, for some reason.) It's gotten to the point where it doesn't even phase me. Truth be told, every time I talk to a woman, be her a friend or otherwise, I already anticipate the likely conversation. It's either full of unnecessary reaffirmations or rife with cautionary truths filled with carefully worded phrases meant to spare my feelings.

...feelings...

I'm not quite sure mine are all there anymore.

You hear these things long enough and you get jaded. That's where I am at the moment. I'm trying to prioritize my life and to do that, I know I have to actually know what I want. Do I really want to settle down? Do I want to start a family? Or do I want to continue viewing women as disposable treasures? Do I want to keep having wave upon wave of meaningless sex with countless women ranging from the insecure to the sex-crazed? Is it possible to have both?

That's what I got into with Dolly. She's the one that said that quote at the beginning of the blog. If you're a loyal follower of this blog, you'll remember that she and I had a very tumultuous episode a little under a year ago. Anyway, she said what she said and then told me that if she gave me what I wanted, that it would be fake. That threw me. I mean, one person's "fake" is another person's "fantasy." I don't need a clear-cut definition of what is real and what isn't. If and when I fall in love again, I'd like to think that I'd recognize the situation for what it is. For some reason though, I'm not conveying that confidently enough. However, I can see why that's difficult with me. I love unconditionally. Be you a friend or family, if the word escapes my lips, it originated from my heart and my heart has been broken and pieced back together so many times that it can only love in that way. I guess that, even though I'm saying I want a fling, maybe Dolly (and perhaps damn near every other woman on the planet) doesn't think I can keep it that way. That sucks too because the ones that do think I'm all about a fling are the ones that want a real relationship with a guy. My wires must be crossed or something.

I haven't ruled out walking down the aisle and having little munchkins running around the house and driving me crazy. I really do want that. Right now though, I'm lonely and it would be nice to get some TLC from someone who you love already as a friend and more. Someone whom you have been intimate with and knows how to push all the right buttons.

There's nothing wrong with that, is there?

Shining Armor

I keep falling off my horse. Keep wanting to write but don't. I do so even when I have all the F'N time in the world to do so. God! Maybe procrastination is a freakin' disease! Wishful thinking, I know. Were it a disease or disorder of some kind, there would already be a pill with it's own commercial that would air during a broadcast of CSI or during Letterman or something. No. Procrastination is just me being lazy. So much for writing once a week. I mean, it's not like I don't have anything to write about. I've been caught up in a frenzy of emotions. None of them are my own. As usual, I've fallen victim to the prowess of my attributes. Namely, I've been problem solving. Not the mathematics kind (although there was a shitload of money involved) but the emotional and, dare I say, spiritual kind. Hell! I'm still trying to solve some of them. Some are my own. Most are not. Some aren't even problems at all (in my eyes, that is) while others are just a little too ridiculous to mention but I'll mention them anyway so as not to hide anything.

1. My Tyger, who now lives a few states away, is a bit upset that I do not call her.


2. Daisy is in love but with someone that clearly wasn't ready for her and, truth be told, she isn't completely ready for it either.


3. In saving Dolly's ass with a ridiculous money loan, I left my ass unprotected.


4. I need a fucking vacation!


5. I need to get laid often on this fucking vacation! (Seriously! I think I'm going to kill someone if I don't!)


6. My job is a dead end job but there isn't anything better out there so I have to suck it up.


7. I have yet to complete any paperwork that would entitle me to my GI Bill benefits.


8. Bills, bills, bills.


9. I have a bar tab again.


10. I still haven't found my old man.

Those are just some to name a few. Sometimes I forget about a problem until I come across it again. Sometimes, people come find me for help. I'm a sucker for that one. I love playing the Knight in Shining Armor far too much to stop helping others and putting their problems before mine. I mean, you're taught that growing up. Be generous. Be helpful. Moreover, I'm Catholic. That whole "Do unto others..." thing gets drilled into your psyche if you're paying attention.

Truth is, I have to start being selfish, if only a little, so I can help me help myself. However, I don't know if I can and deep down, I really don't want to. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: I live to serve.

The Edge of the Storm.

If memory serves me correctly, (and it rarely does) this is the first time I've written a blog from a Starbucks over a Cinnamon Dolce latte and an Iced Lemon Loaf. I feel so fucking trendy! Actually, I needed coffee and the Internet went down so it's not as though this was planned but I thought it merited mentioning. Truth is, while I'm an avid Dunkin Donuts enthusiast, this combo of java and baked goods is one of my favorite muses. It helps get those creative juices flowing. And they are.

Right now, I've got a lot of good ideas for some storylines not to mention my enthusiasm for the next coming weeks. I'll also be able to do more workouts and hikes when the weather gets warmer. I am genuinely optimistic right now and while I would love to blame it completely on the latte and the lemon loaf, I know that the reason for my brighter outlook on life is due to the coming storm.

As I write, it is beginning to come down. Weather reports say this is going to be one hell of a deluge. It's going to rain nonstop for about two days. (Big ol' shit-eating, Kool-Aid grin on my face!) I don't know why but I love this weather. It always reminds me of...well, boot camp. We did everything in the rain on Parris Island. Running, hand to hand combat, obstacle courses, rifle range, etc. You name it, it probably was raining when we did it. As masochistic as that sounds, it reminds me of the rebirth, for lack of a better word, within myself. When I became a Marine I became a different man. The experience changed me in profound ways. Some for better, some not, sure but the change, like the slogan says, is forever.

Now, here, at the edge of the storm, I'm not reminded of my military training and lifestyle but of the potential for change. If you are reading this and know me well, and have ever wondered why I love the rain so much, this is why:
The rain reminds me of the potential within me for change. It washes away all of the bad and cleanses me down to my soul.

This is why I feel so good. Why I feel inspired to write my novel as well as my first screenplay; this is why I'm confident that I will be able to transform my body into a healthier, fit version than what I'm walking around with now. Hell! This is what's inspiring me to drink another latte! LOL! Most of all, the rain is the manifestation of my hope that the right woman is out there for me right now and she too is looking for me.

Here comes the storm. Here comes the rain and here I sit, staring out this window, with a big smile on my face.

Misplaced.

I seem to have misplaced my father. I can't find him anywhere. Truth is, I don't know where I left him. My fault really. I don't call the old man enough times. Sure, I can be like the rest of my siblings and bitch, moan, whine and complain that he never calls. That he never passes by to visit or doesn't inquire about his family. Like them, I can be bitter that he now pays more attention to his current family (that being his woman and her two almost grown kids) more than he pays attention to his own flesh and blood. I can be angry that he doesn't help out financially even when he promised he would. I could be upset that he has slowly turned into a ghost these past couple of years and I know nothing about him; he has almost become a stranger. I could be mad...but I'm not.

I do have a father. That's more than most people can say in this God-forsaken world. My dad did raise me. He was a great father. Still is, too. His absence changes nothing. Sure, I misplaced him. It isn't the first time. He always goes hermit on me from time to time. Hell! That's probably why I do it so much. Aside, from my nuclear family, I usually keep blinders on and am oblivious to anything outside of that circle. Moreover, my father and I are also very similar in regards to the way we feel about our family. We don't have to say it everyday but we love everyone. It's just that we sometimes have a tough time showing it.

My Old Man is just like that, I suppose. I guess I am a chip of the old block. I'm becoming more and more like him everyday. Still, I miss him. Maybe I should've told him that before he went underground. Perhaps I should redouble my efforts to find him before he actually goes underground and I never have a chance to tell him how important he is and has been to me. You tell yourself there's always time; you convince yourself that you'll tell a person you love them tomorrow but tomorrow is never guaranteed. To be honest, that's my biggest fear. That I won't have time to say the words that need to be said, even though they technically don't need to be said. If he goes, I'm scared I'll misplace him somewhere in my heart. (Sounds foolish, I know but it's the stuff of nightmares for me.)

I wonder where he's gone. I wonder if maybe he's ashamed of me sometimes because I haven't achieved what he had hoped I could achieve but I purge that idea from my head as quickly as I think it up. He's never been ashamed of me. It's kind of ironic that I should dwell on that now considering I used to pride myself on thinking that, since I had a father growing up, that I wouldn't need him anymore if he chose to leave. I now see the error and folly in that line of thinking. We never stop needing our dads. I have a proud father. A loving father. A misplaced father. Perhaps even a misinformed one, too. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks I'm ashamed of him. Maybe he just doesn't know the truth. He may have simply forgotten that he can do no wrong in his baby boy's eyes.