HunterDad on eBaums World http://www.ebaumsworld.com/HunterDad Latest media uploaded to eBaums World by HunterDad en-us Mon, 28 May 2012 03:11:30 -0400 Mon, 28 May 2012 03:11:30 -0400 81781545 Tue, 23 Aug 2011 17:37:57 -0400 [Blog] RIP - GibsonKing Added: 2011-08-23 17:37:57
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Jeremy Wayne King.

Really wish I had known how bad things really were brother.

Talk to a guy everyday for years, hundreds and hundreds of games on PSN, 8 hours of chat every workday at a crap website where we are all friends.

None of us had any idea you were in that bad of a place and would end it.

Too late to say now, but you were liked a ton, and will be missed dearly.


on behalf of didhedied and anyone else who knew him....


"Tonight the drinks will flow in your memory, for sure."


HD
]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81781545/ RIP - GibsonKing .<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />Jeremy Wayne King.<br /><br />Really wish I had known how bad things really were brother.<br /><br />Talk to a guy everyday for years, hundreds and hundreds of games on PSN, 8 hours of chat every workday at a crap website where we are all friends. <br /><br />None of us had any idea you were in that bad of a place and would end it.<br /><br />Too late to say now, but you were liked a ton, and will be missed dearly.<br /><br /><br /> on behalf of didhedied and anyone else who knew him....<br /><br /><br />"Tonight the drinks will flow in your memory, for sure."<br /><br /><br />HD<br /> 81437100 Wed, 13 Apr 2011 12:56:18 -0400 [Blog] Mommy, I am sorry! Added: 2011-04-13 12:56:18


I didn't pick up my toys last night...

Mommy, I am sorry.  Had I known it would make you so upset, I would have picked them up.

I argued with you, in the way that only a 5 year old can argue.  I am sorry mommy, I promise not to argue with you again.  Please stop this, the water is cold....

I hear my baby sibling crying mommy, screaming, and I hate it when she screams.  It hurts my ears.  The water is cold mommy.

My two year old brother likes the water mommy, he always likes the water, but he doesn't know anything is wrong.  I do though mommy, and I am sorry for whatever I did.

Was it the cookies?  Because i got all those crumbs on your bed and you yelled at me?  I am sorry mommy, I promise to clean it up better next time.  I am sorry mommy, please get us out of here.

I can't open my door mommy, and the water is getting deeper... how long will we be here mommy? I don't like this... the water is very very cold mommy.

Why did you drive us in the water mommy?

I am supposed to start school next yeaR, I am so happy to go to school, why are we in the water mommy?


I am sorry... for making you so upset.  I do not understand why you are mad and need help to do better.  Please mommy, take us home and tell us how to do better.

Please....


I don't like this mommy, I can't hear the baby anymore mommy... and little brother is crying.  Why are we here?














WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?????








]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81437100/ Mommy, I am sorry! <br /><br />I didn't pick up my toys last night... <br /><br />Mommy, I am sorry.  Had I known it would make you so upset, I would have picked them up.<br /><br />I argued with you, in the way that only a 5 year old can argue.  I am sorry mommy, I promise not to argue with you again.  Please stop this, the water is cold....<br /><br />I hear my baby sibling crying mommy, screaming, and I hate it when she screams.  It hurts my ears.  The water is cold mommy.<br /><br />My two year old brother likes the water mommy, he always likes the water, but he doesn't know anything is wrong.  I do though mommy, and I am sorry for whatever I did.<br /><br />Was it the cookies?  Because i got all those crumbs on your bed and you yelled at me?  I am sorry mommy, I promise to clean it up better next time.  I am sorry mommy, please get us out of here.<br /><br />I can't open my door mommy, and the water is getting deeper... how long will we be here mommy? I don't like this... the water is very very cold mommy.<br /><br />Why did you drive us in the water mommy?<br /><br />I am supposed to start school next yeaR, I am so happy to go to school, why are we in the water mommy?<br /><br /><br />I am sorry... for making you so upset.  I do not understand why you are mad and need help to do better.  Please mommy, take us home and tell us how to do better.<br /><br />Please....<br /><br /><br />I don't like this mommy, I can't hear the baby anymore mommy... and little brother is crying.  Why are we here?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?????<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><embed wmode="opaque" src="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1" flashvars="videoId=902909967001&amp;linkBaseURL=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.cbs6albany.com%2Fnews%2Fschuler-1284324-river-woman.html&amp;playerID=23278247001&amp;playerKey=AQ~~,AAAAADrYaLU~,Z2AIRY19nJN3sFfah9ZRh4eVH5w8fqAt&amp;domain=embed&amp;dynamicStreaming=true" allowfullscreen="true" height="240" width="320" allowscriptaccess="never" allownetworking="internal" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" /><br /><br /> 81393345 Wed, 23 Mar 2011 15:40:19 -0400 [Blog] I may have a problem... Added: 2011-03-23 15:40:19


I am in my 30's and over the years have heard a lot about ways to deal with certain types of issues that seem to prevail amongst us americans and non-americans alike.

I think I may have a problem, and would like some advice.

Let me paint a picture for you.

10pm on a Wednesday night.  I finish a beer upstairs in our bedroom, watching House on DVR.

My beer is empty.  I walk down the hall, down the stairs, around to the far end of the kitchen, and retrieve another beer.  I take it all the way back upstairs, and before I know it, I am empty again.

This goes on sometimes until midnight, or possibly later, which sucks because I get up at 3am for work.

It is starting to impact my life.  I buy beer by the 30-pack, to lighten the cost, and to lighten the amount of trips to the store.  I like beer.  I drink it while playing video games online with pals, or barbecuing for friends.

I always take one with me upstairs around 8 to help with getting the kids bathed and into bed.

My wife tries her best to go to sleep while I stand at our master bedroom window, to have a toke, or a smoke, and drink my beer while watching TV or Netflix.  Our floor creaks, and she shuffles in bed as I pause the show, walk down the hall, head downstairs, across the lower floor to the fridge, and get another beer, returning to unpause whatever I am watching, just long enough to finish this beer, then down to get another.

I am starting to see a pattern here... and I may need help.

I understand there are places to go with this sort of thing.  People that can help.  People who have been in the same boat, and were willing to admit they have a problem.  Those people supposedly like to help others who have the same issues...

I am told that the first thing I need to do, is ADMIT that I have a problem.  I think I am ready to do this, with the help of the kind, loving, warm-hearted people of the EBW blog section.

It is still tough to think that I am one of the people that has fallen into this category of people that i used to make fun of.  I also really do not look forward to going out and seeking help for this issue.  It will require me doing work i do not want to do.  Going places I do not want to go, and listening to stories and spending money that I would rather not.

BUT... regardless, I think it is finally time to take the first step.

So here I go... live in front of all of you I am going to admit that I have a serious problem that needs attention right away, not only for my sanity, but also for the well-being of my wife, and family, and home, and most of all... my feet.

So here goes....
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*cough*
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crap this is harder than I thought.......
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I need a fucking refrigerator in my master bedroom!!!!!!!!!!!!!



Am I right?  How many fucking trips have I made to the goddamn fridge for beer, when the whole time I could have just had a cool little fridge in my room!?!?!?!?!


Now what is my next move???


I wish there was a list of steps to take to remedy this, like a 10-step program to buying a small fridge for your bedroom.

I guess I will start attending some craigslist meetings, and maybe get a "appliance purchasing counselor" to help guide me down the right path.

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Thank you guys for listening and being such good e-friends.  I really appreciate you guys helping me get this off my back, finally.  I have battled long and hard with this secret issue of mine, and now it is time to come clean.

HD
]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81393345/ I may have a problem... <br /><br />I am in my 30's and over the years have heard a lot about ways to deal with certain types of issues that seem to prevail amongst us americans and non-americans alike.<br /><br />I think I may have a problem, and would like some advice.<br /><br />Let me paint a picture for you.<br /><br />10pm on a Wednesday night.  I finish a beer upstairs in our bedroom, watching House on DVR.<br /><br />My beer is empty.  I walk down the hall, down the stairs, around to the far end of the kitchen, and retrieve another beer.  I take it all the way back upstairs, and before I know it, I am empty again.<br /><br />This goes on sometimes until midnight, or possibly later, which sucks because I get up at 3am for work.<br /><br />It is starting to impact my life.  I buy beer by the 30-pack, to lighten the cost, and to lighten the amount of trips to the store.  I like beer.  I drink it while playing video games online with pals, or barbecuing for friends. <br /><br />I always take one with me upstairs around 8 to help with getting the kids bathed and into bed.<br /><br />My wife tries her best to go to sleep while I stand at our master bedroom window, to have a toke, or a smoke, and drink my beer while watching TV or Netflix.  Our floor creaks, and she shuffles in bed as I pause the show, walk down the hall, head downstairs, across the lower floor to the fridge, and get another beer, returning to unpause whatever I am watching, just long enough to finish this beer, then down to get another.<br /><br />I am starting to see a pattern here... and I may need help.<br /><br />I understand there are places to go with this sort of thing.  People that can help.  People who have been in the same boat, and were willing to admit they have a problem.  Those people supposedly like to help others who have the same issues...<br /><br />I am told that the first thing I need to do, is ADMIT that I have a problem.  I think I am ready to do this, with the help of the kind, loving, warm-hearted people of the EBW blog section.<br /><br />It is still tough to think that I am one of the people that has fallen into this category of people that i used to make fun of.  I also really do not look forward to going out and seeking help for this issue.  It will require me doing work i do not want to do.  Going places I do not want to go, and listening to stories and spending money that I would rather not.<br /><br />BUT... regardless, I think it is finally time to take the first step.<br /><br />So here I go... live in front of all of you I am going to admit that I have a serious problem that needs attention right away, not only for my sanity, but also for the well-being of my wife, and family, and home, and most of all... my feet.<br /><br />So here goes....<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />*cough*<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />crap this is harder than I thought.......<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I need a fucking refrigerator in my master bedroom!!!!!!!!!!!!!</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Am I right?  How many fucking trips have I made to the goddamn fridge for beer, when the whole time I could have just had a cool little fridge in my room!?!?!?!?!<br /><br /><br />Now what is my next move??? <br /><br /><br />I wish there was a list of steps to take to remedy this, like a 10-step program to buying a small fridge for your bedroom.<br /><br />I guess I will start attending some craigslist meetings, and maybe get a "appliance purchasing counselor" to help guide me down the right path.<br /><br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />Thank you guys for listening and being such good e-friends.  I really appreciate you guys helping me get this off my back, finally.  I have battled long and hard with this secret issue of mine, and now it is time to come clean.<br /><br />HD<br /> 81363691 Wed, 09 Mar 2011 11:59:01 -0500 [Blog] Why I hate Boogie Added: 2011-03-09 11:59:01
 
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Boogie.  Yeah I hate her.  You will hate her too after reading this blog.

First off... Tall women? PLEASE.  Aren't we beyond caring what a woman's height is anymore?  So what, you are roughly 6 foot tall, hot, sweet figure, with blonde hair and a shaved twat.  Big whoop.

Second... Good opinions???  Come on, who cares if you have a smart brains and go on witty rants.  Big deal, one or two people don't give a shit.  None of us wants to hear well thought out storys and writings from a chick who is above showing her tits on the interwebnets.   I also HATE your ability to recognize sarcasm.  Get a life, Bitchtits McTitty.

Third... Great Wife?  Whatever, like that even matters these days.  Your husband gets to hang with the boys, play vidja games,  eat good food and have awesome conversation with his hot wife before getting some sexy fun time.  OVERATED in my opinion.

Lastly... These blogs have to stop.  We do not need anymore smart people with smart ass opinions and good ideas.  This is ebaumsworld!  We do not need you starting a trend of cool sexy chicks giving us insight into their awesomeness.  Please keep that at the other shit site you spend your time at.   I have known you for roughly 3 years or so, and christmas cards and wedding favors only prove that you are far too different from most users on this site and clearly do not belong.

Here is a 4 second video for boogie, with a replay in case you miss it.

Kindly take this advice, you "coolbeansbitch".













Thank you and good day!




]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81363691/ Why I hate Boogie   <br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />Boogie.  Yeah I hate her.  You will hate her too after reading this blog.<br /><br />First off... Tall women? PLEASE.  Aren't we beyond caring what a woman's height is anymore?  So what, you are roughly 6 foot tall, hot, sweet figure, with blonde hair and a shaved twat.  Big whoop.<br /><br />Second... Good opinions???  Come on, who cares if you have a smart brains and go on witty rants.  Big deal, one or two people don't give a shit.  None of us wants to hear well thought out storys and writings from a chick who is above showing her tits on the interwebnets.   I also HATE your ability to recognize sarcasm.  Get a life, Bitchtits McTitty.<br /><br />Third... Great Wife?  Whatever, like that even matters these days.  Your husband gets to hang with the boys, play vidja games,  eat good food and have awesome conversation with his hot wife before getting some sexy fun time.  OVERATED in my opinion.<br /><br />Lastly... These blogs have to stop.  We do not need anymore smart people with smart ass opinions and good ideas.  This is ebaumsworld!  We do not need you starting a trend of cool sexy chicks giving us insight into their awesomeness.  Please keep that at the other shit site you spend your time at.   I have known you for roughly 3 years or so, and christmas cards and wedding favors only prove that you are far too different from most users on this site and clearly do not belong.<br /><br />Here is a 4 second video for boogie, with a replay in case you miss it.<br /><br />Kindly take this advice, you "coolbeansbitch".<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><embed wmode="opaque" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sGz3uyCNZCM?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US&amp;rel=0" allowfullscreen="true" height="390" width="480" allowscriptaccess="never" allownetworking="internal" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you and good day!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> 81352310 Thu, 03 Mar 2011 09:45:23 -0500 [Blog] Do you THINK? Or do you KNOW? Added: 2011-03-03 09:45:23








Do you THINK you know?  or do you KNOW?   It's amazing how much different a situation becomes, when we KNOW something, as opposed to just THINKING something.  For instance, I have never been to Niagara Falls, but I have seen pictures and videos, and think it is a wondrous site to behold, but I have not seen it with my own eyes... so I can't KNOW anything about it... Here is a wonderful little story that illustrates how much different it is to KNOW, rather than THINK we know...      

 

A woman was waiting at an airport one night
With several long hours before her flight

She hunted for a book in the airport shop
Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop

She was engrossed in her book but happened to see
That the man beside her as bold as could be

Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag between
Which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene

She munched cookies and watched the clock
As this gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock

She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by
Thinking "If I wasn't so nice I'd blacken his eye"

With each cookie she took he took one too
And when only one was left she wondered what he'd do

With a smile on his face and a nervous laugh
He took the last cookie and broke it in half

He offered her half as he ate the other
She snatched it from him and thought "Oh brother

This guy has some nerve and he's also rude
Why he didn't even show any gratitude"

She had never known when she had been so galled
And sighed with relief when her flight was called

She gathered her belongings and headed for the gate
Refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate

She boarded the plane and sank in her seat
Then sought her book which was almost complete

As she reached in her baggage she gasped with surprise
There was her bag of cookies in front of her eyes

"If mine are here" she moaned with despair
"Then the others were his and he tried to share"

"Too late to apologize" she realized with grief
That she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief


I remember hearing Wayne Dyer read this story one time and I can't for the life of remember who it was credited to.  If anyone can tell me who to cite for this beautiful little gem, please let me know.

HD
]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81352310/ Do you THINK? Or do you KNOW? <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><u><strong>Do you THINK you know?  or do you KNOW?</strong></u>   <em>It's amazing how much different a situation becomes, when we KNOW something, as opposed to just THINKING something.  For instance, I have never been to Niagara Falls, but I have seen pictures and videos, and think it is a wondrous site to behold, but I have not seen it with my own eyes... so I can't KNOW anything about it...</em> <em>Here is a wonderful little story that illustrates how much different it is to KNOW, rather than THINK we know...</em>       <br /><p><span></span> </p> <p><span><strong><em>A woman was waiting at an airport one night<br />With several long hours before her flight <br /><br />She hunted for a book in the airport shop <br />Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop<br /><br />She was engrossed in her book but happened to see <br />That the man beside her as bold as could be<br /><br />Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag between <br />Which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene <br /><br />She munched cookies and watched the clock <br />As this gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock <br /><br />She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by <br />Thinking "If I wasn't so nice I'd blacken his eye" <br /><br />With each cookie she took he took one too <br />And when only one was left she wondered what he'd do <br /><br />With a smile on his face and a nervous laugh <br />He took the last cookie and broke it in half <br /><br />He offered her half as he ate the other <br />She snatched it from him and thought "Oh brother<br /><br />This guy has some nerve and he's also rude <br />Why he didn't even show any gratitude" <br /><br />She had never known when she had been so galled <br />And sighed with relief when her flight was called <br /><br />She gathered her belongings and headed for the gate <br />Refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate <br /><br />She boarded the plane and sank in her seat <br />Then sought her book which was almost complete<br /><br />As she reached in her baggage she gasped with surprise <br />There was her bag of cookies in front of her eyes <br /><br />"If mine are here" she moaned with despair <br />"Then the others were his and he tried to share" <br /><br />"Too late to apologize" she realized with grief <br />That she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief <br /><br /><br /></em></strong></span></p> <span><strong><em>I remember hearing Wayne Dyer read this story one time and I can't for the life of remember who it was credited to.  If anyone can tell me who to cite for this beautiful little gem, please let me know.</em></strong></span><br /><br />HD<br /> 81350748 Wed, 02 Mar 2011 08:03:36 -0500 [Blog] Flash Fiction Short Story Added: 2011-03-02 08:03:36
Here is my little entry for our challenge.  Can't wait for the next one!
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Her hair, dryer than previously, was now caked in blood.  Metal rings cutting her face as tears cascade down the chain.  Mail cluttering the floor, scattered in the struggle.
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Her worst nightmare, lived awake as he cuts her clothes off, fabric yields like melted butter. Knife gleaming in the moonlight as he floats in ecstasy.
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HD
]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81350748/ Flash Fiction Short Story Here is my little entry for our challenge.  Can't wait for the next one!<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />Her hair, dryer than previously, was now caked in blood.  Metal rings cutting her face as tears cascade down the chain.  Mail cluttering the floor, scattered in the struggle.<br />.<br />Her worst nightmare, lived awake as he cuts her clothes off, fabric yields like melted butter. Knife gleaming in the moonlight as he floats in ecstasy.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br /><br />HD<br /> 81347734 Mon, 28 Feb 2011 15:51:58 -0500 [Blog] Tattoo me a relationship Added: 2011-02-28 15:51:58


Just got a new tattoo and these words flooded me.  Had to have the chick for a minute so I could write some of this down.




Take my body, through this pain, and love me single
Just the same.

Dawn your needles, stab me sweet steel, show me the pressure
Make me real.

Tattoo me a relationship, draw me a fantasy, paint me a memory
deliver me ecstasy.

Passion you promise, yet pain you deliver, a feeling of emptiness
Cry me a river.

Expectations abound, with faith we dive, Unsure of the outcome
On possibilities we thrive.

Tattoo me a love, but where none can see, unless I let them
Help release me.

The ink we are stuck with, committed I am, if it ends up a disaster
Cover it I can.

The love we can't force, to stay by our side, if it leaves us a wreck
Time heals our pride.

Hold me up close, steadily she draws, the image I'm after
Covering my flaws.

Tattoo me a lifetime, love me till death, draw me some passion
Till my Final Breath.



Hunterdad
]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81347734/ Tattoo me a relationship <br /><br />Just got a new tattoo and these words flooded me.  Had to have the chick for a minute so I could write some of this down.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><em><strong>Take my body, through this pain, and love me single<br />Just the same.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>Dawn your needles, stab me sweet steel, show me the pressure<br />Make me real.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>Tattoo me a relationship, draw me a fantasy, paint me a memory <br />deliver me ecstasy.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>Passion you promise, yet pain you deliver, a feeling of emptiness<br />Cry me a river.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>Expectations abound, with faith we dive, Unsure of the outcome<br />On possibilities we thrive.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>Tattoo me a love, but where none can see, unless I let them<br />Help release me.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>The ink we are stuck with, committed I am, if it ends up a disaster<br />Cover it I can.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>The love we can't force, to stay by our side, if it leaves us a wreck<br />Time heals our pride.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>Hold me up close, steadily she draws, the image I'm after<br />Covering my flaws.</strong></em></p> <p><em><strong>Tattoo me a lifetime, love me till death, draw me some passion<br />Till my Final Breath.</strong></em></p><br /><br />Hunterdad<br /> 81337893 Wed, 23 Feb 2011 12:00:21 -0500 [Blog] The space between the bars Added: 2011-02-23 12:00:21


This was one of the first blogs I ever posted here at EBW.  I posted it nearing 3 years ago, I believe, but for some reason this thought process (or lack thereof) reared it's head again and made me think of this blog.  Thought I would share again, since many of you most likely didn't know me back then, didn't care to, or just didn't read it because I am a douche.

Either way, here it is again...




"It's the space between the bars, that holds the lion."

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Ever heard this saying before? 

It is a brilliant little insight into life as we know it...

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We have a tendancy to view life as a series of restrictions to what we want, complications to our ultimate plan, or problems to overcome.  Usually leaving us down, or atleast discouraged to the point that we may steer clear of future situations that we feel may lead down a path that may contain one of more of the forementioned properties.

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The way we look at things, and what we think about, DIRECTLY determines how things work out. 

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You may not believe this, and that is the toughest part of our transformation, but its true.  And with a little practice, you can see this take place everyday.

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Proof

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Ever think about someone, maybe a person you haven't seen in a long time, and the next thing you know, they call you?  Or contact you in some way, and you say "I was just thinking of you the other day!!!!"  This is a very regular occurance that proves this simple little philosophy.

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Putting our attention on what we want, instead of what we have (that we don't like), will bring us what we want.

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We all know that "lucky" person, who seems to have it all.  While we concentrate on the "bars" that hold us in the cage, they concentrate on the space between the bars, and they seem to always get what they want.  They seem to never WANT.

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"I never have enough money!" 

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"I always attract the wrong type of guy..."

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"These things always happen to me!"

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...and they keep happening?  Of course they do!

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Ever notice how when we are happy in a relationship (usually more at the beginning...) that is the time when it seems like EVERYONE wants to date us!  We are on Fire!  We are hot, and everyone knows it.  Why???

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One the flipside, we all know that "terminally single" guy.  The one who bleeds desperation.  The one that no woman wants any part of.  Not because they are a bad person, but women can seem to "smell" the desperation and they steer clear!  Why?????

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The first guy is always thinking about being happy.  About being in a good relationship, and about making his woman happy, and his woman making him happy.  The second guy is always concentrating on his loneliness, the fact that no woman wants him, and how he is not making anyone happy, and noone is making him happy.

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See the correlation here?  It is the old "Act as if..." prophecy.  The good ol' "See yourself hitting the homerun, see yourself winning the championship." mentality that also applies here.

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Its the space between the notes that make the music.

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You can't learn how to walk by watching people fall down all day.  Practicing falling down, and always thinking of falling down, won't bring us any closer to walking.. Thinking, dreaming, and practicing the STAYING UP part will sooner or later yeild the ability to walk.  Practice makes perfect, but we don't see Shaq trying to improve his free throws by playing golf all day.  No, he gets on the court, and keeps thinking and practicing what he wants to get good at.  OK, Maybe Shaq isn't the best example, but his free-throws have gotten a little better...

.

The point here is that all of our thoughts, and actions, determine the course of our lives.  Instead of constantly complaining about what sucks about our situation, try focusing on what is good about it, and what we would like to attract.

.

Instead of  "I am always broke."  Think about how much you want, and how you would serve others with it...

.

Instead of  "I always end up with assholes..."  Think about what is was about them that you DID like, and what other qualities you would like to see in addition to those...

.

Instead of  "This shit always happens to me!"  Try thinking about what a great opportunity this is to learn a lesson, and move on to a life that will include future opportunities for growth and so on...

.

Its not the bars of the cage that keep the lion, but the space being a little too small for freedom.  Increase that space, and the lion goes free, no matter how many bars there are...

.

It is the times, between the fights, that make us happy.  Increase those times.... concentrate on those times, as the lion ponders that space...

.

Namaste


]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81337893/ The space between the bars <br /><br />This was one of the first blogs I ever posted here at EBW.  I posted it nearing 3 years ago, I believe, but for some reason this thought process (or lack thereof) reared it's head again and made me think of this blog.  Thought I would share again, since many of you most likely didn't know me back then, didn't care to, or just didn't read it because I am a douche.<br /><br />Either way, here it is again...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><span><span>"It's the space between the bars, that holds the lion."</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Ever heard this saying before?  </span></span></p> <p><span><span>It is a brilliant little insight into life as we know it...</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>We have a tendancy to view life as a series of restrictions to what we want, complications to our ultimate plan, or problems to overcome.  Usually leaving us down, or atleast discouraged to the point that we may steer clear of future situations that we feel may lead down a path that may contain one of more of the forementioned properties.</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>The way we look at things, and what we think about, DIRECTLY determines how things work out. </span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>You may not believe this, and that is the toughest part of our transformation, but its true.  And with a little practice, you can see this take place everyday.</span></span></p> <p><span><span>.</span></span></p> <p><span><span>Proof</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Ever think about someone, maybe a person you haven't seen in a long time, and the next thing you know, they call you?  Or contact you in some way, and you say "I was just thinking of you the other day!!!!"  This is a very regular occurance that proves this simple little philosophy.</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Putting our attention on what we want, instead of what we have (that we don't like), will bring us what we want.</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>We all know that "lucky" person, who seems to have it all.  While we concentrate on the "bars" that hold us in the cage, they concentrate on the space between the bars, and they seem to always get what they want.  They seem to never WANT.</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>"I never have enough money!"  </span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>"I always attract the wrong type of guy..."</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>"These things always happen to me!"</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>...and they keep happening?  Of course they do!</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Ever notice how when we are happy in a relationship (usually more at the beginning...) that is the time when it seems like EVERYONE wants to date us!  We are on Fire!  We are hot, and everyone knows it.  Why???</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>One the flipside, we all know that "terminally single" guy.  The one who bleeds desperation.  The one that no woman wants any part of.  Not because they are a bad person, but women can seem to "smell" the desperation and they steer clear!  Why?????</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>The first guy is always thinking about being happy.  About being in a good relationship, and about making his woman happy, and his woman making him happy.  The second guy is always concentrating on his loneliness, the fact that no woman wants him, and how he is not making anyone happy, and noone is making him happy.</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>See the correlation here?  It is the old "Act as if..." prophecy.  The good ol' "See yourself hitting the homerun, see yourself winning the championship." mentality that also applies here.</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Its the space between the notes that make the music.</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>You can't learn how to walk by watching people fall down all day.  Practicing falling down, and always thinking of falling down, won't bring us any closer to walking.. Thinking, dreaming, and practicing the STAYING UP part will sooner or later yeild the ability to walk.  Practice makes perfect, but we don't see Shaq trying to improve his free throws by playing golf all day.  No, he gets on the court, and keeps thinking and practicing what he wants to get good at.  OK, Maybe Shaq isn't the best example, but his free-throws have gotten a little better...</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>The point here is that all of our thoughts, and actions, determine the course of our lives.  Instead of constantly complaining about what sucks about our situation, try focusing on what is good about it, and what we would like to attract.</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Instead of  "I am always broke."  Think about how much you want, and how you would serve others with it...</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Instead of  "I always end up with assholes..."  Think about what is was about them that you DID like, and what other qualities you would like to see in addition to those...</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Instead of  "This shit always happens to me!"  Try thinking about what a great opportunity this is to learn a lesson, and move on to a life that will include future opportunities for growth and so on...</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>Its not the bars of the cage that keep the lion, but the space being a little too small for freedom.  Increase that space, and the lion goes free, no matter how many bars there are...</span></span></p> <p><span>.</span></p> <p><span><span>It is the times, between the fights, that make us happy.  Increase those times.... concentrate on those times, as the lion ponders that space... </span></span></p> <p><span><span>.</span></span></p> <p><span><span>Namaste</span></span></p><br /> 81312222 Wed, 09 Feb 2011 09:18:26 -0500 [Blog] Fun Super Bowl drinking game Added: 2011-02-09 09:18:26


Just gonna share a fun drinking game we made up during the first quarter of the super bowl.

Someone was explaining to my mother-in-law about Rapethisberger, so the next few times I saw his name, I said RAPE out loud.  Well my brother-in-law suggested that we turn it into a drinking game, where whenever you see Ben, the first person to says rape, causes all the others to drink.  By the end of the first half, about 4 or 5 of us were well on our way to being way fucked up, so we changed the rules to needing to see his name in print, either a STAT on the screen, or his jersey.  I think I won, but I can't remember, but it was fun.

Maybe other versions of this game can come from this.  Maybe DOGFIGHT!  just thinking out loud.

Oh yeah, and I was so happy to see the Packers win.  Not that I give a shit about the packers, but every single fucking Steelers fan I have met (sans the two koreans who work at a sushi place I visit) turn out to be the most arrogant fucking assholes about being Steelers' fans that it just makes me wanna see them eat their smug shit.  All those "ATTENTION, YOU ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF A STEELERS FAN..." bullshit avatars just made me sick.  They are so damn rude and fucking crass that I was happy knowing that they all hung their pathetic shitty little heads sunday evening in shame.

Thank you god.
]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81312222/ Fun Super Bowl drinking game <br /><br />Just gonna share a fun drinking game we made up during the first quarter of the super bowl.<br /><br />Someone was explaining to my mother-in-law about Rapethisberger, so the next few times I saw his name, I said RAPE out loud.  Well my brother-in-law suggested that we turn it into a drinking game, where whenever you see Ben, the first person to says rape, causes all the others to drink.  By the end of the first half, about 4 or 5 of us were well on our way to being way fucked up, so we changed the rules to needing to see his name in print, either a STAT on the screen, or his jersey.  I think I won, but I can't remember, but it was fun.<br /><br />Maybe other versions of this game can come from this.  Maybe DOGFIGHT!  just thinking out loud.<br /><br />Oh yeah, and I was so happy to see the Packers win.  Not that I give a shit about the packers, but every single fucking Steelers fan I have met (sans the two koreans who work at a sushi place I visit) turn out to be the most arrogant fucking assholes about being Steelers' fans that it just makes me wanna see them eat their smug shit.  All those "ATTENTION, YOU ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF A STEELERS FAN..." bullshit avatars just made me sick.  They are so damn rude and fucking crass that I was happy knowing that they all hung their pathetic shitty little heads sunday evening in shame.<br /><br />Thank you god.<br /> 81267946 Fri, 14 Jan 2011 07:32:30 -0500 [Blog] Idiots Added: 2011-01-14 07:32:30

Idiots.  That's the first insult that comes to my mind.  Fucking idiots.

A stupid fucking idiot is a person who hits someone in the head twice with a shovel, and then assumes he's dead and leaves.     
.
Hehehehe......     Don't laugh... don't move, play dead.   I can hear them fumbling with the back door, that lock always gave us trouble...  It seems like an eternity, I need to examine my head right this minute... but I can't.   They are still on the property as I can hear her father in the garage yelling something about his truck... don't move a muscle, just wait it out...
.
Gotdamn, how can I be so lucky?  Finding she was still living here, by surprise, and getting to send her a nice package, was a great streak of luck and a good story, but not for now.  Hearing her in my house, and now being mistaken for dead by dim-witted country idiots who have never watched a horror movie in all their life, is pretty damn lucky also.   I always loved this place for how stupid everyone was and how much I could get away with, while the straw dangled from the mouths of the inbred sheriff and tooth-missing witnesses.
.
Once I heard his truck sling gravel as he left in a hurry, I pull myself to my knees.  I touch the back of my head, wet and sticky like the inside of an apple pie... can't worry about that too much now due to the smoke filling the room.  Those fuckers set my house on fire...
.
Sumamabish!!!   I run, as best as could with a pounding head and wobbly legs, upstairs to grab a few essentials before escaping off the lakeside balcony.  I have to be careful as they should be rounding the lake back at her house now, where I will surprise her and her father again.  I have to plan this out carefully, as I still want her to be around tomorrow when the mailman drops off her gift from me.  Tonight will be all about her father.  That bastard...   I head to the boathouse, knowing there was always a stash of snorkels and swim gear.  My plan is to swim across the lake after I have had a chance to assess the situation with my bleeding dome. 

In the boathouse I try to gather my thoughts while looking for some bandages.  The first aid kit is rotted to hell and contains no useful items to facilitate the help I need.  I settle for a T-shirt from with my travel bag and cut it to wrap around my head for the time being.  Maybe swimming would not be the best option.  I can walk.  No more than a mile and a half around the lake, I can do it.
.
Oh this will good.  The next few hours will hold more tragedy than she or anyone in her family has ever known, and the fun won't stop there, it will continue on through tomorrow after she gets a delivery that will change her forever, and not in a good way.  Tonight is not about lies, or sneaking off to do untold damages to innocent people.  Tonight is about someone I used to love, who took my mother away from me.  Tonight is about a foul revenge as she watches her father get tortured and killed right in front of her.  Tonight is about brutality, which they have shown no hesitance is delivering to me, twice now.
.
I start my trek around the lake and maybe 600 yards down from my boathouse I see a woman.  A scantily clad woman, in the woods... In the woods?    She is gorgeous, wearing a white sleeping gown.  She is smiling at me, as I stop dead in my tracks.  Did she see what happened?  Is she a witness?  Is she related or working on their side?  So many questions burn through my throbbing head.  It starts getting warmer and she takes off her top.  Holy shit, I am seeing titties in the woods.  Titties, gotta love titties... but... why?  What the hell is going on here?
.
A second woman steps out from behind a tree.  This one is fully naked, maybe 20 years old, slim blonde number you would see on the cover of one of those teen magazines, and yes, of course, more titties.  I stumble and almost fall, sweating, trying to figure out a way around this without losing my cool.  More women appear, and more titties.  I want to enjoy this but feet are killing me, and I have to sit.   I get dizzy and fall over on under a rotting Pine tree that seems to envelope me while letting more and more tittes into my field of vision.  I blink a few times... getting weaker.  It is near 3 or 4 in the morning, and I cannot explain this even as I try.... wait...
.
I reach up and feel my head as a surge of pain rocks through my body, and don't feel anything.  I don't even feel my head.  This can't be right.  I can't turn my head, and now my right arm is moving and I finally feel the back of my head with my right hand.    A mess.   I am laying in my living room again, touching a destroyed piece of skull and lots of soft jelly and bloody bits, that can only be my brain. 
.
My feet are the first to start burning as the floorboards give way to massive heat that the fire in the garage has gifted them.   The entire room is ablaze as I feel my legs burning to a crisp, and without the ability to move at all, I am screwed.  I can smell the flesh and what seems like even the bones start to burn as try and try to scream but can't.  I can't move anything but my right arm, with keeps falling upon more burning floor.
.
I can't believe it's going to end like this.  I never got my... burning oh jesus... oh holy hell I think I might deserve this in some sick way.
.
As the pain starts to fade to blackness, only one thought enters my mind... and I die with a smile... thinking...
.
Tomorrow she gets a delivery.... tomorrow she will see what I had put together for her...    See you soon sweety... and we can continue this elsewhere...
.
.

 ]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81267946/ Idiots <br /><span> Idiots.  That's the first insult that comes to my mind.  Fucking idiots. <br /><br /> A stupid fucking idiot<span> is a person who </span>hits someone in the head twice with a shovel, and then assumes he's dead and leaves.  <span> </span> <span></span>  <span><br />.<br />Hehehehe......   </span> <span></span>  <span></span>Don't laugh... don't move, play dead.  <span> I can hear them fumbling with the back door, that lock always gave us trouble...  It seems like an eternity, I need to examine my head right this minute... but I can't.</span> <span></span>  <span>T</span>hey are still on the property as I can hear her father in the garage yelling something about his truck... don't move a muscle, just wait it out...<br />.<br />Gotdamn, how can I be so lucky?  Finding she was still living here, by surprise, and getting to send her a nice package, was a great streak of luck and a good story, but not for now.  Hearing her in my house, and now being mistaken for dead by dim-witted country idiots who have never watched a horror movie in all their life, is pretty damn lucky also.   I always loved this place for how stupid everyone was and how much I could get away with, while the straw dangled from the mouths of the inbred sheriff and tooth-missing witnesses.</span><br />.<br /><span>Once I heard his truck sling gravel as he left in a hurry, I pull myself to my knees.  I touch the back of my head, wet and sticky like the inside of an apple pie... can't worry about that too much now due to the smoke filling the room.  Those fuckers set my house on fire...<br />.<br />Sumamabish!!!</span> <span></span>  <span>I run, as best as could with a pounding head and wobbly legs, upstairs to grab a few essentials before escaping off the lakeside balcony.  I have to be careful as they should be rounding the lake back at her house now, where I will surprise her and her father again.  I have to plan this out carefully, as I still want her to be around tomorrow when the mailman drops off her gift from me.  Tonight will be all about her father.  That bastard...</span> <span></span>  <span>I head to the boathouse, knowing there was always a stash of snorkels and swim gear.  My plan is to swim across the lake after I have had a chance to assess the situation with my bleeding dome.  <br /><br /></span><span>In the boathouse I try to gather my thoughts while looking for some bandages.  The first aid kit is rotted to hell and contains no useful items to facilitate the help I need.  I settle for a T-shirt from with my travel bag and cut it to wrap around my head for the time being.  </span><span>Maybe swimming would not be the best option.  I can walk.  No more than a mile and a half around the lake, I can do it.</span><br />.<br /><span>Oh this will good.  The next few hours will hold more tragedy than she or anyone in her family has ever known, and the fun won't stop there, it will continue on through tomorrow after she gets a delivery that will change her forever, and not in a good way.  Tonight is not about lies, or sneaking off to do untold damages to innocent people.  Tonight is about someone I used to love, who took my mother away from me.  Tonight is about a foul revenge as she watches her father get tortured and killed right in front of her.  Tonight is about brutality, which they have shown no hesitance is delivering to me, twice now.</span><br />.<br /><span>I start my trek around the lake and maybe 600 yards down from my boathouse I see a woman.  A scantily clad woman, in the woods... In the woods?  </span> <span></span>  <span>She is gorgeous, wearing a white sleeping gown.  She is smiling at me, as I stop dead in my tracks.  Did she see what happened?  Is she a witness?  Is she related or working on their side?  So many questions burn through my throbbing head.  It starts getting warmer and she takes off her top.  Holy shit, I am seeing titties in the woods.  Titties, gotta love titties... but... why?  What the hell is going on here?<br />.<br /></span><span>A second woman steps out from behind a tree.  This one is fully naked, maybe 20 years old, slim blonde number you would see on the cover of one of those teen magazines, and yes, of course, more titties.  I stumble and almost fall, sweating, trying to figure out a way around this without losing my cool.  More women appear, and more titties.  I want to enjoy this but feet are killing me, and I have to sit.</span> <span></span>  <span>I get dizzy and fall over on under a rotting Pine tree that seems to envelope me while letting more and more tittes into my field of vision.  I blink a few times... getting weaker.  It is near 3 or 4 in the morning, and I cannot explain this even as I try.... wait...<br />.<br />I reach up and feel my head as a surge of pain rocks through my body, and don't feel anything.  I don't even feel my head.  This can't be right.  I can't turn my head, and now my right arm is moving and I finally feel the back of my head with my right hand.  </span> <span></span>  <span>A mess.</span> <span></span>  <span>I am laying in my living room again, touching a destroyed piece of skull and lots of soft jelly and bloody bits, that can only be my brain.  <br />.<br />My feet are the first to start burning as the floorboards give way to massive heat that the fire in the garage has gifted them. </span> <span></span>  <span>The entire room is ablaze as I feel my legs burning to a crisp, and without the ability to move at all, I am screwed.  I can smell the flesh and what seems like even the bones start to burn as try and try to scream but can't.  I can't move anything but my right arm, with keeps falling upon more burning floor.<br />.<br /></span><span>I can't believe it's going to end like this.  I never got my... burning oh jesus... oh holy hell I think I might deserve this in some sick way.<br />.<br /></span><span>As the pain starts to fade to blackness, only one thought enters my mind... and I die with a smile... thinking...</span><br />.<br /><span>Tomorrow she gets a delivery.... tomorrow she will see what I had put together for her...  </span> <span></span>  <span>See you soon sweety... and we can continue this elsewhere...<br />.<br />.<br /><br /></span> 81264638 Wed, 12 Jan 2011 18:01:33 -0500 [Blog] Late night talks with my boy Added: 2011-01-12 18:01:33


This blog is a loosely written story based on a song I wrote called "Talking to my boy"



**************************************************************************************************

"I think it's going to be alright, your mom knows what's best for you."  I tell my son as he settles in for the night.


I know these words are true, but he does not.  He is only 4 and a half and can't quite grasp the fact that everything we ever did was for his benefit.

 Being 4 is all about toys and fun and obtaining things and finding the limits of any objects cohesiveness.  Try to break it, try to take it, and if all else fails, at least keep other kids from taking it from you


He worries about his mother sometimes.  I worry for him.  I know his mother is fine, but a 4 year old should not have to think of such things as his parents emotional status.


"Things will change and get a whole bunch better!" I say with a wide grin.  This seems to make him smile.  "Good night son, I love you." I whisper as he reaches over and kisses a picture he has on his nightstand.  


The inscription on the picture is gibberish to him, but he knows it means something.


"I love you dad, Good night."  He replies.


**************************************************************************************************

I have these talks with my son every night, whether he listens or not, whether he is in the mood or not, and we will always have our nightly talks if I have anything to say about it.


When he turned 5 and started kindergarten, he had a whole new bag of things to talk about.  Classes, lessons, numbers, homework, and what he had for lunch.  It is all I can do not to snatch him up ruin his bedtime routine.


I love these talks.  He tells me about his school day, and what he played with.  Sometimes he tells me about what he learned but most of the time during his 4th year, it was about friends and toys.  Bless his heart.  Ending each night with an "I love you Dad, Good night." and he always leans over and kisses his favorite picture, before closing his eyes.


**************************************************************************************************


Today was a tough day.  All he can talk about is how he has to leave his friends, his school, and his house.  He loves this house.  This is the only house he has ever known.  He learned to walk here, talk here, and ride his power wheels quad here.  


This move is going to be tough on him.  He asks if he can take his Lightning McQueen bed and his favorite picture...


"Of course you can take them with you." I reassure him  "...and don't worry, moving is not such a horrible thing once you get there, I promise, I had done it tons of times as a kid, and a few times with mommy.  You will meet new friends, have new places to play, and will get to decorate your room any way you like!!!  And I will be there and we get through it together, I promise!"


It took more than a few talks to get the feeling of dread to leave him regarding this move.  


If he only understood why the move had to happen, but that, is far to complicated for him also.  


Truth be told it's his mommy that needs this move.  She needs a change of scenery, and a change of routine.  She needs to leave some painful memories behind, and make a new life for her family, away from here.  


He will understand that someday.


"I love you dad, Good night."


"I love you too son...  with all my heart."


**************************************************************************************************


Tonights talk started with a weird question...


"Daddy what does it mean to rip?"  He asked as he changed into his Mater jammies and started brushing his teeth.


"It means to tear son... like a piece of paper.  You can rip a piece of paper." I tried to explain as he rinsed his mouth out.


A puzzled look came over his face as crawled in bed.  "Can you rip a person?  Or a friend?" he inquired.


"Uh... no you can't buddy... I mean..." Jeez, where do I go with this... then it dawned on me... "Do you mean R.I.P.?


"Yes, like what you see on the concretes at the grave place." he responded...


"It means Rest In Peace.  It is basically a prayer for those who have... passed on, or..."

"...died?" he finished for me.


"Yes,   Exactly.  Why do you ask?" I shot back at him...


"You guys taught me to pray at night, is it like the same thing?" he continued...


"In a way yes, it is you asking for the best things for those you love.  But praying means you can ask for the best things for those who are still here also.  Did you ask for good things to happen to everyone you know and love tonight?"  I quized...


"Of course silly daddy, I always do.  I love you daddy, good night."  he said as he leaned over and kissed his picture...


**************************************************************************************************


I get it now... he has learned to read... God this kid is amazing and I love him so much.  Teaching him to pray at night was one of the best things we ever did.


His mom walks in the room and tucks the blanket under his chin before stopping to stare at the picture on his nightstand.  Hopefully she can escape the horrible memories here and build some new ones elsewhere.  Regardless of what happens, I will always be there for my boy, my life, my son, my family.  


A tear wells up in her eye as she picks up the picture of her son, on his 4th birthday, being held by his dad, her husband.


She brushes her hand over the inscription...


***********************************
                    R.I.P.                       **
 I love you daddy, good night  
***********************************


]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81264638/ Late night talks with my boy <br /><br />This blog is a loosely written story based on a song I wrote called "Talking to my boy"<br /><br /><br /><br />**************************************************************************************************<br /><br />"I think it's going to be alright, your mom knows what's best for you."  I tell my son as he settles in for the night.<br /><br /><br />I know these words are true, but he does not.  He is only 4 and a half and can't quite grasp the fact that everything we ever did was for his benefit. <br /><br /> Being 4 is all about toys and fun and obtaining things and finding the limits of any objects cohesiveness.  Try to break it, try to take it, and if all else fails, at least keep other kids from taking it from you<br /><br /><br />He worries about his mother sometimes.  I worry for him.  I know his mother is fine, but a 4 year old should not have to think of such things as his parents emotional status.<br /><br /><br />"Things will change and get a whole bunch better!" I say with a wide grin.  This seems to make him smile.  "Good night son, I love you." I whisper as he reaches over and kisses a picture he has on his nightstand.  <br /><br /><br />The inscription on the picture is gibberish to him, but he knows it means something.<br /><br /><br />"I love you dad, Good night."  He replies.<br /><br /><br />**************************************************************************************************<br /><br />I have these talks with my son every night, whether he listens or not, whether he is in the mood or not, and we will always have our nightly talks if I have anything to say about it.<br /><br /><br />When he turned 5 and started kindergarten, he had a whole new bag of things to talk about.  Classes, lessons, numbers, homework, and what he had for lunch.  It is all I can do not to snatch him up ruin his bedtime routine.<br /><br /><br />I love these talks.  He tells me about his school day, and what he played with.  Sometimes he tells me about what he learned but most of the time during his 4th year, it was about friends and toys.  Bless his heart.  Ending each night with an "I love you Dad, Good night." and he always leans over and kisses his favorite picture, before closing his eyes.<br /><br /><br />**************************************************************************************************<br /><br /><br />Today was a tough day.  All he can talk about is how he has to leave his friends, his school, and his house.  He loves this house.  This is the only house he has ever known.  He learned to walk here, talk here, and ride his power wheels quad here.  <br /><br /><br />This move is going to be tough on him.  He asks if he can take his Lightning McQueen bed and his favorite picture...<br /><br /><br />"Of course you can take them with you." I reassure him  "...and don't worry, moving is not such a horrible thing once you get there, I promise, I had done it tons of times as a kid, and a few times with mommy.  You will meet new friends, have new places to play, and will get to decorate your room any way you like!!!  And I will be there and we get through it together, I promise!"<br /><br /><br />It took more than a few talks to get the feeling of dread to leave him regarding this move.  <br /><br /><br />If he only understood why the move had to happen, but that, is far to complicated for him also.  <br /><br /><br />Truth be told it's his mommy that needs this move.  She needs a change of scenery, and a change of routine.  She needs to leave some painful memories behind, and make a new life for her family, away from here.  <br /><br /><br />He will understand that someday.<br /><br /><br />"I love you dad, Good night."<br /><br /><br />"I love you too son...  with all my heart."<br /><br /><br />**************************************************************************************************<br /><br /><br />Tonights talk started with a weird question...<br /><br /><br />"Daddy what does it mean to rip?"  He asked as he changed into his Mater jammies and started brushing his teeth.<br /><br /><br />"It means to tear son... like a piece of paper.  You can rip a piece of paper." I tried to explain as he rinsed his mouth out.<br /><br /><br />A puzzled look came over his face as crawled in bed.  "Can you rip a person?  Or a friend?" he inquired.<br /><br /><br />"Uh... no you can't buddy... I mean..." Jeez, where do I go with this... then it dawned on me... "Do you mean R.I.P.?<br /><br /><br />"Yes, like what you see on the concretes at the grave place." he responded...<br /><br /><br />"It means Rest In Peace.  It is basically a prayer for those who have... passed on, or..."<br /><br />"...died?" he finished for me.<br /><br /><br />"Yes,   Exactly.  Why do you ask?" I shot back at him...<br /><br /><br />"You guys taught me to pray at night, is it like the same thing?" he continued...<br /><br /><br />"In a way yes, it is you asking for the best things for those you love.  But praying means you can ask for the best things for those who are still here also.  Did you ask for good things to happen to everyone you know and love tonight?"  I quized...<br /><br /><br />"Of course silly daddy, I always do.  I love you daddy, good night."  he said as he leaned over and kissed his picture...<br /><br /><br />**************************************************************************************************<br /><br /><br />I get it now... he has learned to read... God this kid is amazing and I love him so much.  Teaching him to pray at night was one of the best things we ever did.<br /><br /><br />His mom walks in the room and tucks the blanket under his chin before stopping to stare at the picture on his nightstand.  Hopefully she can escape the horrible memories here and build some new ones elsewhere.  Regardless of what happens, I will always be there for my boy, my life, my son, my family.  <br /><br /><br />A tear wells up in her eye as she picks up the picture of her son, on his 4th birthday, being held by his dad, her husband.<br /><br /><br />She brushes her hand over the inscription...<br /><br /><br />***********************************<br />                     R.I.P.                       ** <br /> I love you daddy, good night  <br />***********************************<br /><br /><br /> 81264376 Wed, 12 Jan 2011 15:41:49 -0500 [Blog] The Intruder Added: 2011-01-12 15:41:49

In response to:

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/user/blog/HunterDad/view=81264029

and then:

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/user/blog/rusty_cupcake/view=81264110









"Well well well..."  The first words out of the mouth of that bitch who killed my mother over 20 years ago.  I could not believe this was happening, here, and now, in the house I grew up in.  Sometimes things come full circle, and need an end.  Full closure to an ugly, lie-filled past that haunts us all.

I raise my gun and bring it down hard on the back her skull, laying her out flat and motionless.  All the pent up anger and rage over the last 20 years has built up inside of me silently, stalking my thoughts and dreams, night after night, year after year.  I now, will get my revenge.

Saying I had a fucked up childhood is an understatement.  I had a drunk for a mother (thanks to me), and a spineless asshole for a father.  Neither of which deserved the truly horrific way their son turned out.  Their only child, unbeknown to them was a pathological liar, with a schizo-affective disorder to boot.  Getting them hurt was never my plan, and it broke my heart to know that I was the cause of their suffering.  But that didn't happen until far later.

I had wild nights as a kid where I would run off and get into trouble almost every night.  My parents thought I was always with my girlfriend at those times when I was causing chaos, and in the process would come home all beat up.  They would ask what happened and I always had a quick story about protecting the honor of my love, or standing for less-fortunate kids.  I was such a good liar that they never even came close to not believing me.

I could not lie to HER though.  I never even tried.  She had weird power over me that would force the truth from me.  So instead of telling her the truth, I would just stay silent... never telling her what happened or what I told my parents.  One day she came over and walked into an argument my mom and I were having after I had gotten back from burning down farmer Jerry's barn.  I was pretty banged up and mom thought that for sure Morgan was at the heart of it.   A lot of my lies were centered around her because of the lies I had told my parents about her and her family.  They always seemed to be able to provide a rich backstory for whatever coverup I was currently weaving.  But I digress...

Morgan walks in and sees us arguing, right as I am storming out... She gives chase and asks me what happened.  I played the silent game but was having trouble hiding my emotions.  Half anger and half absolute elation at the adrenaline rush I was still feeling from the hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage I had caused an innocent family earlier today.

Morgan saw that mom was drinking wine during our argument (thanks to me) and assumed that she had hit me and did the damage she could visibly see.  I could tell that this really tore her up inside.  Which excited me even more, but since i could not lie to her, I stayed silent.

A small part of me loved the fact that even me telling my parents that her name was "Morgan" was a lie, and they had no clue.  Man I was good!

This went on for two more years, with my mother being my scapegoat to "Morgan" and this girl whose name they didn't even know, being the scapegoat for my wrongdoings.

Then the day of bar beating occurred...  I got caught cutting the brake lines of a few vehicles parked out at "The Shed", a local dive bar for most of the towns alcoholics.  Maybe my mother would have been driven to visit this place daily if I had kept driving her to drink, but sadly that would never happen.

3 Big country boys proceeded to beat me senseless, and I only escaped with my life thanks to my trusty switchblade, that my love had given me for my birthday just 4 months earlier.  Bloody and beaten, I barely made it to her window.  I could not go home because i did not have the energy or mental capacity to make up a story for my mom, and I did not feel like going to the hospital.  Meanwhile, being with HER, i didn't have to say a thing.  I could sit and gather my thoughts and heal a bit.

But something changed in her... after that.  Her stare seemed more distant.  I would soon find out why...  and life would never be the same.

...........................................................

So now here she is, tied to a chair in the living room just 15 feet from where she drowned my mother in the tub.  I would now get my sweet revenge. 

From a storage box in the closet, I found my old, but still functional, switchblade.  Same one since High School.  Same one that saved my life outside of that bar that closed long ago.  Same one she gave me to protect myself with.


 "Such delicious irony..." I thought as I opened the blade with my right hand and proceeded to cut her flesh....







]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81264376/ The Intruder <br />In response to:<br /><br />http://www.ebaumsworld.com/user/blog/HunterDad/view=81264029<br /><br />and then:<br /><br />http://www.ebaumsworld.com/user/blog/rusty_cupcake/view=81264110<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Well well well..."  The first words out of the mouth of that bitch who killed my mother over 20 years ago.  I could not believe this was happening, here, and now, in the house I grew up in.  Sometimes things come full circle, and need an end.  Full closure to an ugly, lie-filled past that haunts us all.<br /><br />I raise my gun and bring it down hard on the back her skull, laying her out flat and motionless.  All the pent up anger and rage over the last 20 years has built up inside of me silently, stalking my thoughts and dreams, night after night, year after year.  I now, will get my revenge.<br /><br />Saying I had a fucked up childhood is an understatement.  I had a drunk for a mother (thanks to me), and a spineless asshole for a father.  Neither of which deserved the truly horrific way their son turned out.  Their only child, unbeknown to them was a pathological liar, with a schizo-affective disorder to boot.  Getting them hurt was never my plan, and it broke my heart to know that I was the cause of their suffering.  But that didn't happen until far later.<br /><br />I had wild nights as a kid where I would run off and get into trouble almost every night.  My parents thought I was always with my girlfriend at those times when I was causing chaos, and in the process would come home all beat up.  They would ask what happened and I always had a quick story about protecting the honor of my love, or standing for less-fortunate kids.  I was such a good liar that they never even came close to not believing me.<br /><br />I could not lie to HER though.  I never even tried.  She had weird power over me that would force the truth from me.  So instead of telling her the truth, I would just stay silent... never telling her what happened or what I told my parents.  One day she came over and walked into an argument my mom and I were having after I had gotten back from burning down farmer Jerry's barn.  I was pretty banged up and mom thought that for sure Morgan was at the heart of it.   A lot of my lies were centered around her because of the lies I had told my parents about her and her family.  They always seemed to be able to provide a rich backstory for whatever coverup I was currently weaving.  But I digress...<br /><br />Morgan walks in and sees us arguing, right as I am storming out... She gives chase and asks me what happened.  I played the silent game but was having trouble hiding my emotions.  Half anger and half absolute elation at the adrenaline rush I was still feeling from the hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage I had caused an innocent family earlier today. <br /><br />Morgan saw that mom was drinking wine during our argument (thanks to me) and assumed that she had hit me and did the damage she could visibly see.  I could tell that this really tore her up inside.  Which excited me even more, but since i could not lie to her, I stayed silent.<br /><br />A small part of me loved the fact that even me telling my parents that her name was "Morgan" was a lie, and they had no clue.  Man I was good!<br /><br />This went on for two more years, with my mother being my scapegoat to "Morgan" and this girl whose name they didn't even know, being the scapegoat for my wrongdoings.<br /><br />Then the day of bar beating occurred...  I got caught cutting the brake lines of a few vehicles parked out at "The Shed", a local dive bar for most of the towns alcoholics.  Maybe my mother would have been driven to visit this place daily if I had kept driving her to drink, but sadly that would never happen.<br /><br />3 Big country boys proceeded to beat me senseless, and I only escaped with my life thanks to my trusty switchblade, that my love had given me for my birthday just 4 months earlier.  Bloody and beaten, I barely made it to her window.  I could not go home because i did not have the energy or mental capacity to make up a story for my mom, and I did not feel like going to the hospital.  Meanwhile, being with HER, i didn't have to say a thing.  I could sit and gather my thoughts and heal a bit.<br /><br />But something changed in her... after that.  Her stare seemed more distant.  I would soon find out why...  and life would never be the same.<br /><br />...........................................................<br /><br />So now here she is, tied to a chair in the living room just 15 feet from where she drowned my mother in the tub.  I would now get my sweet revenge.  <br /><br />From a storage box in the closet, I found my old, but still functional, switchblade.  Same one since High School.  Same one that saved my life outside of that bar that closed long ago.  Same one she gave me to protect myself with. <br /><br /><br /> "Such delicious irony..." I thought as I opened the blade with my right hand and proceeded to cut her flesh....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> 81264029 Wed, 12 Jan 2011 10:08:52 -0500 [Blog] This shitty creaky old house Added: 2011-01-12 10:08:52

She creaks, she moans, and she squeals, but not in delight.

A slowly spinning ceiling fan, through one newly opened eye... can't remember if I left it on or not.  January delivers some nippy nights and usually the fan is left off.  When it is on low-and-slow, it tends to creak when the blade with the most buildup of dust swings past my north-facing master bedroom window.  Giving out a protest of unbalanced metal against metal.  Annoying as shit, but easily tuned out, or remedied by the loss of power, or a higher setting... no big deal.

The front door hinge, also neglected and needing a squirt of oil or WD40, was not on the top of my to-do list as I layed down for the night.  Easily forgotten in this crazy life of work, bills, and more of each.  That sound never bothered me before, but then again, my life was changing and things are starting to seem more and more ominous for some unknown reason.

The fourth step up the first half of a set of stairs, lets out a wood-on-wood screech that most times is barely audible.  In the hustle and bustle of most trips up and down these stairs, it may have been months since I even heard it, much less cared about it.  Winter temperatures caused the wood to contract and leave just enough wiggle room for them to slide against each other under the weight of a footfall.  Baby powder creeps into my subconscious for some strange reason.  A late night infomercial or maybe just an advertisement of some sorts brings these thoughts in about a remedy, but I could care less, even though the sounds of this house seem to be talking to me tonight. 

Whispering what I do not want to hear.  Possibly a warning of untold dangers.  Dangers of what?  Not being able to sell my house?  Why would I sell my house?  Did I have a dream about selling my home during the few hours since I fell asleep?  I doubt it.

Other places in the house make noises as well, like the door to the pantry, or the kitchen faucet.  Each desiring their own fix and face time with their beloved owner, who ignores them month after month.  Maybe this is why I am single?  My ability to selectively see and hear what I want, or don't want, has left me with not many people I can call "close".

The doorstop to the second, unused room across from mine, has a distinct clicking sound when the door is moved either way more than an inch.  Tonight it talks to me... telling me that I will not sleep again tonight.  Telling me that no matter how hard I try, or what I drink, or what pills I take, my night of slumber is over.  I wouldn't leave a window open to create a breeze, so the audacity of this house to torment me is beyond my comprehension, especially since my head is still foggy and cloudy with threads of sweet sleep still lingering in my vision.

The house seems so loud tonight.  It seems to hate me.  It wants me to suffer through another sleepless night, or even worse, another night in which my bouts with sleep are short, and unsatisfying...  I hate this place.

Even the decorations annoy me.  Not any kind of holiday decorations that were not taken down after christmas.  Not pictures or creative pieces of art showing my taste and style, but instead just cheap candle holders and small shelves bought at Ikea.  Like the one right outside my bedroom door, which hangs with just enough slack to catch the wind from a slight draft,or my bedroom door opening.  It's tell tale scrape of steel against drywall are almost unnoticeable... except to me, and moreso on this night when that sconce seems to be yelling at me.  Joining in with the symphony of messages from all around my house.  Messages of doom, songs of peril... or maybe just sounds of annoying shitty old creaky house.

Regardless of the intention, I nevertheless was ready, crouched in my walk-in closet when the hooded man entered my room...

My floor was silent under the tread of his black boots.  Possibly thankful that I had finally headed their protests of danger, which would suit me well.  Any additional sound this intruder makes will only heighten his senses to how betraying this old shitty creak y house can be.

I stand up, and it only takes me one step to exit the closet, as silently as he had rounded the bed to the foot where he now stands.  Staring into the blackness while his eyes adjust, straining to focus on a form under the blankets that he has mistakenly thought of as me, I take the final step to close the distance between us.

As if practiced over and over, in some sort of sick ballet of death, a synchronous raising of both our hands, both of our arms outstretched, both holding pistols, happened at the exact same time.  This dance is not going to happen they way he thought, is what I am sure ran through his mind, as the barrel of my gun touches the collar of his long black coat.

No doubt the moment he felt his collar move, and I saw the slight raise of the chin... he knew the situation had changed.  With this moment came a nice, long, well deserved exhale, followed by an inhalation of a faintly familiar smell.  A sweet aroma, a tantalizing and welcome bit of nostalgia that almost took my breath away.

Attempting to hide my shock, a pathetic exasperation of  "holy shit..." is all I could muster before she turned her head slightly, revealing a familiar, slender, sweet jawline that lowered slightly as she said....

"Well well well... "













]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81264029/ This shitty creaky old house <br />She creaks, she moans, and she squeals, but not in delight.<br /><br />A slowly spinning ceiling fan, through one newly opened eye... can't remember if I left it on or not.  January delivers some nippy nights and usually the fan is left off.  When it is on low-and-slow, it tends to creak when the blade with the most buildup of dust swings past my north-facing master bedroom window.  Giving out a protest of unbalanced metal against metal.  Annoying as shit, but easily tuned out, or remedied by the loss of power, or a higher setting... no big deal.<br /><br />The front door hinge, also neglected and needing a squirt of oil or WD40, was not on the top of my to-do list as I layed down for the night.  Easily forgotten in this crazy life of work, bills, and more of each.  That sound never bothered me before, but then again, my life was changing and things are starting to seem more and more ominous for some unknown reason.<br /><br />The fourth step up the first half of a set of stairs, lets out a wood-on-wood screech that most times is barely audible.  In the hustle and bustle of most trips up and down these stairs, it may have been months since I even heard it, much less cared about it.  Winter temperatures caused the wood to contract and leave just enough wiggle room for them to slide against each other under the weight of a footfall.  Baby powder creeps into my subconscious for some strange reason.  A late night infomercial or maybe just an advertisement of some sorts brings these thoughts in about a remedy, but I could care less, even though the sounds of this house seem to be talking to me tonight.  <br /><br />Whispering what I do not want to hear.  Possibly a warning of untold dangers.  Dangers of what?  Not being able to sell my house?  Why would I sell my house?  Did I have a dream about selling my home during the few hours since I fell asleep?  I doubt it.<br /><br />Other places in the house make noises as well, like the door to the pantry, or the kitchen faucet.  Each desiring their own fix and face time with their beloved owner, who ignores them month after month.  Maybe this is why I am single?  My ability to selectively see and hear what I want, or don't want, has left me with not many people I can call "close".<br /><br />The doorstop to the second, unused room across from mine, has a distinct clicking sound when the door is moved either way more than an inch.  Tonight it talks to me... telling me that I will not sleep again tonight.  Telling me that no matter how hard I try, or what I drink, or what pills I take, my night of slumber is over.  I wouldn't leave a window open to create a breeze, so the audacity of this house to torment me is beyond my comprehension, especially since my head is still foggy and cloudy with threads of sweet sleep still lingering in my vision.<br /><br />The house seems so loud tonight.  It seems to hate me.  It wants me to suffer through another sleepless night, or even worse, another night in which my bouts with sleep are short, and unsatisfying...  I hate this place.<br /><br />Even the decorations annoy me.  Not any kind of holiday decorations that were not taken down after christmas.  Not pictures or creative pieces of art showing my taste and style, but instead just cheap candle holders and small shelves bought at Ikea.  Like the one right outside my bedroom door, which hangs with just enough slack to catch the wind from a slight draft,or my bedroom door opening.  It's tell tale scrape of steel against drywall are almost unnoticeable... except to me, and moreso on this night when that sconce seems to be yelling at me.  Joining in with the symphony of messages from all around my house.  Messages of doom, songs of peril... or maybe just sounds of annoying shitty old creaky house.<br /><br />Regardless of the intention, I nevertheless was ready, crouched in my walk-in closet when the hooded man entered my room...<br /><br />My floor was silent under the tread of his black boots.  Possibly thankful that I had finally headed their protests of danger, which would suit me well.  Any additional sound this intruder makes will only heighten his senses to how betraying this old shitty creak y house can be.<br /><br />I stand up, and it only takes me one step to exit the closet, as silently as he had rounded the bed to the foot where he now stands.  Staring into the blackness while his eyes adjust, straining to focus on a form under the blankets that he has mistakenly thought of as me, I take the final step to close the distance between us.<br /><br />As if practiced over and over, in some sort of sick ballet of death, a synchronous raising of both our hands, both of our arms outstretched, both holding pistols, happened at the exact same time.  This dance is not going to happen they way he thought, is what I am sure ran through his mind, as the barrel of my gun touches the collar of his long black coat.<br /><br />No doubt the moment he felt his collar move, and I saw the slight raise of the chin... he knew the situation had changed.  With this moment came a nice, long, well deserved exhale, followed by an inhalation of a faintly familiar smell.  A sweet aroma, a tantalizing and welcome bit of nostalgia that almost took my breath away.<br /><br />Attempting to hide my shock, a pathetic exasperation of  "holy shit..." is all I could muster before she turned her head slightly, revealing a familiar, slender, sweet jawline that lowered slightly as she said....<br /><br />"Well well well... "<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> 81242498 Mon, 27 Dec 2010 10:05:49 -0500 [Blog] Why do I not write anymore? Added: 2010-12-27 10:05:49

What happened?

I used to love to throw shit down on paper or into a blog...

When I first got married, my wife bought a really nice Leather-bound, hand-crafted journal to write shit in... songs, poems, stories, but I never touched it.  Waht a waste.

After the birth of my son, Hunter, I wrote a shit-ton, and he was a great muse... but I have since lost that angle of desire to jot shit down...

Not sure what happened... thought I would read the blogs for a few days here at ebw... and see if anything shakes down... maybe a new muse will fall from a tree and give me a concussion...

We will see I guess...

I am HunterDad, i miss the blog section at ebw....


HD
]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/81242498/ Why do I not write anymore? <br />What happened?<br /><br />I used to love to throw shit down on paper or into a blog...<br /><br />When I first got married, my wife bought a really nice Leather-bound, hand-crafted journal to write shit in... songs, poems, stories, but I never touched it.  Waht a waste.<br /><br />After the birth of my son, Hunter, I wrote a shit-ton, and he was a great muse... but I have since lost that angle of desire to jot shit down...<br /><br />Not sure what happened... thought I would read the blogs for a few days here at ebw... and see if anything shakes down... maybe a new muse will fall from a tree and give me a concussion...<br /><br />We will see I guess...<br /><br />I am HunterDad, i miss the blog section at ebw....<br /><br /><br />HD<br /> 80955390 Tue, 30 Mar 2010 09:06:33 -0400 [Blog] LOL Added: 2010-03-30 09:06:33

.

.

.

I can't believe everyone is falling for this shit.  I swear to god, every year at this time, EBW and every other site on the planet pulls a prank on it's users.  And every year our dumbasses fall for it.

.

.

OK, so EBW pulled it off a day or two early, which is pretty much the only way to make it work, obviously, but are we all still stupid enough to think that EBW would run off the hundreds of thousands of clicks and thousands of comment counts that it uses to generate ad revenue? 

.

Come on now... I can bet the farm that this place will be completely normal come April 2nd.

.

.

But go ahead and bitch, and moan, and say you are leaving forever, we all know you won't...

.

.

.

Hardy

har

har

ebw... 

]]> http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/80955390/ LOL <p>.</p> <p>.</p> <p>.</p> <p>I can't believe everyone is falling for this shit.  I swear to god, every year at this time, EBW and every other site on the planet pulls a prank on it's users.  And every year our dumbasses fall for it.</p> <p>.</p> <p>.</p> <p>OK, so EBW pulled it off a day or two early, which is pretty much the only way to make it work, obviously, but are we all still stupid enough to think that EBW would run off the hundreds of thousands of clicks and thousands of comment counts that it uses to generate ad revenue? </p> <p>.</p> <p>Come on now... I can bet the farm that this place will be completely normal come April 2nd.</p> <p>.</p> <p>.</p> <p>But go ahead and bitch, and moan, and say you are leaving forever, we all know you won't...</p> <p>.</p> <p>.</p> <p>.</p> <p>Hardy</p> <p>har</p> <p>har</p> <p>ebw... </p>