A full week has already passed. It’s been 7 long, stressful days of being homeless. And I’m sorry to report there is no end in sight, at least not for the time being. Chances are that it will be another handful of days until I can even think about moving back into my house since the gas leak was found. So today I take time out to write. As I’ve said before, writing is therapeutic for me. And being able to write helps keep me sane in an often insane world. We are only a month and a half into 2009 and so far this year hasn’t been kind to me. I could mope about why exactly that is, but honestly I’m even sick of hearing me complain, especially since I’m not normally a complainer and I tend to get annoyed at those that complain a lot. Basically, I hate myself right now for belly aching. So I’m sure your ears, or rather your eyes, are bleeding from my recent bout of negativity. From this day forward, I’m going to make a conscious effort to stop being such a pussy that bitches and moans every time God takes a massive dump on him, which unfortunately for me seems to be quite often. Wah wah. Boo hoo. Play your violin, David. And cry me a river while you’re at it. I’m going to man-up. Suck it up. Buck up. And do my best not to fuck up in the remaining 10+ months left in 2009.
While I have every right to be in a foul mood, I do realize that things could be a lot worse. Underneath my piss poor bad attitude, there lies a kinder, gentler dude. One who is very gracious, thankful, and even feels somewhat blessed. I have always had a talent for being able to find light in the darkest of situations. So this time around needs to be no different. I’m going to try focusing on the positive points from this. The little lessons I have learned along the way, which coincides nicely with my list of 7 Things I’ve Learned In 7 Days Of Homelessness. Some may borderline on ranting, but you forgive, right? Besides, if you were me, you would need to let off some steam right now too.
1. Happy Birthday Diesel!
This is a shitty way to celebrate my BFF’s (AKA, my dog Diesel) 2nd birthday today. However, I’m determined to show him a good time. He actually seems like he is stressed and depressed since the evacuation. He cried/whined the entire first night. He won’t sleep, barely eats (losing weight) and wants to just lay around all day. When he’s sad, I’m sad. I took him to the pet store and let him pick out a squeaky stuffed monkey and a bag of pig ears to lift his spirits. Then off to the dog park to roll around in the mud and kick it with his hommies. So far, so good.
2. I love women.
It’s Fashion Week in NYC right now and I’m missing out on all the beautiful women! NYC is home to some of the most beautiful women in the world, but this time of the year, it’s an especially beautiful city to be in. Runways models from Milan, Paris, and around the world gather for Fashion Week...with or without me standing by drooling at their drop dead good looks. But let’s be honest, to get a super model to give you her 7 digits, you better have at least 8 if not 9 digits attached to your name, if you know what I mean (cha-ching). And something tells me that "I’m currently homeless and living with my Mom" isn’t exactly the opening line that will sweep them off their feet.
3. Palin for President? Kill me now!
I’m aware the 2009 Presidential election is long over, but apparently my Dad can’t stop living in the past. I’m forced to swallow the vomit in my mouth when he goes on and on about how great and "smart" (his word, NOT mine) Sarah Palin is! And brace yourself, he also tells me how she would make a better president than Obama! My Mom nods in agreement? How did these people give birth to me? Seriously.
4. Ashamed To Carry Your Name.
Growing up, I always felt it was a compliment when people told me how much I reminded them of my father, his mannerisms, looks, etc. I felt so proud. I wanted to be just like him. Today, I don’t feel the same. There is turning point in everyone’s life when you are able to see your parents for who they truly are and not just the super heroes we made them out to be when we were children looking up to them. I’ve come to realize my parents are only human, just like everyone else. They too have flaws and make mistakes. I wish I could forever keep them in this warm fuzzy image in my head, but sadly I can’t, reality won’t allow it. That is something I’ve had trouble accepting, but I’m willing to accept it. Now this next part, I can’t accept for the life of me. What I’m about to say pains me to acknowledge. I’m embarrassed for him. Actually, I’ve never said this before and it makes me nauseous to say it outloud, but I’m ashamed to call him my father. I feel like something terrible is going to happen to me for admitting that, but I simply can’t bite my tongue any longer. For the past week I’ve been biting my tongue until I could feel the blood begin to drip down the back of my throat. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut simply because this is his house and I have no right to make waves. I have no right to speak my mind when he has allowed me into his home in time of need. So for that very reason, out of respect for the help he has given me, I remain silent with the taste of coppery blood behind my lips. I have to leave the room when he refers to our President as "black lips" and tosses around the term "fag" like it’s as common place as asking how your day was. I’ve always know my father was raciest and homophobic, but I don’t need to hear it. I’m sorry, but if there is a heaven and hell, I think God would be more willing to accept a man who loves another man into heaven before he accepts a man who displays his hate towards others. And as far as the "black lips" comment goes, Obama isn’t even black! Really, he’s not even the first black President. He’s half white and half black. So he’s as much white as he is black. If you want to be politically correct, he’s the first half black President. Regardless, homophobes and raciest make me sick.
5. Where the hell are we? No cell phone reception and dial-up Internet!
Correct me if I’m wrong, but it is 2009, right? So...dial-up Internet still exists? Really? Next you’re going to tell me that people still use AOL. Please wake me if I’m dreaming because it feels like a nightmare living in a house that isn’t equipped with high speed Internet access. To make matters worse, I can’t even get decent cell phone reception! And I miss my TIVO. I can't rewind, pause or fast foward live TV anymore - rrr! How do these people survive? I know my parents live a little more out in the country, but this is ridiculous. I’m an urban boy. It’s just how I roll. And I can’t adapt here.
6. Just like an MLB player, I’m on steroids too.
Before anyone sends me an e-mail lecturing me how steroids will shrink my penis to the size of a baby carrot and I’ll have uncontrollable roid-rage, let me stop you. I’m not taking steroids to become some super buff meathead with a three-inch thick vein popping across my forehead and a grotesque case of back acne. I don’t know about you, but a teenie weenie and back acne isn’t something I pine for. I’m secure in my manhood. I don’t want to dwarf him, nor do I want to super size him either. I am not taking steroids illegally. I’m taking a light dose as prescribed by my doctor for pain. Without getting into all the details and to keep myself from whining once again like a little girl, I was treated for bronchitis twice in one month and it has since turned into pneumonia. So right now, I can’t breathe out of my left lung. From what I gather, that’s kind of important. Plus, I’m in a lot of pain and not even able to sit upright without it hurting. Today I think I’m going to wrap the left side of my ribs up like the Karate Kid after his "sweep the leg" incident. And yes, I’m a hot mess.
7. Homeless people are too hungry to be funny.
Comedian Chris Rock once said..."If you see a homeless man with a funny sign, he hasn’t been homeless for very long. A REAL homeless man is too hungry to be funny." One good thing, I haven’t gone hungry. In fact, my Mom has been making me dinner, a nightly home cooked meal! Something I am very appreciative of being the cooking challenged bachelor that I am. Another infamous saying, author unknown..."Laughter is the best medicine." Please, spare me that line. Anyone who says that obviously has never been put in a situation where they don’t have a home to live in. I’m not laughing. I find nothing funny. It pains me just to smile. If someone fell into a mud puddle right now, I don’t think I would even crack a smile, let alone giggle silently to myself. And no, that’s not the steroids talking. They have yet to kick in and increase my already angry, frustrated, sad and hopeless state of being. But when they do, it’s going to get uglier. Don’t worry though, I’ll spare you the details via blog.
In closing...
It’s true I’m not drinking my own urine to stay alive. It’s also true I don’t have track marks on my arm, a dirty beard full of lice and I’m not shaking a tin cup for spare change...still, I’m technically homeless right now. If it wasn’t for my family and friends, I would be sleeping on the street. Well, ok, I would find a dog friendly hotel to stay in. Still, feeling displaced and not having a bed to call your own is a situation I would wish on no one. So while this may not be full-fledged "homelessness", it sure is a little taste of it. And I can tell you this, the taste is bitter! I may not be suffering in every way that a homeless man of 10+ years suffers, but I am publishing this on dial-up! Some would consider that suffering BIG TIME, including myself! (note the sarcasm)
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