Thursday
16Nov2006
Honest To A Fault
WARNING! WARNING!
There. Don't say I didn't warn you; I am fat. My chin has purplish acne scars. Speaking of chin - I notice in recent photos I'm becoming a bit jowly. Horizontal lines are squatting on my forehead. Lines that used to appear only when I raised my eyebrows in skeptisicm. Maybe I'm constantly skeptical here in the state of Saints and the lines will smooth out once again upon my return to NYC. Speaking of laugh lines, two very ugly crows feet have planted themselves at the corners of my eyes and they don't seem to be going anywhere. I comfort myself with the fact that I am at a much higher altitude and therefore much closer to the sun, hence I am forced to squint more than in New York and that is where those motherclucking crows feet came from. S'all a simple matter of astronomy and distance from the sun. Heh, heh, heh... I know. So superficial. Why is it that when I am PMSing I focus on the physical?
In other news... I'm back in Utah after a very brief trek over the river and through the desert to Dad's house (Durango, Colorado) we go. Everything is weird. Like I'm floating above myself or in the midst of a dream. Sometimes, even now when I'm pushing 30 and sporting some big fuckoff crows feet, I dream about being in high school. The lockers, the teachers, the same students, the assignments. And it feels so real even though in the dream I know it's a dream. Being back here in Utah is the same vibe but opposite - it feels like a dream but it's real. Okay, the dream analogy, a bit confusing. How 'bout this; I feel like I'm stoned ALL the time. Which could very well be the case as visiting Dad and my older brother (A.K.A Asshole) generally requires smoking dooby.
One might wonder why I'm such a pothead but one would only wonder such things if one hadn't met my family. Let me introduce you to the male members of my family or some of 'em anyway. I held out for a very long time before taking that first puff... Not until college, I think. Big brother tried to get me stoned in junior high and as dutiful young Latter-Day-Saint I resolutely refused.
"You should probably repent, Brandon. Jesus IS NOT pleased."
Then it was Dad's turn to have a go at introducing me to the wonders of weed. I was in high school. I have a vivid recollection of driving with Dad along the edge of a lake in Colorado. It was a rare, pleasant late summer drive one time when I was visiting. Now I knew he was a pot smoker but it was something he did on his own time or with my older brother, not in front of me. One minute he was stroking his beard in that pensive way that has ingrained itself in my brain, the next he was puffing on a marijuana pipe. I suppose he just assumed it was time to display himself in all his Dadly pot smoking glory.
"Daa-aad! That's illegal." said this Mormon, church going virgin.
"Just try it." He said like the star of a bad After School Special
I backed away from the pipe. "NoWAY. That's wrong."
Nowadays Dad and I generally bond over a joint. Sometimes it greases the wheels of the good conversation wagon. I have no secrets from either parent. They know EVERYTHING about me. I like it that way. This is me. Love me or leave me. Plus I think I get off a little on ruffling their feathers whether it's my anti-Mormon sentiments or incidents like this one. Anyway, a joint and a few laughs are shared with Pop and all is right with the world. So while you may gasp and view marijuana as very much an illegal substance and shame on me and omigod I probably, am like, addicted! etc.. etc.. I often forget the shit is illegal. And I've never purchased - usually someone offers a little something. I suppose with how often I talk about it you must think I have Hefty sacks of the stuff stashed in my closet. Nah. I s'pose I just happen to know a lot of folks that are friends with Mary Jane and I end up having some of The Pot, as Grandma would say, by proxy.
I have come to many conclusions on this here jaunt across the U-S of A. Many of which I'll share with you because I know you're on pins and needles and thumbtacks and nails and porcupine quills - anxiously awaiting my revelations. I have been teetering on perhaps moving back to Utah to get a solid job (there are offers) and maybe think about starting a family (the baby friendliest state in the Union) and I have made my decision. BUT - I must leave. I have yet another brother to visit... fantastic conversation over a telephone as I look at him through bullet proof glass. But it wouldn't be a proper visit home if there wasn't some brother or other behind bars, now, would it?
There. Don't say I didn't warn you; I am fat. My chin has purplish acne scars. Speaking of chin - I notice in recent photos I'm becoming a bit jowly. Horizontal lines are squatting on my forehead. Lines that used to appear only when I raised my eyebrows in skeptisicm. Maybe I'm constantly skeptical here in the state of Saints and the lines will smooth out once again upon my return to NYC. Speaking of laugh lines, two very ugly crows feet have planted themselves at the corners of my eyes and they don't seem to be going anywhere. I comfort myself with the fact that I am at a much higher altitude and therefore much closer to the sun, hence I am forced to squint more than in New York and that is where those motherclucking crows feet came from. S'all a simple matter of astronomy and distance from the sun. Heh, heh, heh... I know. So superficial. Why is it that when I am PMSing I focus on the physical?
In other news... I'm back in Utah after a very brief trek over the river and through the desert to Dad's house (Durango, Colorado) we go. Everything is weird. Like I'm floating above myself or in the midst of a dream. Sometimes, even now when I'm pushing 30 and sporting some big fuckoff crows feet, I dream about being in high school. The lockers, the teachers, the same students, the assignments. And it feels so real even though in the dream I know it's a dream. Being back here in Utah is the same vibe but opposite - it feels like a dream but it's real. Okay, the dream analogy, a bit confusing. How 'bout this; I feel like I'm stoned ALL the time. Which could very well be the case as visiting Dad and my older brother (A.K.A Asshole) generally requires smoking dooby.
One might wonder why I'm such a pothead but one would only wonder such things if one hadn't met my family. Let me introduce you to the male members of my family or some of 'em anyway. I held out for a very long time before taking that first puff... Not until college, I think. Big brother tried to get me stoned in junior high and as dutiful young Latter-Day-Saint I resolutely refused.
"You should probably repent, Brandon. Jesus IS NOT pleased."
Then it was Dad's turn to have a go at introducing me to the wonders of weed. I was in high school. I have a vivid recollection of driving with Dad along the edge of a lake in Colorado. It was a rare, pleasant late summer drive one time when I was visiting. Now I knew he was a pot smoker but it was something he did on his own time or with my older brother, not in front of me. One minute he was stroking his beard in that pensive way that has ingrained itself in my brain, the next he was puffing on a marijuana pipe. I suppose he just assumed it was time to display himself in all his Dadly pot smoking glory.
"Daa-aad! That's illegal." said this Mormon, church going virgin.
"Just try it." He said like the star of a bad After School Special
I backed away from the pipe. "NoWAY. That's wrong."
Nowadays Dad and I generally bond over a joint. Sometimes it greases the wheels of the good conversation wagon. I have no secrets from either parent. They know EVERYTHING about me. I like it that way. This is me. Love me or leave me. Plus I think I get off a little on ruffling their feathers whether it's my anti-Mormon sentiments or incidents like this one. Anyway, a joint and a few laughs are shared with Pop and all is right with the world. So while you may gasp and view marijuana as very much an illegal substance and shame on me and omigod I probably, am like, addicted! etc.. etc.. I often forget the shit is illegal. And I've never purchased - usually someone offers a little something. I suppose with how often I talk about it you must think I have Hefty sacks of the stuff stashed in my closet. Nah. I s'pose I just happen to know a lot of folks that are friends with Mary Jane and I end up having some of The Pot, as Grandma would say, by proxy.
I have come to many conclusions on this here jaunt across the U-S of A. Many of which I'll share with you because I know you're on pins and needles and thumbtacks and nails and porcupine quills - anxiously awaiting my revelations. I have been teetering on perhaps moving back to Utah to get a solid job (there are offers) and maybe think about starting a family (the baby friendliest state in the Union) and I have made my decision. BUT - I must leave. I have yet another brother to visit... fantastic conversation over a telephone as I look at him through bullet proof glass. But it wouldn't be a proper visit home if there wasn't some brother or other behind bars, now, would it?
Nov 16, 2006
Reader Comments (22)
Wow, that's great...I definitely don't have that kind of relationship with my parents. Although I'm not sure I would want it that way either. My mom tried to get us to bond and become closer a few years ago, and it was just too weird. My closest friends are the ones who hear everything. That's the way it's always been...maybe I'm too stubborn to change?
Anyway, I'm confused though - are you moving back to Utah or not?
I think there is absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying The Pot. In Denver, it is even legal now.
Are you really thinking about having a baby? You would be an incredible mom!!
I can't wait to hear more about your journey.
Safe travels.
When you were there did you feel as though it were clear that NYC is now your home? It feels weird to out-grow the place where you grew up, no?
Stories-- soon, please!
jan
Yay for big decision-making. I love life-changing decisions, so exciting.
Will you go away now?
PLEASE.
If you come home without apologizing to this young lady I will pull out your still beating heart and show it to your looks-just-like-his-idiot-small-wee-wee-having-father face so that your withered soul can have one final glimpse of a something that is not money or some overcompensating automobile. Not a single girlfriend in the last three years young man ---- AND YOU WONDER WHY!?!?!? I can't believe YOU...YOU....YOU (Falls on the floor and dies from an exploded head.)
Good job Mike, you have so many deep-seated issues with money, women and criticizing people you don't know that you killed your own mom. Nice one dickweed.
the new design looks good. cleaner & simpler... nice.