The Probation Era

The #350 runs down Airport Blvd and makes a stop at Austin Community College Riverside campus. At that point, most “normal people” get off and go on their way. The route continues to Del Valle, carrying the dregs of society returning to their halfway house, meeting someone getting out of the correctional facility or making their probation appointment. That’s why I was on it...probation.

Last week was my final meeting with my probation officer at SMART, and for that reason I paid closer attention to just how dreary and awful Del Valle is. It is all shattered concrete, dirt and weeds. You won’t see a manicured lawn there, no suburbs really. There’s nothing but shady convenience stores, trailers, county lockup and broken dreams. I can’t imagine considering a halfway house there a fresh start. But hey, I was a resident in the SMART program there for 5 months, so I can’t really say much about an alternative to jail. Considering how ugly Del Valle is, I’m glad SMART didn't have much of a view of the surrounding area. 

While in the waiting room to see my p.o., I ran into one of my counselors from the program who asked how I was doing. He said, “You know, I still mention you in class, not by name of course, but about how you were always honest and called people out on bullshit. And also how you vocalized that you weren’t sure you liked me that much.” I replied, “I’ll get back to you on that, Scott.” He smiled and said, “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not here to be everybody’s buddy.” We shook hands. I'm still not sure if I like him.

A few minutes later, I was buzzed in, and I walked into the office of my probation officer Gabe. He let me know I had another perfect breathalyzer report, meaning I had blown into the device in the required time frames last month, which were between 5am-8am, 5pm-8pm and 10pm-12am. The breathalyzer has a camera on it and records a picture of me taking each test. This means Gabe could, if he was bored enough, could scroll through 90 pictures of me a month (see Ghosts of Breathalyzers Past).

Gabe: “Every time one of my people try to explain why they missed a window or failed a test and come up with excuses, I use you as an example. I say, ‘See this report? It can be done!’” Great. I’m blowing the curve for other drunks on probation. It’s like grade school all over again.

We run through the standard questions I get every month. Have I had any contact with law enforcement? Have I used any drugs or drank alcohol? Am I on any medication? And then he concluded our meeting by asking, “Are you ready to maintain your sobriety all on your own, no monitoring or breathalyzer?”

The question gave me pause. I was pretty sure I was ready to be done with all the bullshit. I was definitely sure I was tired of all the money I had to pay and the hoops I've jumped through. Was I ready, though, to be sober once I was legal to drink?

By the time this is posted, I’ll be done with it all. I have been on probation for 7 out of the last 10 years, and during the 3 years I wasn't I was arrested for public intoxication 3 or 4 times (I can’t remember which). I was a heroin addict for 3 years while "on paper". I drank constantly during both stints of probation, regardless of having a breathalyzer on my vehicle both times (I wrecked both of those vehicles, by the way, because why half-ass a downward spiral). I was able to continue to do what I wanted to because, for the most part, probation just wants you to pay them and not get into trouble. In fact, some people will tell you that their probation officers let them slide on failed drug tests just because they were up to date on their payments.

This is a nice contrast to me doing everything I was supposed to last year but having to still have supervisor hearings because I couldn't afford a payment one month. Never mind I was in a sober house with a job and staying clean...I owed them money. Never mind I had to get on food stamps for 6 months...I had to pay. But hey, most people who don’t pay their fees are using the money for their habit/habits, so I don’t really blame them doubting my sincerity.

For the past year, I actually followed the rules. I've been clean and sober almost 18 months now. So am I ready to continue this “all on my own”? Hell, I've been clever (stubborn) enough in the past to drink and do drugs around all Travis County’s tests, monitoring devices, meetings and classes. If I wanted to, I would have probably found a way this time around, too. I just didn't want to. I’m done. I have been doing it on my own already...with support from friends and family, sure...but when I’m alone...when I have a window of opportunity to stray...on my own.

Time for a new era.

“Yeah, man. I'm ready.”

"Last visit ever to Smart Start," he said for the third time.

"Once an Addict, Always an Addict"

"I don't know, I was young, I drank too much, you know, so I stopped. You know what I mean, it's not really complicated. I had no interest in drinking in moderation. And I still don't. Just because all that time's passed doesn't mean maybe it was just a phase. That's you know, that's who I am." - Philip Seymour Hoffman, interview with The Guardian, 2011

Hoffman's death hit me pretty hard. I've been thinking about it for two days now, and what really stabs me in the chest about it is that 20+ years of sobriety he had. That dwarfs my 17 months a bit. Recently I have been feeling that I have had my own sobriety and past figured out, and that it will be smooth sailing from here on out. I've been wondering if Hoffman felt this way in the past... and for how long did he think he had it under control. That interview from 3 years ago sounds like he was still aware of who he was when it came to consumption of alcohol and drugs. I guess it is easy for some of us to get caught up again and lose our way.

I have been thinking about what I wanted to say in this entry. I've been reading comments and articles online about this, and there are plenty of people with their opinions... with their assumptions. I want to avoid speaking for all addicts or for any other one but me. Not everybody is the same, even if many of us go through the same patterns in addiction.

Since we will never know the whole story, I can only go by what I've read of interviews with Philip Seymour Hoffman. It sounds like his main drug of choice was alcohol when he was young, and he dabbled in other drugs as well. You drink, then start doing anything that was available, sure. At some point in 2012, he started taking prescription pills. I have yet to read what kind and whether or not they were prescribed to him. Within a year, he had gone from scripts to snorting heroin. So he went to detox in May 2013.

I wrote a little blog, Rehab Can Kill You, about Cory Monteith overdosing after completing treatment. I mentioned that rehab is dangerous if you pick up afterwards because you lose your tolerance when you take a 1 to 3 month break. Detox is another beast altogether. 10 days helps your physical addiction, but unless you do something about your thinking and behavior, it really is just "taking a break" before going back at it. Hoffman obviously picked up again at some point, and his heroin use escalated to using needles.

Looking at that timeline, he wasn't a heroin addict at 22, and he didn't relapse on booze in his 40's. The old recovery adage is that once you're an addict, you're always an addict. There is no cure, they say. Well, not everyone says that. Chris Prentiss offers "the cure" for $88,500 a month at the Passages Malibu Addiction Treatment Center. Every time a commercial for it airs and he smugly says, "I was an addict, now I'm not", I want to cockpunch him through the TV. Apparently, his view of a cure is drinking carrot juice by a koi pond while he gladly takes 3 grand a day from you. He sells recovery like a time share.

I hope I never find myself in the same position Philip Seymour Hoffman was in... where I know I'm back in the middle of the shit again but I don't want to put my career and family on hold to go back to treatment. One news article said, "Hoffman had struggled with addiction for years." I wonder how true that is. Did he struggle with having a drink at Hollywood parties for the majority of those 22 years, or was it smooth sailing for the majority of the time? Did he take vicodin for a legitimate issue and that triggered his downward spiral? Maybe more information will come out, or maybe we'll never know.

I find myself in the middle gray area when it comes to the concept of addiction as a "disease". I prefer to think of it as a mental disorder since really it's all in your head after you kick the physical addiction. I say onstage that I like to call myself a "retired" alcoholic and junkie as opposed to a "recovering" alcoholic/addict, because it better represents that I am still pro-drug and pro-booze. I'm the Charles Barkley of drugs and alcohol... big fan of the sport, can't play the game anymore. I like the idea of being retired because it sets in my mind that if I was to try to "play the game" again, I would immediately try to jump back into the professional level and it would kill me.

The problem I have with using the term "recovering" is it implies that you will eventually be "recovered", but it is used by AA/NA people permanently...they never consider themselves recovered. Recovered doesn't mean cured, in my mind. From my point of view, I have recovered. I'm on a healthy path, and in a month I'll be off probation completely. I don't owe them any more money, and I can pay all my bills. I've been productive at work, and I'm writing and performing better than I ever have. That sounds "recovered" to me. Labeling myself as a perma-addict and walking around with my guard up consumed with thoughts that I could use any moment sounds miserable. If you have to go to meetings and constantly work the 12 steps because that's how you get through the day, then do what you have to do...I just hope you're happy. I couldn't do it. So I had to convince myself otherwise. I'd rather consider my ass retired and do something else without being obsessive about it.

HOWEVER... I have to keep the balance in my head and not forget who I have been. Things are great now, but when shit goes bad, I can't escape my problems with drugs and alcohol, because there is no reset button. If I take anything into my body, I'll be right back to where I was on my last blackout. All I can do is keep working on my self-awareness regarding old behavior patterns, enjoy my new life and don't drink or shoot up, ever.

Philip Seymour Hoffman's death is a reminder to many of us that no matter how long you've been sober or how well things are going in your life, we can't use again... even if it's a different drug we didn't previously have an issue with. Even if that drug is legal.

RIP

You Keep Using That Word...

Key and Peele said that "racist" was the n-word for white people, and I have to agree. Nothing puts us Caspers on the defense more quickly than being called that. Hell, even slightly implying that one of us is racist will spark emotion.

Runner-up to "racist"? Nowadays, it has to be "hipster". It is a strange moniker. Here in Austin, everyone is surrounded by hipsters but no one admits to being one. I don't really get it...I'm not even sure why it is so negative.

I'm 40 years old, man...I would love to be considered a hipster... assuming I am positive what the word means. When you use the word, do you know its definition? I get the feeling "hipster" is like "pornography"... people can't really verbalize what it is, but, "I know it when I see it."

I wanted to research recent articles and columns discussing hipsters, and I came across What Was the Hipster? written in 2010. It's a  little article adapted from a book of the same name, and it is pointless, verbose and an empty waste of time. Sentences like "In culture, the Hipster Primitive moment recovered the sound and symbols of pastoral innocence with an irony so fused into the artworks it was no longer visible" make me want to cyber-bitchslap the author. Really? Did a sociological study of hipsters really need to exist?

I don't care to delve into the origins of the word, the many definitions of it, or common traits of "the modern hipster". I am more interested in focusing on its over usage by, well, everyone. Typically, we use it to slander someone we think is pretending to be cooler than they really are. They're trying too hard, and it's obnoxious.

But this is what has been bugging me. Not everyone labeled a hipster is a snobby scenester. Sometimes I think they may actually be cooler than us and we're just bitter about it. No matter who you are, there is someone with better taste and/or with a better wardrobe...or they just carry themselves more aloof or confident.  Even when I find myself lost in my delusion that I am cool as shit all day, and I'm walking around with my stupid sunglasses on and smoking my big dumb cigarettes, I'll notice my fly has been open for an undetermined amount of time, and I'll submit to reality. "I bet Steve McQueen never walked around with his zipper open...at least not unintentionally."

Don't we need an antithesis to "hipster"? Every Jet needs a Shark, right? I like "normies". It's a word addicts use to describe you lucky assholes who can drink and do drugs without self-destructing. I think I'll start using it to identify non-hipster types, because... it's just a fun word.

I prefer to be in a place full of hipsters as opposed to normies. They're more interesting to watch, and they're so self-involved they leave you the fuck alone and ignore you completely. It's great. You say your favorite bar was taken over and ruined by hipsters? Almost a decade ago, my favorite bar turned into "The Mooseknuckle" and became a frat boy stomping ground. It could be worse.

I like being in an apartment complex full of hipsters. It's a pleasant alternative to a suburb full of normies. But that's just me. No offense, normies.

Like I mentioned before, I don't find the word all that negative. I probably am an "aging hipster"...I apparently dress like a "Post Rocker" according to Rob Dobi. At least when I'm in my own denial of thinking I'm a bad ass I don't project to others that I'm better than them...which unfortunately was not the case in the past. I have changed the vibe I give off from "go fuck yourself" to "hey, you do you" (actually, both of these technically have the same meaning, minus hostility and spite).

I would like for you to reconsider using "hipster" in a negative connotation moving forward. Or at least, cut back on it. When you use it too much, it loses its meaning...its power. Besides, you miss the opportunity to get really creative with your labeling and name-calling. When that guy tells you that band you like sold out because they don't release their albums on vinyl anymore and that you can't really appreciate their music unless it's on an LP, don't drop the h-bomb on him. Call him a pretentious shit funnel. Or an elitist dick bouquet. Go crazy.

End the hipster hate! Or don't, whatever. You do you. (snicker)

...

Ha. I just had a mental picture of me trying to flip the hate around at a Chili's or Applebee's, saying, "Fucking normies...norming up everything with all their conventional bullshit!"

I Don't Re-Memoir

"You should write a book."

Damn right I should. Let me get on that.

Okay, well, what kind of book should I write? The obvious idea would be to write a memoir of my past experiences with a major focus on the past decade of decadence. Sure. There is a tiny problem with that idea: I don't remember most of it. That's a bit of an issue.

I first made this realization in treatment when my counselor had me write "my story" to present to group. I sat staring at a blank sheet of paper and was aware for the first time that my brain was just a big bowl of memory soup... pieces of flashbacks and recollections floating around incoherently in brain matter broth that just sloshes around between my ears. I'm sure I have a sleeve of saltines soaking in there as well just to make sorting it all out that much more difficult.

It makes me wonder how these people who were hardcore drunks and drug addicts managed to write out their stories into coherent tales of innocence lost, pain, self-destruction and salvation. How much of it is true and not just imagined filler to bridge the gaps in their timeline?

Memories aren't really true anyway, are they? The longer you hold onto them, the more you distort them in your head in one way or another. That's another problem for me. Many of mine have been twisted a bit to make myself look less jackass, more bad ass. I'm aware of the truth, but it's easier on the ego to leave the doctored images in my filing cabinet that the originals.

Our memories are, of course, one sided. We remember moments in time differently than other people who shared those same experiences. One night I ended up at an after hours hotel party of some roller derby ladies and friends. I had been drinking since late afternoon, so I don't really know how I ended up there, who I knew, or what all went on. I do know that I had to be helped out down stairs and into a cab. On my way down the stairs, a girl I didn't know had a horrified look on her face as she said, "I think he peed himself." I replied, confidently, "You're goddamn right I did!" And then I attempted to high-five an imaginary person as I strutted (stumbled) away in urine-soaked jeans. I imagine that girl and I remember that moment quite differently. She probably made a personal commitment to "know when to say when" and steer clear of degenerates, and I considered it a funny anecdote and not the first time I soiled myself on a Sunday.

That's a good example. I don't remember any details of that night other than her face and me slurring a comeback I thought was hilarious... and pee pants. That's it. I'm not sure just those three details make for a good "road to rock bottom" yarn.

I suppose some authors are just better at remembering the details. Despite massive consumption of booze and heroin, I still have a knack for memorizing movie quotes and being able to tell you every movie and TV show an actor has done. This trivial memory skill would be very beneficial if IMDB, Wikipedia and the whole fucking Internet did not exist. Also, I can remember bits from comedians' acts I've seen 10 or 20 years ago... which is irritating because I can't remember shit I wrote last year.

The idea of doing research on myself seems too narcissistic even for me. The idea of asking friends and family for their memories of me, both good and bad, makes me uneasy. It also seems like it would be kind of a waste of time.

"I don't know, John...I was fucked up, too, you know. You said something funny then you fell down, I think? That sounds about right."

"I don't remember when it happened but at one point you yelled at a guy for being a hippie. His hair wasn't really long, either...I think that's why he didn't get mad. He was just as confused as I was as to why you would call him that."

"I thought I told you not to call here again, you drunk-dialing asshat."

"Oh, I remember that you loved playing with G.I. Joes with your brother, and you really enjoyed singing at church when you were little. I think we still have some of your stuffed animals in the attic...Hello? Son, are you still there?"

I know this is all due to brain cells I've doused with booze and the "time travel" I did often with pain killers, but I like to think of it as my body and mind protecting me from my past... locking away all those possibly damaging memories so I can move forward with my life. Sure... why not. Either way, I won't be scribing "Here and Back Again... and Then There Once or Twice More... and Back... and Forth: The John Rabon Story" any time soon.

What will I write? Probably a lot of shit like this. I guess we'll see.

Defeating My Inner Demon

"Inner Demon III" by jdotjam

 I figured it out by accident.

I was preparing for war, mentally and emotionally. I learned patience being locked away for 6 months with drug addicts, bad criminals and all-around fuck-ups, and I practiced patience when setting goals for myself this past year. I worked on little things in my life, not really pushing to get to whatever my next step in life was supposed to be. I was interested in the here and now. I attempted to understand who I was without an influence in my body, and I focused on emotions moment to moment as I experienced them. This sounds tedious and mundane, but it had been a long time since I really dealt with emotions...or with anything for that matter.

So, I took my baby steps for months. I wrote when I was inspired or disturbed...or both. I handled whatever was in front of me. (Okay, that makes me sound like a groping uncle or your creepy coworker. There's a better way to phrase that.) I took care of issues as they surfaced and met my immediate needs. (No, now it sounds like I just masturbated alot. You get the idea, I hope. Moving along.)

Doing my best at work, performing when I could, obeying the sober house rules, staying sober, skateboarding, meditation...I followed a routine for months. Good things started to happen - I thrived at work, I wrote new jokes, I maintained an inner peace, I met Katie. And then recently, I completely paid off probation and moved out of the sober house.

The transition to the "real world" is all but done. In less than two months, I'll be done with probation completely, and I'll no longer have this breathalizer I carry in a backpack. It couldn't have happened at a better time. I was tired of being around the same type of people: shifty addicts either beginning recovery or pretending to be in recovery. I've had to deal with them for over a year in close proximity, and I was ready to be around normies. This is Austin, though, and I hang around kitchen staff and comedians. Normal is basically functioning drunks and drug users. Still a warm change, people who function.

While all this is going on, I am working on my mental state, ready for my addiction to fight me at the first sign of bad news. My inner demon...that devil on my shoulder...I knew it was still there, getting ready to attack. My assumption has always been the major battle will occur the day I have no one watching me anymore, which would be March 1st. I no longer believe this to be the case as I'm positive there will be no big attack from my demon.

You see, I made a breakthrough back in October that I touched on in the Duality of Me post:

"I don't really think that the angel is always good or the devil is always evil."
"My duality has to do with who I was vs who I am trying to be now."
"I can't stop being me."
"I am my imperfections, and I can embrace them."

Addiction, anxiety, negative thought...it's all in our mind. Everything is in our minds. No shit, you knew that. It's because it is all in my head that I had to change my thinking over time in order to make this new life while clean and sober thingy work.

I had to convince myself that my new life was cool. Sober in AA with a higher power looking at my past as all negative did not sound acceptable. Being very much pro-drug and pro-alcohol but considering myself a retired drunk and junkie looked better. Approaching the reality that I've milked all the bloody fun out of booze and pain killers and the lifestyle associated with both was how I convinced myself to do something new. Take that as a daily affirmation along with my decision I was done for good so that I don't kill myself and revisit them every 24 hours. Lather, rinse, repeat.

It's been working. Like really, really well. My success with rewiring some of these patterns in my selfish know-it-all ego-driven brain made me starting thinking more about the angel and devil on my shoulders...I mean obviously, my perception of "good" and "bad" separated instead of being all one big yin-fuck-yang. If this was a fallacy, wasn't referring to an addictive personality coupled with self-destructive patterns as a demon just as bullshit? I mean, obviously I don't have a demon possessing me...but the concept of separating negative aspects of yourself into a conceptual entity that you have to fight sounded stupid all of the sudden. It's all me, man. I don't need to try to kick my own ass here.

Somehow I ended up in this position and mindframe to consider urges to revisit old habits to be fleeting and pointless. We're old, brain. We've done that already and I'm bored with it.

Like I said...I got to this point by accident.

Just for good measure, though, I focused within myself and formed the angel and devil again. Instead of being combative with my demon, I simply told him, "Hey, I don't like being told what to do." Without warning, I immediately took out a broadsword and Ned Starked the angel, never taking my eyes off the devil. I added, as I mentally cleaned off the blade, "I welcome any suggestion you may have, though. I do like to have a good time, now and then."

Not really defeating the demon so much as deeming him irrelevant and scaring the shit out of him. He hasn't said much since then. RIP, shoulder angel.

No Wings For Clarence

I recently performed in a show dealing with mental health called "A Stand-up Mind - Holiday Edition" at the Salvage Vanguard Theater. The following is the transcript of my part of the show with some additions. Happy Holidays!


Something that happens to you when you are in treatment or therapy (for whatever reason...mine was alcohol/drug related) is that you have a hard time opening up in group and individual sessions in the beginning. However, you then find yourself on the other end...where you are completely upfront and uncomfortably honest all the time...to everyone.

"How are you?"
"Oh, just dealing with emotional detachment and intimacy issues as well as accepting the inevitability of my own death. I mean, FINE. I'm fine. Can I get a venti vanilla latte..."

I think about that when I prepare to go visit my family for Thanksgiving or Christmas. You don't want to be honest with your family during the holidays, if ever. They love you and all, but they don't want a buzzkill during turkey. "Don't ruin my Christmas with your reality!" Just say you're fine.

My mother has always been "the organizer" for family gatherings. Every get together needs one, and she's good at it. She always makes sure everyone is included in the festivities...no one is left out. Every Christmas with my immediate family would have a stocking for each person. This included one for my significant other, so there it was with my exwife's name on it...then it had a girlfriend's name...then a different girlfriend's name...then it was blank. I suggested just putting "Young Childless Hussy" on there and be done with it. Sure, it sounds harsh, but it would look stunning in glittered calligraphy.

For the bigger family gatherings that included all my aunts, uncles, cousins and their kids, Mom would dole out the food assignments based on finances, reliability, and possibly family status. Granny is cooking the turkey...Aunt Denise is bringing green beans, Uncle Richard is bringing pie, this cousin is doing a salad, another cousin is bringing all the plates, cups, cutlery and bread...

Me: "What should I pick up?"
Mom: "How about...you grab a bottle of soda?"
Me: "Soda. Right. Well, I hope I can pull this off."

Couldn't really blame her. I've been pretty sketchy for years.

I'm not really a huge fan of Christmas. The music is awful, I'm poor so I hate buying gifts...and I haven't been impressed by lights and ornaments since I did a bunch of psychedelics 15 years ago. "I saw my roommates torso dislodge from his body and his soul fly into the fireplace which was morphing through every fireplace I've ever seen in my life...but sure, that's an impressive tree with lights on it."

Not a big fan of Christmas movies, either. We would watch one every year as a little tradition. Never "Die Hard", though. Too bad. Usually it was "A Christmas Story", which I liked, or "It's a Wonderful Life."

I've seen the last half hour of "It's a Wonderful Life" many times, but I've only seen it all the way through maybe twice. It's 2 hours and 10 minutes long. There's no call for that, especially since they spend the first 90 minutes setting up one thing: George Bailey had big dreams of traveling the world, but instead he gave and gave and helped everyone else and let his dream die as he settled on a failing business and a family. So Clarence has to show George that his life is worth living in order to get his wings. He shows him what life was like if he had never been born...you know the movie.

When I saw the movie about 5 years ago, something occurred to me. I really liked Pottersville way more than Bedford Falls. Instead of a suburban nightmare, Pottersville was a strip of bars, pool halls, strip clubs and pawn shops...you know...fun shit. If I had been George Bailey, I would have said to Clarence, "Let me get this straight. I'm not running a bankrupt business and loan, my dumbass drunk uncle didn't lose 8 grand, and I'm no longer married with 4 kids, one of them named fucking Zuzu? Heh, you're shit out of luck, Clarence. MERRY CHRISTMAS, POTTERSVILLE!!" (starts running through the street)

"Bars, strip clubs...this is awesome...I mean, awful. Right. This is awful."

 
Also, Donna Reed in the alternate universe was supposed to be a librarian "old maid" or "spinster"...which is 1940's speak for "cougar". But she was like 24 in that movie and hot, so...nice try.

But I digress. I like seeing my family once in a while. Getting together just for the hell of it instead of a required holiday gathering has been better for me, though. I don't know why we put pressure on ourselves during the holidays. Maybe it's because it's better when we want to as opposed to when we have to? Regarding anxiety and stress, the easiest Christmas I went through was during the worst time of my life when I was strung out on heroin. A friend gave me a couple of xanax to make it through a couple of days. So I showed up at our huge family gathering with tons of kids running around, and I sat down on the couch and fell asleep. I woke up, got food, fell asleep. Woke up, people were opening presents, fell asleep. Woke up, it was time to go. That was pretty awesome. Relatively speaking.

Last year, I was locked up in jail and then treatment from September until March. That means I missed Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and Valentine's Day. And it was...a relief! WHEW! Let me tell you...you need a break from the stress of the holidays, get yourself into custody! I didn't have to buy shit or fake small talk...it was beautiful.

I did miss seeing my family in the end. Also, another benefit of being locked up is the bar is set really low for you at the next holiday gathering.

"So, John, are you working?"
"Yes, I wash dishes."
"Oh, look at you! All employed and not incarcerated!" or "Nice to see you upright and conscious!" or "Look who's breathing!"

If you're like me and you aren't a fan of the holidays...just remember to see your family if you can...for them. It's not for you. I know a lot of you enjoy the holidays after you see your kin by going to your bar and swapping "my family is insane" stories with your bar friends over pints and shots. Do that. Make that your tradition, because that's what makes the holidays great...being with those you want to love...after you spend time with the ones you have to love.

Just remember...when your family asks...you say "I'm fine."

The Poor Shouldn't Smoke?

"I was in line at the store, and this woman in front of me paid for groceries with a Lone Star card, and then bought a pack of cigarettes with cash! OMG, can you believe it? And she had an iPhone and a fancy purse, I mean, what is wrong with this country..."

I can totally relate to what you are saying. And by "relate" I mean that I have also paid for food with my Lone Star "food stamps" card and then bought cigarettes with my debit card. I did that today, actually. OMG, right?

I am your nightmare. I am a drug addict with an iPod, checking his Facebook on his phone, carrying a $100 backpack wearing name brand skate shoes buying smokes and letting your tax dollars pay for his meal. Boo! If that's all you know about me, that sentence probably makes you angry and shake your fist at "liberals."

Here's what that sentence doesn't tell you. I've qualified for food stamps for a while. I didn't want to take advantage of it...principles, pride, ego, whatever...I was going to get by on my own. But then I had to start making significant payments to probation, and I was not going to be able to afford anything. I was working during the slow period at the restaurant, living in a sober house and wearing nicotine patches that were given to me. I was eating leftovers from staff meals at work. In a stressed-out tearful phone call to my mother, she encouraged me to keep doing the right thing and to apply for food stamps, because it would be temporary until I paid off probation and the monthly breathalizer fee. So I did.

I skateboard and bus to a restaurant where I bust my ass 8 hours a day as a dishwasher. I don't drink or do drugs anymore...sober 15 months. I bought these shoes in March with part of my income tax return. The iPod is second-hand from my family. My phone is a cheap piece of shit. I bought my backpack at Goodwill for $12 after looking for one for a month.

I get my music, books and movies from the public library. I don't buy or own much. I buy cigarettes with money I have leftover after paying all my bills and rent, and I buy them instead of patches because it only costs me about $20 more to actually keep smoking. That's my luxury purchase...a pack of smokes to enjoy and relieve a bit of stress every day so that I don't turn around in line at the store to someone eyeing me and tell them, "Eat a smelly cock, sea cow." That's me being selfish and flawed, and I'm comfortable with it.

You'll never know why the lady in front of you bought smokes, because you're not her, and you have no idea what her life has been like...and given your lack of empathy, you won't bother to find out. It must suck being so angry at the fact that there are 7 billion people on the planet that aren't you. Grr.

We all can make assumptions and snap judgments with little to no information. However, decent people tend to let it pass or recognize what they're doing...as opposed to jumping online and voicing every awful thought in their heads. Maybe you don't need to spill out all that bullshit from your big dumb brain into social networking.

But hey, if you want to play the snap judgment game, let's play. You like to ask questions like "how can someone buy beer instead of saving money", or "how can that poor person afford a tablet." Let me ask some questions, then.

How can you sit there and watch that football game on Sunday instead of playing with your kids who haven't seen you all week?

How can you buy the biggest flat screen TV in the store instead of putting that money away for your kid's college fund and continue watching your perfectly acceptable existing TV?

How can you consider yourself faithful to your wife when you go to a strip club for lunch on a weekly basis?

How do you consider yourself a religious person when you ignore parts of the Bible that conflict with your poor-hating fuck-everybody-but-my-family-and-friends sensibilities?

How can you eat that when you know you want to lose weight and get healthy?

Why do you choose to stay in that failing marriage while cheating on your spouse instead of putting forth an effort to make it work?

Why do you expect rich people to give to charity when you won't donate just a little bit of your time to helping someone else in need?

Why do you think you're the only one who has suffered and experienced pain?

Why can't we all just be perfect and adhere to our personal morals every second of the day? Why do we have to be so...human?


Note: This blog is directed towards acquaintances of mine who unfortunately won't read this, and to several people who have posted comments online that use anonymity to be outspoken, opinionated and overall shitty.