1. Bury my feet with the incoming and outgoing tide of the ocean(the gulf doesn’t count. I’m talking Atlantic/Pacific).
2. Touch a dolphin. Nay, did I say touch? I meant kiss.
3. Watch the Buffalo Bills win a SuperBowl.
4. Drive a vehicle 200mph+, or own a Corvette. Either will do.
5. I want to spend enough time in the boonies to write an autobiography.
6. Learn to flyfish.
7. Run a mile in under six minutes …. when I’m 45 years old or older, ok at any age from here on out.
8. Go offroading in Moab.
9. Learn to Ski & SnowBoard.
10. Pull 10 people’s cars out of the side of the road during a blizzard.
11. Play *and* BEAT all of the Final Fantasy series(minus online).
12. Go Deep Sea Fishing. Preferably with my pops.
13. Go on a super scary roller coaster, like the mind eraser.
14. Visit the FJ Summit in Ouray Colorado for a week.
15. Be employed by the Buffalo Bills to be a beat writer.
16. Read the entire Bible, front to back.
17. Learn a foreign language.
18. Fire a Bazooka, I mean really fire a bazooka.
19. Learn to Scuba Dive.
20. Go to a 3 Doors Down Concert(Ok, I’ve already done this, but it was something I wanted to do for many, many years now).
21. Go on a cruise.
22. See the running of the Bulls.
23. Travel to see USA play in a World Cup somewhere, on a side note, I’ll settle to be able to watch USA actually WIN a world cup in my lifetime.
24. Ride in an Apache Helicopter.
25. Own my own home.
26. Be a Ping Pong master.

This list will be updated often, so check back often!

There comes a time in everyone’s life when their safe haven is stripped away from them, if even for a moment, leaving them alone and abandoned. It can be anything really. For some, it’s the lost blankey or teddy bear that’s held in time of need. For others it could be the companionship, licks and kisses of a pet that’s passed on, a simple photo that’s held in a walle, or even ones faith. For some it’s gone forever, and others are still hopelessly trying to find it.

My safe haven was taken from me at a very early age. January 9th, 1995. It all started with a call to the principles office where my mother and father met me. In a mass of confusion and urgency I was whisked away to the University Medical Center in Lubbock Texas, where I was  diagnosed with cancer. A scary word. A word that I was always taught associated with death. That night I longed to be at home, in the safety of my own bed, hoping to be pinched and that I’d awaken from my nightmare. It wasn’t to be. It would be a good 3-4 months before I would see my bed again, many nights stayed at the hospital, countless more stayed at the Ronald McDonald house.

Dirty beds. Overly soft beds. Firm beds. Hard beds. To be honest, it didn’t matter what bed I was in, the fact that it wasn’t mine was all I needed to know.

I had lost my safe haven and I was desperately trying to find it among the chaos that was to be my life. Feeling that all hope was lost, I had given up. I decieded to grin and bare it, too look the boogie man in the eyes, to stand on the tallest lightning rod on the tallest tower during a thunderstorm. Just so I could be re-united with my bed. My safe haven. At this point, I realized it wasn’t just my bed that was my safe haven, but my environment in which my save haven was. My bed, in my room, in my house, in my town, in my state. My bed. In my room. Where the boogie man and thunderstorms couldn’t shake me for I was safe.

One day, as I was getting a shot in my back with this rather large needle, this male nurse was holding me down. I couldn’t take it anymore. For so long I had envisioned myself in my bed, safe where there was no pain. I couldn’t anymore, it had been so long since I felt safe, since I had saw my own bed that I forgot what safe felt like, I broke down in tears.

“Think of your Never Never land” … the nurse had said.

Sobbing and barley recognizable I giggled … “What did you just say?”

I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I was about to get the biggest needle shoved into my back, and he wants me to pretend I’m like Peter Pan. I thought he was crazy ….

“You know, Peter Pan, Never Never land, he could go there, fly around, nobody could touch him”.

“Really? I can do that?”

“Sure thing …. I hope you get to feeling better …”

Just like that it was done and over with. I didn’t feel the needle enter my back, nor did I feel it leave, and thanks to his kind words my life has never really been the same.  I never caught his name, I only remember his big dorky glasses he was wearing and for some reason I have the image of Robin Williams(in hook) talking to me.

My own never never land. A place I could go, where I made the rules, I determined what pain would be allowed to enter, what emotions and ideas would be allowed to leave. A place, for me and for me alone.

A week or so had past, and my mind changed dramatically. No more pain. I felt at peace. I’d visit my neverland frequently, and for the longest time it was daily. During my daily checkups, my blood withdrawls, and catscans and testings. It didn’t bother me anymore like it once had.

One night, I had come home, finally able to see my bed, for the first time in a long time. It didn’t have the same meaning to me as it once did, it still felt safe, but my newfound knowledge of my portable safe haven somewhat stole my bed’s thunder. It didn’t matter, as long as I felt safe. That night my mother surprised me with a pair of tennis shoes. A pair of Adidas Ozweego Classics. Man were they comfy. I’m not sure if they were comfy comfy, or comfy because they were my first pair of real name brand, non-payless shoes. That is yet to be determined. Ozweego. It flowed off the tongue nicely. Ozweego.

In highschool I bought another pair of ozweego classics, and of course had the same fixation with the word Ozweego. Only I knew why, and I would run down the halls shouting it. For that it made me seem crazy. It didn’t matter though, because I had a place where I can be me. I can mute out the noises of pain, where I dictate what happens and why it happens. A little town in my head that belonged to me and me alone. My new safe haven.

My OzweegoVille.

So for those who have their own little slice of heaven, your own safe haven. Enjoy it Cherish it.  Most of all, use from time to time. And for those that feel hopelessly lost looking for your little slice of heaven, your own safe haven, take heed in the little(or rather large in my case) pinpricks that life gives …. it might be just around the corner waiting to be re-discovered.

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Tags: MyOzweegoVille.

My earliest memory of my father was him grabbing me by my overall straps and tossing me into the back seat of his 4 Cylinder ’80 something Dodge Charger. I remember we were in England and he was trying to sell it, and the guy that came to see it, he was mumbling something here and there and “it needs new spark plugs …”. I couldn’t have been any older than 5 or so, but had I known any better I would have laughed at him like I do now for owning such a vehicle.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games, I remember me and my sister using a broom in the garage. I would hold the broom and spin, while she jumped over it, and of course this made a pretty loud racket. Dad would come outside and ask politely that we knock it off or he’d come back out and whip our asses. hehe, yes, that was polite. Talk about a fair deal. I got my butt whipped while I was dizzy, while my sister got all the glory of playing jump over the broomstick. Normally if we did something boneheaded he’d let us know right then and there, no warnings. My father was always the Steel Arm of Discipline and usually when I think of childhood it’s me running to my room to double pad my underwear, or me hopping around the house with both hands securely fastened to my butt cheeks.

By the time I was about 8 or so, physical disciplinary was no longer necessary. I knew. I knew to think 5 times before doing something stupid and at that point there was mutual respect for each other. When I did do something bone headed all my father had to do was look at me with a sense of disappointment and the immense guilt was punishment enough.

To be fair, he also was very rewarding with the good things that we did. I remember once I came in, moping of course because all the kids on the block were having a water gun fight, and as every man knows, you can’t bring a water bottle to a super soaker fight. He asked me to follow him to the car, and before my head could spin I had a super soaker in my hands. The best on the block. He had told me it was due to my grades that he bought it for me, and that if I excelled in school continuously, better things would come.

I really didn’t act up all that much during school. Of course, that doesn’t mean that during parent teacher conference time I wasn’t cowering in the corner for fear that one of my teachers would say I talked to much. Or that I acted out of turn ect …

It wasn’t until I was diagnosed that me and the relationship with my father evolved to the next stage. I learned rather quickly that for the most part it would be just me with my mother at my side. He would sit out in the waiting rooms, he’d go get newspapers during examinations, the countless nights I had to stay overnight he was somewhere else. My first night in the hospital I remember asking him if we could rent a hotel, I didn’t want to stay there and he said it was for the better that I stay. For the longest time I somewhat resented him for it. When I needed him the most, he was no where to be found. When I wanted to talk to a man about how the cutest nurse in the hospital just asked for my stool sample, or how the nurses would come visit me during the night to bring me lolipops and ice cream on the very very rare occasion that my mom wasn’t with me, and that was very rare. Of course the times I didn’t want him around he was there. The time I was bawling my eyes out when I got marked for my radiation placement, the hundreds of times I had to drink barium where he’d make gagging noises and I’d upchuck everywhere! Only to have to redrink it all over again. Yuck.

I would later find out that he was always gone from my hospital sleep overs, because he’d be traveling 2 hours from lubbock to clovis at midnight, back to work the next day and towards the end of it all is when he started to work two jobs to pay for the bills. He would pace the halls of the examination room, never sitting still and always fidgety, because when he was a kid he had a pretty bad bike accident. He’d tell me embarrassing stories about how he had to walk every where is his skivvies and such.

On my independence day, the day where my broviac was removed. In a sense it was the last time I really had to be at the hospital day in and day out. We were sitting in the doctors consultation room and I had begged and pleaded to get it removed while I was out cold. And so it was. Under the knife I had went for the last time. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, but I do remember half dead, in the arms of my father as he carried me back to our car, which was to be for the last time.

“How you doing champ”.

“Been better ….”

I smiled, and not two seconds later I was out like a light. All the way back home …

It was at that moment on that I felt me and my fathers relationship changed. No longer did he talk to me like a kid, but he talked to me like a man. As if I somehow had earned it. He told it to me straight how it was. Day in and day out.

Junior high and Highschool came and went. There was high school graduation day and shortly after my little car was packed tight and I was off to college.

With my car unpacked, we had decided to take a quick tour of the city, we went over my route to and from school a hundred times. Like a kid who didn’t study for a quiz, I was nervous. I didn’t know my way back home even though we drove the route a hundred times. I drove to my school, and from there my dad caught a taxi to his hotel.

Just a handshake.

No long hug, no congratulations … no … good luck your going to need it.

Just a handshake.

I got home, it was raining out that day(August 5 to be exact, 2002) and I stared out my window, hoping it was all a joke. That somehow I could just tap my toes together and would be at home, eating mom’s home cooked dinner and listening to his stories. As if my plane had crash landed in the middle of the boonies with no hope for rescue, my survival instincts kicked in and I tried to think of everything he had taught me.

*”Shit or get off the pot”.

It’s the only thing that came to mind. Are you serious? After 17 years of existence, in your defining moments of your life, that’s all you can think of?

Hehe. Yes.

Of course I’ve learned so much from my father. Over the past few years of reflections I’ve come to realize that he’s taught me so many things silently that I never saw before. Most of the lessons usually come back to the subject of Self-Reliance.

Whether I care to admit it or not, most of my important decisions come down to me asking myself:

“WWDWMTD”. What would dad want me to do?

We talked about that last night. He’s been preaching to me about living debt free. Laughs and explains why buying a 30K hummer is stupid, and how I need to be making quadruple payments on my student loans so I’m in debt to no man. Being in debt to no man …

Weird, because as long as I live, I’ll always be in debt to him for what he’s done for me.

*You have to dig for it … it’s buried deep deep deep within there somewhere ….

Girlfriend Application

The position of girlfriend is again available, and applications are still being accepted and maintained. Upon applying, you may be contacted.

Name:
Age:
Birthday:
Sign:

Why do you want to be my girlfriend?

What are your hobbies?

Do you like to stay in shape?

What is your favorite kind of music?

What are your favorite bands?

Do you wear panties or thongs or nothing?

Sheets or no sheets?

What is my best physical feature?

Which side of the bed do you prefer?

What is your favorite color?

Do you hunt?

Can you fish?

Can you dress out a large animal/filet a fish?

Do you own a boat?

Can you swim?

Hopeless romantic or romanticly hopeless?

If we were doing body shots where would you pour the hard stuff?

Swimsuit or skinnydip?

Do you walk around the house naked?

Lingerie: For romantic foreplay or to be torn off with my teeth?

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Do you smoke cigarettes?

Do you drink?

Do you do any drugs?

Do you like to draw\paint\other artistic stuff?

Do you like to camp?

What�s your favorite movie?

Can you cook??

If you cook, do you do dishes?

Do you cry during sad movies?

How old were you the first time you had sex?

What is your favorite kind of sex?

Are you religious, if so what religion?

Are you a dreamer, or are you down to earth?

What�s your favorite day of the week?

Toys in the bedroom?

Are you spontaneous?

Would you rather stay in or go out?

Do you Karaoke?

Do you like to be alone sometimes?

What do you feel is the most important part of a relationship?

How do you feel about drugs & alcohol?

Why should I pick you?

What is your best feature?

Why would you make a great girlfriend?

What do you like best about me (so far)?

How would you make me laugh?

What�s the least important thing in a relationship?

If I started cuddling & stuff, would you..

If I called you at 3 am & wanted to hang out because I was feeling lonely, would you..

How would you show me that you really like me, in person….

How long have your parents been married or divorced?

Where do you want to live?

Do you have any sexual fantasies? Tell me one of them.

Do you want children? If so how many?

Do you want your husband to work?

Have you ever been in love so bad it hurts?

Could you fall in love (again)?

If you had one wish what would it be?

Would my parents like you?

How should a man be treated?

Do you want to be married?

Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend?

If you could have dinner with anyone dead or alive who would it be and why?

Favorite Food?

Do you like dogs?

Do you like cats?

Have you ever owned a Ford?

How long did it take you to get rid of it?

What do you drive?

If you could go anywhere with me where would it be? And what would we do?

Why did you take the time to fill this out?

Anything else you would like me to know?

Thanks for applying! Remember this is an application and only one will be selected.

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Tags: timeflies, pops, call, wwdwmtd

“I can’t”.

Like many mornings as of late, it’s been chilly. Nose and fingertips cold to the touch, I wake up and try going back to sleep but it’s no use. Staring at the ceiling is a normal ritual in times like these. Usually I just sit and think about my day, and more importantly, motivating myself to get out of bed in an orderly and timely fashion. It doesn’t work. My mind is able but my body unwilling. Usually a good hour or so has passed, I’ll step into a nice hot shower, and days when I’m not feeling so lazy I’ll shave.

This morning was no different. I sat and listened to my mind and my body bicker as to how and when I’d get out of bed for a good half hour. Finally the decision was made, one foot in front of the other, blindly heading for the shower. 2 stubbed toes from my unpacked boxes, 3rd degree burns from too hot of water, a slick floor and a nearly cracked skull later, I made my way out of the shower and to the front of my mirror. Looking down to my left I see a neatly folded towel with my razor, my side burn trimmer and my after shave. Orderly and neat, as if a doctor were looking at his devices before surgery. To my right, shaving cream. And so it begins.

“Who cares what you look like …. be a mountain man for a change”.

“I’ve been a mountain man this past week, it’s time to shave”.

“Live a little”.

“Shutup”.

“Your Stupid”.

“Your Stupid”.

Once finished, I sat there thinking that I do clean up pretty good. Observing myself, chin outstretched for any missing patches of peach fuzz I may have missed. All clear. Accomplished, I sit and stare at myself for a minute, not thinking much. Out of no where from the bowels of my brain it came.

“Do you like what you see in the mirror?”.

Blind sided. A semi could have hit me in the middle of my apartment and I would not have been more blind sided then I was at that moment.

“Good question. I think today I do, I’m neatly shaven, no imperfections on my face, my hair is neat and orderly. So yea, I do like what I see in the mirror”.

“Chickenshit”.

I knew when I asked myself that what I was really asking. Not what I had saw in the mirror vanity wise, but what I saw in the mirror as an individual. A complete individual, all encompassing. Do I like where I’ve been in life, where I am in life and where I’m going. Do I have any regrets in my life. If I died today would I be a happy man. Would I have accomplished everything I could have imagined. The list goes on and on, but more importantly, Do you like what you see in the mirror.

I knew exactly the depth of the question and I decided to lie to myself and take the easy way out. I knew it too.

“Lets try this again kc … Do you like what you see in the mirror”.

My mind buzzing at a billion thoughts a nano second. I thought about my past. Regrets. No … no regrets. I perhaps would have changed the way I acted, I would have chosen my words a bit more carefully in quite a few situations. I would have rethought or further researched my college decisions. My move away from home. I would have changed my relationships with my grandparents and my parents and sister for that matter, whether that’s writing more, or just talking more. So many things …

Past relationships, financial mistakes, stupid mistakes, emotional mistakes, social mistakes. Things that I should have known better, and yet I still stumbled and I know I shouldn’t have. So many things …

I thought about my present. I’m headed in the right direction, although it seems like I’ve got so far to go. Socially, mentally, financially, emotionally, physically. So many things …

It seemed like an eternity, just thoughts. So many thoughts….. A big part of me couldn’t honestly say I’m happy with what I see, and the other part of me, the proud and egotistical part of me confidently could say yes. So which is it?

Like so many questions in life, it cannot be answered with a simple yes or no that I could sense was requested. Yes or No. Black and white. It’s not a simple answer, nor is it a black and white, yes or no issue.

It’s complicated. It’s long winded.

Too many self issues I need to deal with. Too many mistakes that I’ve made over and over again and yet refuse to learn. Just so many thoughts, and although I have no regrets, there are far to many things I would have liked to have done differently.

Deep down I know the answer to be no.

“Answer the damn question”.

“I can’t”.

At the end of the day when you do look in the mirror, it’s not your mother or father, sister or brother, friends or colleges who can answer this for you. At the end of the day, it’s not they who has to look at you in the mirror, and at the end of the day it’s not they who you have to answer to.

It’s yourself.

I realize now my answer was foolish. I Can’t. I couldn’t answer because deep down the answer was no, and I couldn’t come to terms with that. Instead I should realize that I’m not perfect, I under stand this. But I’m trying. I’m trying to better myself each and every day. I’m trying to mend burned bridges, I’m trying to better every aspect of my life. I’m trying not to trip over my own feet, or my own stupidity. I’m trying to learn from my mistakes and grow smarter as each day passes. I’m trying to have a fresh outlook on life, on my life and my past lives. Is trying good enough though? Who knows, your guess is as good as mine.
I think if I’m ever blind sided by such a question in the future, I know my answer.

“I’m trying”.