Thursday, November 12, 2009

Shakin' All Over.


As I'm getting older, I find my appreciation for music changing, as I'm sure happens to most people throughout their lives. I just hope I don't become one of those old, or "older than I" people (let me be more P.C. about this), that cling on to the music of the past and refuse to expose themselves up to anything new.

I've been opening my ears up to a plethora of music lately, some old, some new, and I think I'm falling in love with Rockabilly music. It gives me the shakes down my knee bones. I've always loved the style of the time, from the slick back hairdo, to pin up gals, down to the classic cars, but the music has been blowing my mind as of late.

A band called the Mallard Drakes has been playing at the bar that I work out every third Saturday of the month for the past two months (they're playing again on the 21st), and their music is amazing.

So folks, my point being, I want to start a Rockabilly band in the near future. Yeah sure... the music is cool, pin up chicks will dig me, and I can do my own, yet equally catchy version of "Shakin' All Over," but most, MOST importantly, I think I would look awesome as a Greaser.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

How We Operate.

You don't realize just how much certain people impact your life until things change, then the difference becomes a glaring hole, burning right through the middle of your tiny little planet.

I can't say my summer has started off fantastic (aside from the sprained wrist, bruised knuckle, and my wonderful week long throat infection), and I don't know how its going to be from here on out, but some things have changed. Can't say I asked for them, can't say I expected them, can't say if they're going to end up as good or bad things in the future (maybe I can spring Miss Cleo from jail and she can help me out?).

All of this makes me think about my personality in general, how much I tend to regret (which I've already devoted a blog post to). I'm tired of regretting shit, I'm extremely tired of a lot of things right about now.

It would be nice to say that I could make a Chameleon move and just adjust, or even make some positive changes in my life, and maybe everything will work out in the end, but BLAH.

I'm pretty unhappy right now.

I wish I could go back to this time...

"I put my heart into those grapes" *wipes forehead*.

Not like anybody actually reads this thing, but a month later, my tattoo.

The tattoo took about four hours, Grez is a wizard.

All pictures are unhealed, although it healed up fucking amazing.





Friday, June 5, 2009

Tally 'em up.


I'm about as excited right now as I was the first time a female decided to rub my twig and berries.

Yes, indeed, tomorrow I get tattooed again. Not only am I getting tattooed again, but I'm getting tattooed at arguably the nicest tattoo studio in New York, and by one of the best tattoo artists in the world.

So instead of spontaneously self combusting, I have been venting my excitement through every medium possible, blogspot was the last stop.

Will update with pictures and stuff tomorrow night after I get to unbandage and wash the bad boy.

:-D

Friday, May 29, 2009

The ghost of a goddess.


Very simply put, I had the most amazing dream two days ago, AMAZING. Said dream did not take place in a far away land, deep space, or an exotic island, but in my very own household, my humble abode if you will.

The star of this dream was the sexiest, most beautiful female you could possibly imagine. NOW... I know you like where things are going from here.

It started with a sexy strut from my living room to my kitchen where the table was clear and clean, which (for anyone who knows me and has ever been to my house) knows this could only happen in a fantasy of some sort. With a flash of pink, her undergarments were off and she was nekked, as nekked as it gets.

I assume you know where this is going, but me and this goddess had FANTASMIC sex on top of my kitchen table, from the kitchen table to a desk, and ended up floating onto a couch.

Needless to say there was only one way for this dream to end, and it was the best way anyone could possibly imagine...

I wish I had dreams like that everyday.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Alien technology, seriously.


A PSP is by far the best thing I have ever stumbled upon. My mom has this collection of old gaming devices in a closet in her house somewhere, and as I was aimlessly looking through old SNES, N64, and Sega Genesis games fate took its course. When I first held it in my hands a couple of years ago, I wasn't aware of its demonic magical powers. I have since come to the conclusion that the detail that J.K. Rowling left out of the Harry Potter series, is that Voldemort's power originated from an advance release of the fiendish system.

Whoever helped in the creation and development of this thing is genius. I'm fairly certain that an elite class of outer space beings had their hand in the development. It can play movies, video games, emulators, roms, music, hold pictures, and control your space ship all while you're sitting on the couch chowing down on Honey Bunches Of Oats out of the box.

At one point I was seriously addicted to this thing, but around the time that I stopped taking the train because I sprained my ankle, school work started to pick up and I threw it in my long lost, and forgotten drawer. Yesterday I went looking for my camera in that drawer and it beamed up at me with its soft, little eyes, "Get me out of here Pat!"

Needless to say, I rescued the princess from her castle (ironically I also have a mustache going on right now, so you guys make the connection), and in the few minutes of free time I had last night from my final paper writing I was reunited with beauty and glory all over again.

I played Chrono Trigger for like an hour before I realized that I was being sucked in by its magical suction field of hand held power.

This thing is dangerous, I should have locked this thing up and hid it in a better location... like the bottom of the ocean.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

The way of the tiger... I mean the Tony.


I have lived my whole life in New York, with my dad's side of the family as my close relatives. Not to say I don't love my mom's side equally, I just don't see them as much because they've always lived all over the country. Right now the majority of them live in Las Vegas, and I've been visiting them as much as possible (speaking of which I'm going back in July woot-woot).

Anyway, I grew up with my aunt, uncle, and grandparents (my nonno and nonna). Me and my uncle, Tony coincidentally were born on the exact same day, about 20 years apart. What is even stranger about this coincidence is that although I look a lot like my dad, I act exactly like my uncle (minus the fact that he's a vegetarian), and I guess my parents are great prophets or sages because my middle name is Antonio (which is my uncle's full name but yada, yada, yada). We have the same strange affinities for conspiracy theories, similar political beliefs, share love for the same sports and tv shows, and the same sense of humor.

My uncle is by far the funniest person I know, and ever since I was a little kid I found myself picking up words or phrases that he used, and eventually I picked up a very similar sense of humor. The odd thing about that, is I didn't spend all that much time with my uncle, after I was about 5 or 6 or so. I've been learning a lot about Fruedian Psychoanalysis, and I know for a fact that I have never consciously tried to imitate my uncle in any way, it just came naturally.

I wonder if I subconsciously picked up this sense of humor because of how funny I believe my uncle is, or if it came naturally, or if we're strangely connected through the fifth dimension because we were born on the same day.

I favor the fifth dimension theory, but you be the judge.
Cue the eerie music maestro!

Monday, May 11, 2009

When my brain looks like an over easy egg...

This is what happens.

Me: fuck work man
Me: that is my motto
Mersiha: since when?
Me: since i sprained my ankle -_-
Mersiha: oh yeah, yikes
Me: I was forced into the motto
Me: by the forces of nature
Me: that forcefully forced me into a submissive position
Me: and as strong as the force was in this young force wielder
Me: the forces of nature that forcefully forced me into a submissive position retained force over the strength of my force
Me: you see?
Mersiha: I don't...
Mersiha: want to know

I just thought I should share this with the world.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

The fuzz on the back of your neck that just won't go away.

I have had numerous near death or near severe injury situations in my life, but these situations get even more interesting when they involve our "courteous, professional, and respectful" officers of the New York Police Department.

Wearing that finely pressed navy blue uniform grants you the ability to wield your gun at whoever you please, shackle innocent bystanders, harass homeless people, and many other amazing benefits. Hiding behind the shield, you obtain a license to kill, even if you are nowhere near as skilled or intelligent as James Bond.

As I was driving home from school last week, I proceeded into a normally busy intersection. Considering the fact that the light was as green as a single rupee in Zelda, I figured I was in the clear. However, we underestimated the power of the fuzz. As I was passing through this intersection, a flash of white and blue came darting at me from my left side like Michael Strahan. I come to a screeching halt in the middle of the street as a cop car flies right past me. Now given, if these two pigs would have had their lights on or "whoop-whoop"ed (a sound that each and every New Yorked knows, and understands very well) me a few times, I would have happily let them proceed on their life or death journey to the nearest Dunkin Donuts.

If I was slightly less observant, or if I would have been looking down trying to change the song on my iPod, or paying attention to one of another million different things, KAPUTS. The end. Fin. Bye-bye birdie.

Now, this is the second time this has happened to. The other time was in long island when a cop decided that he was going to come flying off of an expressway exit ramp while I'm driving passed a green light.

What is the point of having laws if the people who are supposed to enforce the law act as if they are above them?

Dirty, rotten, NYPD pigs man.

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I should probably add a disclaimer here before I offend too many people lol. I am friends with a few cops, and my cousin is a cop so I know they're not all bad. Just enjoy the generalizations.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Back like I never left.

To make a long story short, I had a very aggravating day today, but it gave me enough time to finish up a flier that I promised my friend I would do for him as a favor.

This is the first piece of graphic design I've done in a long time, and I was working with a very short deadline so I did it pretty fast. I had to make a bunch of changes to my original version to suit the clients, apparently they weren't ready for my creative genius, but none the less I share the finished product with you.

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If anyone cares to see any of my older work, (yeah, I know 'yada, yada' who cares about Pat's false claim to artistic design?) you can check it out here.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

With a twist.

My mom had the magnificent idea to make Sangria last weekend when I went over to visit. I can't lie to you people, it was pretty great. We took the basic ingredients and put our own twist on it but it was still delicious.

I should have took some home with me in a container, I definitely failed in that sense.

My mom took some pictures of the process, and now I share them with you.

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Me vs. a bottle of wine, a very tricky competitor.

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I love the fact that Sangria is called "Sangria."
It's not yet time for another Spanish lesson, so look it up folks, a great name.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Spanish For Dummies: Vol 1.

I went to the grocery store after I got back from class, needed some onions and stuff to cook later...

As I went towards one of the lines to check out the chick says to me:
"How you know I'm open?"
-"The boy bagging groceries clued me to it."
(Him) "So what?"
-"Yeah, I guess you could just be chilling there too haha."
"Yeah haha."

Then the kid turns and calls me ugly in Spanish to the girl, who agrees. Then he repeats very, very, very a few times. If he wasn't like 13 years old or so, I might have said something to him, but we'll disregard that for right now.

Now, let's run through a few things here and analyze just how smart you are.

A. Your language is not all that difficult.
B. I'm sure you go to a public school, and any public school in Brooklyn has a language requirement and more than likely it is only Spanish that is offered. If you're lucky you might have Italian as an alternative, but I'm pretty certain you sit in a Spanish class a few times a week as I did in Junior High School and High School.
C. I LIVE IN SUNSET PARK, I am surrounded by Spanish speaking people. If you had no idea that I had any history of speaking Spanish, wouldn't it occur to you that maybe I picked up a little bit being surrounded by people who speak the language? At least enough to understand the phrase "hace feo" or words like "mucho" or even just enough to comprehend the word "feo" as ugly?

Maybe you guys should learn Portuguese or an African dialect or fucking Gaelic so you can prevent yourself from talking about people in the most commonly used language in America.

Eh, in the end it was his loss anyway. I usually tip those kids pretty well, not just my 3 cents that I get back for change, I normally leave a dollar or two and then all of my change, in this case it would have been 2 dollars and 89 cents for bagging two bags of onions and a container of ice tea.

I very well may be ugly or at least in your perspectives, but I can't really tell which one of us is a little smarter than the others.

Friday, March 20, 2009

"Well rounded... right... like a basketball?"

I've been trying really hard lately to think of something that I'm particularly good at, something that I do exceptionally well.

There are a lot of things that I can do pretty well, or at one time used to be able to do pretty well. I can play a lot of sports, I was once the best goalie in my Hockey league, I was a fairly good wide receiver at one point in my life, and I still play Basketball pretty well to this day (I'm no Michael Jordan but I can pass, shoot, and dribble my way around the court). I've been doing graphic design for like eight or nine years now and at one time had a fairly extensive client base, and have had a lot of my work professionally printed (CD covers, fliers, banners, business cards, etc, etc...). My whole life I've done well in school but I've never excelled in one single subject. I write songs, some of which are petty good, unfortunately I don't have any resemblance of a voice to sing them and I dabble in playing the guitar.

There are plenty of other things that I can do, some of which I can do well, but none of these things strike me as a particular talent that I have.

I guess I'm just generally well rounded? *shrugs*

Maybe I shouldn't have ate that blueberry pie...

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"Dude, you're really cramping my style."

Ok females, please.

Explain to me how it is possible to have a "camel toe" through your jeans?

Do not even think to tell me that it is uncontrollable or that you don't notice it...

I know you feel it... I KNOW YOU FEEL IT!

Clean your acts up.

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Friday, March 6, 2009

Please, and thank you.

I seriously hate Long Island, for many, many reasons.

Anyway, every time I come out here to visit my family I realize just how far people have come from being in a "community" together. New York City is full of people who are so concentrated on their own actions that they walk over homeless people in the street while listening to their iPod, and texting on their Blackberry. There is very little, if any human contact in our society. If you ever go to another country or even another part of the United States you can see a vast difference in the attitudes of people. People are always smiling at each other, greeting each other even if they have no idea who the person in front of them is. This contact forms a society that generally reflects politeness, and consideration for others. For many reasons this is not the society we live in in New York City.

Long Island however is a suburb, it is closer to these communities that I referred to in other parts of the country or outside of this county yet somehow it seems that people have even shittier attitudes, and are more self-centered. I guess it stems from these people making some money and thinking they're better than everyone else because they can afford a house in Long Island and a brand new car. If I can do those magnificent things why would there be a need to show even a little bit of courtesy to anyone?!

Things move slower out here, people aren't rushing to every destination they need to get to. They aren't juggling their job, with their relationship, with the extra college courses they need to take this semester. They aren't worried about the way the trains will run in the morning, if their bus will ever come as they stand at a bus stop in the snow.

People out here are sheltered in their little town. They use the same super market all the time, go to the same book store, attend the same school.

I went to the post office today, and as I come to a complete stop to allow a lady to cross in front of my car, she doesn't even look at me. She just assumes that because she's walking in a straight line with her head held high and her eyes hiding behind her sunglasses that the world is going to stop for her. I clearly did not have to do this for her as she wasn't exactly in the middle of the parking lot when I stopped. I could have very easily zoomed on by and probably shook her up a little bit, but lucky for her I was not raised that way. I hate people like her, I hate people who have that attitude. This lady didn't even acknowledge that I showed her some form of courtesy.

This post office is by the far the fastest moving, most organized post office I've ever used in my life. The employees there are extremely honest, informative (I learned something new today that the guy at my post office must have seemingly forgot to mention to me about "flat rate" packaging, but that is another story for another time), and polite, which is amazing because of how hectic it can get in a post office, especially with asshole customers like I'm about to describe.

Now aside from the fact that I held the door for a couple of people that were carrying large boxes and neither of them said thank you or even gave me a smile or a nod, these next set of events bothered me even more.

This shade wearing, middle aged, Mercedes Benz driving women was on the line in front of me. When she reached the counter she not only gave the employee handling her package an attitude while rushing her to get the job done, she argued with the employee about the size of the package vis-à-vis the price of the shipping. Now realize that it is a scale that calculates the price, it is a piece of technology embedded into the counter top. This women was not hanging her package from a spring scale and mediating the price based on how she was feeling today. None the less this women insisted that "it should not cost so much to ship such a little package!" Clearly she didn't understand the concept of weight versus size. I also had to scratch my head and wonder if she did this when purchasing her Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, or her fur coat, or her Mercedes Benz. Now this post office employee was not only polite and courteous the entire time she was dealing with this women, she even wished the women a good day on her way out.

What is becoming of this world? Are we all devolving into savages?

Come on people a little good goes a long way.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

The world is mine, the world is mine.

I love learning about other cultures. A lot of things interest me, and I have yet to uncover if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but other cultures never cease to fascinate me. Other cultures of the past, other cultures of today, it is irrelevant; I want to know as much as I possibly can. In my book, they are real life fantasies.

Imagine living in a world where carrying a pistol at your side is routine and as you sit on a train you have to worry about a gang of bandits sticking you up. Envision a place where you carried two swords and lived by a code known as "Bushido." Dream up an image of a land covered by sand, your prayers are directed to numerous gods that resemble a hybrid between humans and animals. You are responsible for erecting a pyramid shaped resting place out of two and a half ton stones for a man known as the Pharaoh.

Not to indulge too much in the past, the cultures of today I find just as interesting. I have a professor who is of Egyptian decent, therefore raised speaking Arabic but has since learned numerous other languages. This man is truly brilliant and I regard his class very highly. He presents us with insights to other cultures quite frequently and I find myself writing these bits and pieces of information down, especially if they are a saying native to that culture. These insights amaze me and I enjoy having a perspective outside of my own, American perspective.

Anyway, all of this leads me to the point of this blog. I'm still entirely confused as to what career path I want to follow in life. It would be a dream to me to get paid to study other cultures. Aside from my interest in cultures foreign to me, I want to learn as much as I possibly can so the maggots that eat away at my corpse will have more to share. (Although, I'm definitely getting cremated I had to say that, apologies). I don't exactly want to be a Historian or anything along those lines, but maybe I could use the Political Science degree that I'm working towards and take it to other countries if even not to study other cultures but to submerge myself in as many as possible. It also led to me to think about becoming an Ambassador for the country, which is not only a very well respected job, you are often placed in various different countries. Maybe I should just go to law school and see what my options are from there, maybe things will all come together in the end.

I don't know how many people have seen the movie "Jumper," because it wasn't that great, but being one would solve all of my problems...

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Oh, don't act like you didn't know that was coming!

In the blink of an eye.

Tonight I went to the Rangers- Islanders game at Nassau Colosseum which is always cool because more Rangers fans attend the game than Islanders fans so they get "booed" at their own stadium, "ISLANDERS SUCK!"

Anyway, watching the game made me realize something amazing. There are times it feels like time is stopped, no matter how much commotion was going on before this moment it ceases to exist entirely. Anything can happen, you feel a mixture of anxiety, fear, shock, and numerous other emotions that make the situation all but impossible to describe.

Every time a player lined up to take a shot on goal this feeling occurred to me and everyone else in the stadium. Dead silence as the stick makes contact with the puck as it goes rifling through the air like a bullet. In this scenario you will either hear a ruckus comparable to the sound of the moments before Armageddon or a sigh so in sync that you could imagine it being routinely practiced.

These nearly inexpressible lapses in time arise multiple times in our lives , the instant before the first punch in landed in a fist fight, at that exact moment when you feel weightless at the peak of a rattly roller coaster, the seconds leading up to your lips meeting the lips of the person you have been pursuing.

The sands of time waver and for just a single heartbeat it stands on end. These are the moments that make life worth living.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Maybe I need me some Bifocals.

Ok, perception is a convention that I obviously will never understand.

I look at pictures of people, pictures that they put wherever, their icons, their facebooks, their myspaces and it seriously astounds me that they think that they look anywhere near a fair understanding of the word "decent."

Now, let me clarify. I am not talking about people who are ugly in general, this theory shoots through a wide spectrum of people, from the mediocre to even the good looking. Good looking people obviously have a little bit more leeway (which I'm sorry about, blame the shallow society we live in) but still, I don't understand how a person can look so hideous in a picture and think somewhere deep in the walls of their brain that they look appealing to the eye. This picture could be right next to a picture that actually does them a little bit of justice but it flies right passed them.

Never once in my life has anyone said to me "wow, you look awful in this picture dude" followed by me defending it, or the complete opposite "aww, you look so cute" -"...you should gouge your eyes out with an unsharpened pencil."

Mersiha constantly used to yell at me about different people having different opinions, which is a concept I firmly grasp, but this phenomenon of people fooling themselves with their perception is something I will never come to terms with.

Monday, February 16, 2009

"And it all boils down to one quoteable phrase..."

You ever feel like you've lost something but you know you will never be able to find it?

Like you're sick but you don't have any symptoms?

I'm definitely not the first person to feel like there's a rain cloud hanging over my head, but that does not make it any easier for me to deal with...

To say the least, this last week or so has not been easy on me...

It's impossible to explain in words how I feel or how I feel about why I feel this way or what could possibly make me feel any better...

"Time heals all" is what they say, but I think I'm going to put that phrase to the test...

I think I've used enough ellipses for one night.

Friday, January 16, 2009

The leaves turn green; the sun shines a little brighter.

The reign of terror is almost over.

Fuck you George W. "Douche Bag" Bush (yes, I believe that they formally announced that at his resignation speech).

Obama, don't get shot... and pick this economy up a little bit -thank you.

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It's ok baby, no more tears.


Oh, and what the hell? A flock of birds takes down a GIGANTIC aircraft... really?
...REALLY?

That's like saying a litter of kittens could take out a train.

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O_O.


LMAO at my entry title before, my mouse is a little bit broken and it tends to click at random points in time. Hence The lurns, as opposed to leaves... thank you mouse.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Breathing art and a moving canvas.

I love tattoos. I have since I can remember. Like many other things, I blame my dad for this, just like I blame him for being the only five year old I know who had their ear pierced. He got his first tattoo in honor of me, and then two more following that for my brothers. Now he has a bunch of them, including a half sleeve. I think he's getting another one soon for my grandfather who passed away recently.

Anyway, I could not manage to wait until I was 18 to get my first tattoo, so as a graduation present I got my first tattoo in the summer of 07 when I was 17. Although I do regret not waiting until I was 18 and doing all the research I really should have before I got that tattoo done (which was very poorly done... thank you Snake Eyes from B52 tattoo who was drinking Jack Daniels and smoking weed like they were cigarettes the entire time), I got it redone by a really talented artist (Justin Weatherholtz) and I love it to death.

I just turned 19 years old this past October, 3 tattoos and 4 sittings later, the itch has returned. Now this posses me with a dilemma that I'm sure is common to many other people. Should I wait? Everyone tells me I'm too young to have all this work done, and especially too young to be wanting additional pieces. But what can I do? I had a very early start, and don't see a stop anytime soon.

I passed up on an opportunity to get some work done in a couple of weeks by Jeff Ensminger, I hope everyone is proud of me -_-.

Why would anyone possibly care about any of this?
...Yes, you might have guessed it, you probably don't and I apologize to those who read this nonsense.

Love,
Pat.

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Maybe I'll look like that guy someday, then everyone can say "I told you so!"

Friday, January 9, 2009

I used to be able to hold the world in my little hands.

It might be a little sad that I'm making two posts in such a short time, but this is pretty relieving... talking to myself and what not.

I was resizing pictures from my mom's birthday dinner, which was actually a lot of fun. Good Argentinian food, a lot of Sangria, my mom looked very pretty.

BUT, my dad brought up something very interesting to me (after a long day of drinking -_-). He opened up to me about his "worst memory ever." A memory that still gives him nightmares sometimes, needless to say I was interested.

I had the most amazing kindergarten teacher ever (I love you Mrs. Archer). We celebrated Cinco De Mayo for the god's sakes, she brought in tacos, a pinata, sombreros, the whole nine yards. Did your kindergarten teacher do that?! I didn't think so punk! Anyway, I managed to make it through kingerdarden *phew* and come graduation Mrs. Archer presented all of us with a blow up globe, our last little step in our little journey to discover the world. We were equipped with the A,B,C's, some simple mathematics, and the ability to finger paint, it was time for us to learn some geography. I actually liked this beach ball of a globe that I had, for some strange reason I used to stand in front of this giant mirror that my mom had on her armour and try to keep it from hitting the floor.

How does this relate to my dad's worst memory ever you ask? Why I'll tell you!

One morning my dad was sleeping on the couch and I was playing with that ball, most likely making a lot of noise, and he came into my mom's room grabbed that globe and popped it with his massive hands. He took the world in his hands and crushed it right before me. I'm sure I was crying or what not, I was five years old. I honestly don't remember though, I don't even remember what I was doing with the ball, my mom and dad described it to me at dinner. Now I know that it was a hangover morning, and he couldn't take the noise from me playing with that ball anymore. Now that I think about, I hope he yelled at me a few times to give me fair warning that he was going to pop that ball, and although I'm going to assume that is the case, I can't verify that.

NOW, I vaguely remembered this before he brought it up. I remember a lot of random things, but I definitely would not call it my worst memory involving my father, but apparently it touched a chord in his heart. He apologized to me about a trillion times and asked for my forgiveness, which I gave him. Afterall, compared to the things I've witnessed in my life, him popping my blow up globe is nowhere near my list of fatherly dissapointments.

Not that anyone cares (with the exception of maybe my mother), but me and my father have a very complicated relationship.

Pictures much more easily entertain people than words, so without further adieu, my dad's creative interpretation of him popping my ball:

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I also mentioned that my mom looked very pretty:

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I would never lie about such a thing!

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Marty McFly, you lucky bastard... let me borrow that Delorean.

It amazes me that people can say with confidence that they do not have a single regret in their life. I guess it could reflect personality, some people are carefree and content with the way they handle situations. I still can't decide if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I am a very ambitious person, I try to put myself in a situation to do what is best for me and my future, as well as the people that I care about.

There are numerous instances in my past in which I wish I could go back, relive and change. Make a better decision, make a different move, react differently. Most are as petty as taking a swing at someone who deserved it instead of swallowing my pride, or dancing with my mom at my cousin's birthday party when I was eight or nine years old, instead of being embarrassed (I'm sorry mom, I tried to make it up to you at Antonnettes wedding). Some are more serious, and affected people that I loved, or cared about. These things really bother me, and will always bother me. I am never intent on hurting anyone, but somehow I manage to do it a lot more than I'd like.

I am the master of making poor decisions, it plagues me like good looks plague Adriana Lima.
I simply can't escape it.

To anyone I've ever hurt (the majority of which will more than likely never read this) I am sorry.

Love,
Pat.

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