Once upon a time my blog was a great guide for men who suddenly found themselves single. I was a work in progress that not only had to juggle living alone but weekend visits with his kids. After the fire though everything went to hell and the shit that made my blogs so much fun was gone. If you manage to read those blogs you’ll see a guy who was just surviving and blogging about it. I was able to turn the shit that bugged me into blogs. That was my way of dealing with all of the changes I was going through. I was able to be honest and admit that I had no fucking clue what I was doing and I still don’t. Three years ago my wife didn’t want to be married to me anymore and that sucked but I was able to take a step back and become someone that I never thought I could be. Independent. It was important for me to prove people wrong. I don’t care what people think usually, but after my wife and I split up I knew that I couldn’t give up because then all those people would have been right. I can’t exist on my own. So I was forced to look at myself and see what I needed to do be a better person.
Now two years after a house fire I feel that same feeling of both fear and excitement. I have to find a place to live and not lose my mind in the process. I’m a very private person, yeah I know why the fuck am I blogging? It’s cheaper than therapy? I know that I can’t live in a complex full of people. I’ll be honest and admit that I am not a people person. You put me in a crowded room and I am screaming on the inside to go home. I can plaster on a fake smile and schmooze all fucking day but I’m not listening to you. I may pretend to give a shit but odds are I’m thinking about what I had for lunch or not even thinking at all. I just let my mind drift until it becomes like the white noise on a television. That brings me to the place I looked at today. There were apartments every fucking where and no privacy at all. None. There are people everywhere and do you know what that means? People are all in your shit. You can’t live in a place like that without everyone knowing about what you’re doing. In my situation I can’t have a bunch of gossip floating around, Gossip is a motherfucker that serves no purpose in life after a certain age. I don’t partake in the shit because it’s harmful and at some point the edges between fact and fiction become blurred. In complexes like that gossip Is a way of passing the time between loads of laundry or a trip to the mailbox.
I find nosey people amusing because they usually lead such dull and miserable lives that they become absorbed in everyone else’s. The way the apartments are set up is crazy. if there’s a fire you’re fucked. You may as well kiss your ass goodbye. I also saw my neighbors or at least the few that were out and holy crap on a cracker! I have nothing against white trash folks but here I’m surrounded . I have a weakness for hillbilly hot women, I can’t help it. You show me a chick in sweatpants and a wife beater and my dick gets hard. Imagine me in the summer if I lived there? If I decide to date I know that i would date an intelligent woman that is not hillbilly hot so there’s the temptation of having sex with a hillbilly hot neighbor while my intelligent girlfriend is at home wondering what I’m doing. With that many units I wondered what the neighbors were actually like. Were there any serial killers? I don’t mean to say I plan on dating a chick that’s smart and looks like Quasimodo or anything but I’m just attracted to different things. If she’s smart and speaks well I will kiss her goddamn feet. I don’t care what she looks like. Not important. If she’s into all the fucked up shit I’m into that’s all that matters to me. I would rather have a woman that can talk to me and keep me challenged
The apartment itself was actually smaller than I thought it would be. The only place for my insane collection of books would be in my bedroom. The kids of course would grow bored inside due to the lack of space and would eventually want to run around outside. The selling point for me was the lake. As I walked through the place I saw it through the eyes of my eleven year old twins. Forget my wish list because it doesn’t matter. All I kept thinking was: Are they going to be happy here? They are going to be here every other weekend so if they hate it then what do I do? I can’t move. I thought about it hard as I looked in the kitchen and checked out the shower. I saw the second bedroom and thought that maybe all three of us could make it work. In the end I decided to keep my options open to see what else was available. It was a situation where I had to simmer down and control the excitement. I needed to see the apartment full and when I say full I mean three kids an ex-wife, a best friend and her two kids and then just random people dropping by. I have a lot of books and dvds so factor all of that in and your space gets even smaller.
Apartment hunting is serious business. Once you sign that lease you are fucked. Nothing will allow you to escape. If your neighbors drink and beat the shit out of each other you are fucked. All you can do is pray that one of them dies, or at the very least stops fighting long enough to have angry sex and then then during the angry sex one of them dies. At some point even the happiest couple grow to loath on another. It’s evilution or some bullshit. There are a lot of factors that can ruin an apartment and a lease could turn into a jail sentence. There is no perfect home just a nice quiet place live without asshole neighbors fucking life up for the normal people. There are tons of horror stories, tons of stories that involve fat, sweaty naked guys shaking their penis at you for no reason at all. What possesses a person to shake their penis at strangers? Do you wake up one morning and decide fuck it today my penis wants to say hello to everyone. True story, I lived in Summit Lake apartments and there was a guy that would actually look into women’s apartments and beat off. No shit, and I couldn’t imagine doing that. That takes balls,.
I have only shaken my penis at women I know and even then I have their permission. Does anyone want to go look at apartments with me? You can randomly ask what I’m thinking and I’ll say: I wonder if there are ghosts? Do you think anyone died in here? There are so many random thoughts that go through my head I almost start laughing because most of them are just insane and make no sense at all. It’s just part of what makes me who I am I guess. There’s no fixing it, or ignoring it. I’ve tried several times. I can’t even imagine shit like what the room could like after I move in. All I see is are empty rooms and a toilet just waiting for me to drop a deuce in it. Did I go to far with that one? The toilet is important because you may want to have sex on it and what happens when you break it? What kind of cover story would work? That would be some intense fucking to break a toilet wouldn’t it?
The quest to find the new man cave is on and I think I found “home” today. This place was perfect. Quiet neighborhood, plenty of space and I know that the twins will be happy there. Now once I actually move are you fuckers ready for blogs about me realigning and adjusting to life on my own? The fun part is that I’m brutally honest and have no problems expressing myself. If you write a blog you have to be somewhat honest. Essentially, in the beginning I wanted to reach out to people who were just like me. Just breathing and moving from one day to the next. Do people relate to that? I have no idea but I wonder sometimes. Doesn’t everyone? What the hell am I headed for? I have no idea but I’m taking you with me. The adventure of it sounds intriguing doesn’t it? Random neighborhoods full of hillbilly hotchicks and maybe an occasional cousin Skeeter. The thing I’m excited about is the ability to delve back into the kind of blogs that were fun and showed just how clueless I really am about some shit.