I know what love is.

I know what love is.

Love is 40 pounds and 40 inches.
Love is a hard worker working hard just to keep up.
Love is a leadfoot who drives you mad.
Love is the baker of the tastiest cakes.
Love is the finder of all oddities online.
Love is a smile that can light up a black night.
Love is a sense of silliness and nonsense.
Love is a punch in the pants and a knot in the knickers.
Love is "special" in every sense of the word.
Love is the sweet, gentle breeze of a kind soul.
Love is always there for you, every 24.
Love is the kiss you don't want to let go.
Love is the body you just want to hold.
Love is the mind that dances and plays.
Love is the soul that fits snugly with mine.

I know what love is.
And I'll never be the same again.

Cool with being uncool

I have been called many things in my life:

AmeriQuinn, MexiQuinn, Juvenile DelinQuinn, Dairy Quinn, Quinner the Winner, Mighty Quinn, Diesel, the Kissing Bandit....

I've been called everything in the book, except for one thing:

Cool.

No one has ever accused me of being cool. You know the "cool" table in high school? I wasn't even allowed in the same cafeteria. If the Fonz is cool, then I'm Richie Cunningham. If the North Pole is cool, then I'm the equator.

I guess that makes me hot.

Now, many people ask me what it takes to be as uncool as I am. Here are a few thoughts:

- Bury yourself in books: I have always preferred fantasy to reality, and getting involved with characters in a book rather than real people. I love a good story, and real life just isn't a very good story. I would rather be home reading than out partying.

- Steer clear of bars or parties: I have never had much tolerance for loud, stupid, strutting people, and bars are chock full of them, as are parties. The noise, crowds, posing, and posturing is just not my style. I'm not cool with it.

- Show your feelings: Sensitivity is key to being uncool. I happen to be an emotional, heart-on-your-sleeve guy who will react to bullshit if it's heaped on me. I have never had a poker face, and my skin gets pretty thin when people poke me.

So yes, I am not cool....but I'm cool with that. Being cool is overrated. It usually means being a douchebag. The "cool" kids in school were all douchebags, and they grew into cool, douchebag adults, full of themselves and full of shit.

Call me what you want, but one thing I have always prided myself on is not being a douchebag. I am too uncool for that.

Thank God.

Requiem for my Ride

Yes, I remember the last time I cried.
It was the day that my Myrtle had died.
I can't say that she's the best car I had
But I can say that she wasn't really that bad.
Even though this Saturn had no rings
She really and truly was my Miss Thing.
I used to ride her so good and so hard
But she never complained, 'cuz I was her bard.
Yes, it sometimes sounded like she cried and moaned
But it was done to let me know I wasn't alone.
She was never too hot to handle or too cold to hold.
She was always sweet to me, if truth be told.
But on that fateful day, all I could say was "damn!'
Because like George Michael she went and got Whammed.
Slammed into a car that was jealous of her.
And all I could do was moan after.
Because she was my girl and I was her guy.
And now it is time to say my goodbye.
Aw Myrtle, my car, my girl and my friend
How sad it was to see your life end.
Yet you will always be driving my mind and my heart.
Even if you can no longer manage to start.
So goodbye my honey, my dear, my sweet.
I guess it's time to start using my feet!

Rust in peace, Myrtle.

Turning in My Man Card

I am a woman trapped in a man's body.

At least, that is what one might think when comparing me with conventional notions of manhood. Consider the following:

- Cars: don't know a damn thing about them, don't give a damn about them.

- Handiness: I am better at breaking things than fixing them, and I do not have the patience or interest to learn any better.

- Action movies: if they don't have a point (e.g. The Fast & the Furious), then I'm not wasting my time or money watching them.

- Golf, Hunting, & Fishing: not the slightest interest in doing or talking about any of these things...would rather watch paint dry or get a root canal.

- Weightlifting: I lift, but I have no time for posers at the gym who grunt, flex, and sit on their asses all day while others are waiting for the equipment.

- Bars: Again, too many posers strutting their stuff and acting like total dickheads because they think it pleases the ladies.

In my defense, I do love mainstream sports and the outdoors; I hate shopping and utterly lack fashion sense; and I pee standing up. But that's not the point. The issue here is what constitutes manliness. Testosterone trips do not make one a man. They are for posers who mentally masturbate to their own wannabe manliness. A man is not a man because he is a meathead. A man is a man if he is comfortable with who he is, if he commands respect and treats others with the same. As Forrest Gump might say, manliness is as manliness does.

So spare me your sausage fests and your circle jerks, dudes, because if you're here to walk and talk tough, then I'm not your man.

Bad Day

My parents always told me if I didn't have something nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all. That is how I was raised - to be nice. But I don't feel nice today. I had a bad day, and the world can go somewhere else for something nice. Because it's my blog, and I don't give a flying fuck.

Yeah, everyone has bad days, so I'm not special. But I'm not having their bad days, I'm having mine, and I reserve my right to whine.

My bad days do not usually ensue from that which happens to me, but what happens in me. When my mind is full of shit, then I have a shitty day. Some days my mind drowns in a flood of negative thoughts about myself and my life: my job sucks, I suck, my life is destined to always suck, no one else's life sucks like mine sucks, etc. The thoughts flow like black bile, seeping like poison through my sick head, and I die inside. Then my brain rots with depression.

My whole life there's been something wrong with me. The doctors call it anxiety and depression, but what the hell do they know, they haven't fixed me yet. All the king's horses and all the king's men haven't put my Humpty Dumpty head back together again. I have always been apart, aloof, a lone wolf isolated by my rancid negativity that casts a wretched stench around me. I push everyone else away and wonder why I'm alone. I blast the angry tunes - Metallica, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam - and hate the world, myself most of all. I rage at the utter stupidity of it all, and laugh like a madman at the thought that things will ever get better.

The best part of it all is that, in the words of Shakespeare, it is all "sound and fury, signifying nothing." The root of negativity is nothing, a cancer of the mind, a consuming emptiness. It is truly much ado about nothing. That is what hurts the most, the absurdly meaninglessness of my existence.

So I choke on the "burnt out ends of smoky days," and wonder why the hell I wasted my life being nice. It has been said that "nice guys finish last." It's true. Being nice has gotten me nowhere, gotten me nothing. I lose while others win because I don't fight like I should. Instead, I piss and moan like I'm doing in this blog, and wait for a God who doesn't give a shit to fix everything for me.

I've swallowed my pride so long ago that I don't even remember how it tasted. All I taste is the rotten remains of my piss poor days....

Ah, you get the point. Some days I feel like the lost soul in the Muench painting: I could just scream. Some days are better than others, though, so hopefully tomorrow will be better.