Toilet Paper For Napkins

the way people talk shit makes me wonder if they use good ol' T.P. for napkins.
so vile, such a demeaning manner of speech -
the cute little charmin bear yearns for his four-ply roll,
the extra soft one over on that tree stump there.
so give it back you sketchy douchebag 'cause your shit stinks and some landscape artist
needs it for beautiful roses, tulips, daffodils, and other flowery objects to amidst the poop.

i've been on a paperchase to wipe the brown crumbs from my anus:
i have the "itis", which unfortunately leads to "bubble guts."
hopefully it will only be one solid turd and not a liquid zephyr escalating to an avalanche upon porcelain gods
who revere recycling/transporting my doo-doo to a septic residence - or outhouse, depending on the time period in history or location.

i'm talking about talking shit, not taking a shit.

clean your dirty mouth and remember no one wants to see skid marks just because you didn't wipe good enough!

a period of extended depression

i write with an inkling to scream rather loudly.
nothing in my life seems to be working, as you can see.
i'm underemployed, tired of being broke and feeling like y'all think i owe you something.
what can i give you? the bank is closed, and i'm not talking about the brick-and-mortar one
the bank i speak of is emotional, psychological, and spiritual.
i'm creative but the dr. pepper seems to have bypassed my brain;
a lukewarm spirit leads me to believe that God has chunked up the deuces toward me -
i am now what consider a lost christian: heaven bound but teetering on a hellish existence daily;
flashbacks of that nigga thief who screws twelve-year-old girls haunt me continuously
even though the truth proved i was neither of those people, i still fear my nightmares...
and that other one. the one i fall asleep driving home from work.
i completely miss a hairpin curve, careen through a mini-pine forest,
and crash my truck into the largest, sturdiest red oak tree around.
the impact ejects me through the open sunroof and i lay dead approximately sixty-seven feet away.
a wicked-bloody twisted mess of a man.
the county coroner didn't even recognize the mangled body was human because one he found me, i was decomposing.
so much for cremation.

these days, i stare blankly at twenty-one freshmen hoping they never feel what i feel.
they are wonderful souls (second period) who need some guidance and happy-go-lucky role model to lead the way.
in my mind, they are my life - what else do i have?
i'll be better and life will return to normal soon. today looks good, and tomorrow even better.

unemployed lamentations

i'm ready to start working again.
of course it's about the money, but at the same time it's more of a social thing for me.
all i've done for the past twelve years is work (and go to school for seven of those);
why is it so hard to find decent work?

i'm tired of being someone's charity case:
is there a signed posted on me that says HELP ME?
and if i do get help, i do thank the helper.
i'm entitled to nothing, and all i want is one chance.
i used to beg and beg and beg, but that's senseless.
that won't get me anywhere.
i can do almost anything (sorry, i ain't dancing) and i adapt really well,
what gives?
tell ME what's wrong and i'll fix it.
i want to get out of this house.
mainly, i want to work.
i don't care the position nor the hours -
just give me something, and i'm happy.
being unemployed is driving me bonkers.
how do some people not work for so long?
and what do they do for cash flow?
rather, how do you get money?

i need to talk to people though lately no one needs me.
i've lost what few social graces i had and i have even acquired a dr. jekyll/mr. hyde personality.
all the more reasons why i need to work.

My Dorky Ways

I knew I'll never win a cool guy contest, so I decided to cede that one to everyone else. Two of my high school buddies lamented that fact and it hit really close to home since we did hang out and have remained good friends since kindergarten. It turns out we've done pretty okay, I guess with wives, kids, homes, solid jobs, and overall being productive members of citizens. Certainly it hasn't been easy maintaining contact over the years and to an extent, we've faded away like a Jordan jumper, but they were my first set of brothers aside from my own flesh and blood sibling. The irony here is that he was way cooler than I was - or ever planned to be.

This post is about my ways and eccentric mannerisms, not theirs. I admit I was a pretty lousy athlete outside of the ridiculous vertical leap. At 5'9", I was dunking basketballs. You've heard the saying "throw it up and I'll go get it?" That was me when I wasn't being a rebounding machine or swatting layups to Kingdom come; trouble is those opportunities were far and few in between. Along with being uncoordinated, I was worthless in any other sport which involved catching a ball. I'll cheer all day long for the Red Sox and Patriots, but I never played a competitive down of football nor could signal off a fly ball. My contributions, alas, were more statistical and effort. An intramural referee remarked after one of our games that he had never seen a guy so over matched give so much heart. I guess it was my desire to prove people wrong about me.

Another sign of those ways has been my choices. Who would've thought swapping a bird class for a more challenging course in high school would cement my legend as a dork? At the time, all I wanted to do was show college admissions people that I could balance a heavy class load and part time job without breaking. It turned out that I was accepted into all of my collegiate choices: Tennessee, Arkansas, Central Arkansas, University of the Ozarks, Ouachita Baptist, and my beloved Henderson State. Interestingly, that same blueprint had me writing code and what became four years of Wal-Mart. I honestly didn't consider becoming a teacher until I lost my first job out of school as a scheduler for a large employer back home. It was then - and after God woke me up at 3:08 am one March 2004 morning that I even thought about life as an educator.

It may seem like I'm running from my calling, but after eight years of it, I was simply burned-out. One of my key failings in retrospect was I was more of a SME [subject matter expert] than a high school English teacher; the youthful looks, charisma, and open classroom management style did little to allay that cause. I've always chosen the more difficult route, and while it has bitten me financially occasionally, it has not only proven dorkiness but also presented varying opportunities I would have likely avoided. Maybe it's a twisted sense of leadership abilities - obviously, I'd rather lead by example than be a rah-rah type - but stepping out of own way and not pushing a firm, logical template toward success would have served me better. In short, my social deficiencies have been offset by a zeal of knowledge and legendary work ethic. Remember my signature line 100% Grind? That phrase embodied who I was and what I became as a result.

After 35 years and a number of mishaps, it's safe to say I am finally comfortable in my own skin. I enjoy fantasy novels, Five Finger Death Punch, and have a strange affinity for number along with being a lifelong underdog, and if that makes me a dork, then by golly, I am! My wife chides me for being so nerdy, so geeky at times, but if she only knew...

Below is a small list of other measures of dorkiness:

• I skipped my junior prom in high school in favor of work because my three-on-three tournament team didn't play. I also couldn't buy a date even if I paid her to go with me.
• My homecoming date Jennifer only said yes during the third quarter of the football game, likely out of pity.
• I was a guru on the original 8-bit Nintendo who figured out a way to beat most games I either purchased or rented. Tragically, there is a Play Station 2 in the spare bedroom collecting dust.
• The opposite sex is actually a fairly recent discovery for me. As a result, a lot of people (mostly black people) thought I was gay.
• I almost always calculate and average miles per gallon in every vehicle I drive and fill up. I've been doing this since '96, so it's just habit and before good mpgs were in vogue. 
• I received my first car after my sophomore year at Henderson and did all of the audio installation myself! That was all Rockford Fosgate: the rare head unit, replacing the 4" and 6 x 9" speakers, adding a Punch Power amplifier with two 12" subwoofers and stronger alternator to power the entire system. After receiving Arkadelphia's third disturbing the peace ticket (September 1999), I quickly learned to keep the bass down. 
• My forays into following trends were usually met with jeers. Ask me about my cornrows or blonde hair. 
• I can't dance. I have no rhythm. Don't ask.
• When discussing subject matter, I tend to become overzealous with sharing knowledge to the point I have shamed the "expert." In other words, I am more of a walking dictionary than I care to admit but I'm sure y'all know that. 
• I wear "smartest guy in the room" as a badge of honor. Maybe this is why I tend to gravitate to the other smart guys - and intimidate interviewers inadvertently. 
• My passions seem to become borderline obsessions, then they flame out.
• I've managed to injure myself in nearly every way possible yet I have broken only my left baby toe. From concussions to having stitches in both hands, it's a blessing that I am a lot tougher than I look. 
• I thoroughly enjoy science tours. Museums, breweries, and even the interactive ones bring out my inner child. I am also the same person who analyzed bike tricks via ramp by angle in-air and off the ramp as well as bike speed. I did pull a perfect 90 degree angle in the 80s - all before Tony Hawk became mainstream!
• Wearing the red Urkel glasses has made me a lot tougher amid the constant barbs over two years in junior high. There were weeks when I didn't want to go to school as an indirect result; being smaller and intellectually superior than almost everyone else did little to help this cause. What it did was influence my decision to leave town.
• I am always trying out new things and improving what has worked before. From creating the company's training guide to setting up a departmental schedule for a previous employer, my pursuit of perfection knows few bounds. 

All in all, my dorkiness has allowed me to pursue happiness freely now that I realized the benefits of not following the norms set before me. That courage to embrace being a nerd not only pays the bills, but it also provides a sense of satisfaction one receives from having the right answer, steering a debate, and yes, even being appreciated. I make no apologies for who I am today due to my experiences although I am definitely grateful for learning how to read people. Many of you laughed at me; raped my wallet and generosity; picked me last in basketball; the ladies gave me incorrect phone numbers - on more than one occasion, I was given the local time and temperature digits - yet I never had a cross word for you people. I haven't really changed; I'm still the same knucklehead from the little white house in the curve.

Let Go To Grow

Hebrews 6:1-3

    1Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God,

2Of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment.

3And this will we do, if God permit.

In life, we all go through certain phases to become who we are - and in the case of our youth, aspire to become. When we were babies, we relied on mom, dad, grandparent, or responsible adult for all of our needs - food, drink, a clean diaper, or to be held. Someone did that; otherwise, we'd cry and perhaps feel unloved. As children, we learn to verbalize our wants although our parents have occasionally regretted that particular decision. We were also able to feed ourselves, dress ourselves (some of us had color issues - we didn't always match perfectly), and even start playing with other kids! Would you feel like a big kid if you still had a breast to suckle at nine years ago? No, you would not, and I'm pretty certain teeth and nipples do not work well together. Even in our teens and early twenties, we were afforded more opportunities to show we were becoming adults through our choices and body changes. You would think something is amiss if you a six-foot tall seventeen year old attached to the hip, being carried because he or she never learned to walk and having his/her diaper changed since you never bothered to potty train. 

This is how the world views us as Christians if you never adapt. Many people are physically dragged into church every Sunday as children, and therefore learn in effect "how to play church" because they did not wish to be there. As a result, the world can tell if our lives match up to our words and actions. Rewind to Hebrews 5:11-14. Many of us have heard the same words uttered from different pastors, ministers, lay people, deacons, teachers, etc. over the years to the point we can ignore it even if the Word strikes us upside the head. During the days when we are supposed to teach the principles to the next generation, we fail despite having the lessons repeated and rehashed over and over! From personal experiences and later frustration, students entered high school so unprepared that to catch them up, several teachers either would spend weeks on concepts the students should have grasped firmly or simply pass them along as some one's problem. In some cases, I'd encounter kids who couldn't tell the difference between an noun and a verb! I knew someone had dropped the ball, yet I couldn't blame anyone else if I let the student transition.

Hebrews 5:13 explicitly lays out the blame [For every one that useth milk is unskilful in the word of righteousness: for he is a babe] on those of us who know better, but won't do better. In verse 1, we saw the miracles within our own lives, were taught by the best, know that our time as children is limited. Contrary to what Jay Z told us, thirty is not the new twenty; it's the same ol' thirty. At twenty years old, I saw the Hot Boys - Juvenile, Lil' Wayne, BG, and Turk - and while I admit it was an unreal concert, there is no way you could tell me I was grown if you see me in that crowd now at thirty-five. Not only would I be the old man at the show, but it would be odd attending the after party with fans half my age! Let go to grow. Verse 2 takes us back to an earlier era of when we initially accepted Christ as children and had to walk down that long aisle in the middle of the church to that set of chairs the two deacons stood behind as the pastor implored the congregation to come to Jesus. Having that basic belief in Jesus Christ who died for our sins and rose three days later as a fulfillment of His prophecy is absolutely critical; consequently, if we've not grown past that, we're still babies. The water doesn't save you; it is an outward showing of what we've become. Saying that Bryant Utilities or the Saline River water saves you, impurities and all is a fallacy. Let go to grow. All we have to do is let go to grow. Once we release our childish manners and embrace a more mature fashion, we will notice a growth - one of discernment; one of sacrifice; one of a calmer spirit; one of fulfilled prayers greater than anticipated; one to share as witnesses the birth, death, and resurrection of Christ; and most importantly, a growth from within that your neighbor sees. That example set is often enough for them to take notice at what we're doing. Just by "being good" as kids is appreciated - and expected - God expects us to grow. I know it is adorable for 'grown folks' to watch the kids' choir sing "I Have Decided To Follow Jesus", yet if we ourselves aren't matured beyond that mentality of an innocent look, then we need to let go and grow. 

We're right here, many as babies, some as infants, some as preteens, some as teenagers and young adults, and even a few of us have even matured to gourmet steaks and lobster tails. Our lives are a process of letting go to grow. How can you enjoy a porterhouse steak with baby teeth? You're not ready for that meat at one time. Until our permanent teeth show up, enjoy that McDonald's hamburger Happy Meal that comes with the toy and chocolate chip cookie that fits your tastes and abilities. Eventually, we grow up to enjoy more than fast food and sample sophistication. For some people, growing up seems gross. What is wrong with being a grown up who knows better AND having survived our childish ways? You don't know the half of it. Let go to grow. 

My Mortality

My mortality is something I've been thinking about lately, some through my own circumstances and others beyond my control. Am I leaving a strong legacy behind, one worthy of the Armstrong surname? It's true we all know of the legendary work ethic and penny-pinching ways, but what else will people of me? I'm not getting any younger,m and as I was shaving earlier, I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror. The reflection showed a few wrinkles on my fat face sans mustache and goatee as well as eyelids darkening that I've hidden so well behind eyeglasses and a semi-destroyed Boston Red Sox fitted cap, brim bent to the contours of my head. What did I discover? One, I've gained a LOT of weight. In the past twenty months and two, I am getting old. Metabolism rate? Retired. It's in Miami playing shuffleboard. That 30" vertical leap? Divorced since '08, a few days after I last dunked a basketball in front of my 8th period English class. All I see is gray hairs increasing in places that once carpeted thousands of black curly hairs, or trained naps as a detractor once commented.

I know I cannot slow down time - and it would be unnatural to push myself to my pledge weight, much less high school skinny - but I need to eat like a grownup. The foods that I destroyed with no impunity now remind me of bad decisions past. Taco Bell at 3am isn't all that great of an idea at 35 as opposed to 19. Ditto for chugging 30 packs of PBR when craft beer is so much better. Motivation to exercise eludes me like a gnat within eyesight; some days I go all day long running or playing basketball, while on others my exercise is walking down the hall. Don't get me started on my office/cave.

Speaking of legacy, maybe I've begun to realize my own through my family. Dad's losing hair, mom has an ocean of gray, in-laws are semi-retired, the nephew is walking, and even my wife has become a homebody. No more life in the suitcase - it has been traded for a permanent place called home. Living for the weekend is now subsided by work, church, and scheduled date night here and there; the traveler's passport currently collects dust. Instead, I hold memories of epic road trips, good nights turned great, and so many moments of ridiculousness I'd have to count stars to give a ballpark figure. Let's not forget taking a brand new SUV muddin' and my first time in the city. Yep, New York City. Skyscrapers and everything!

When I do depart this side of life for my eternal ticket to Heaven, people are going to say stuff about me, perhaps throw in a falsehood or two (no, I wasn't exactly a ladies' man), but know this:  I tried. They may say I was faithfully dedicated to my wife, a good provider, upright Christian man (again, I tried), a worker bee, one of the smartest people they've ever met, good-natured, driven, a great teacher, passionate about living life to the fullest, a diligent saver, etc. That may be fine and dandy, but for one thing:  I'm dead. I can't hear your belated flowery language. I'd also recommend that they try to live as close to Christ as possible.

All in all, I do acknowledge that I am 35 and at peace with where life has taken me despite my aversion to the graveyard shift. Things happen for a reason, and I've learned to accept that. Where I assumed that I would have set up private practice - or remained a retail manager - the slower pace of peonage works. I only wish the pay had followed me, but knowing my worth means more. I once had a manager who periodically reminded me not to fight above my weight class until I was ready to slay the competition. Preparation means more than diving into failure; as he said, you can get hired out of here if you're not ready for what the role requires of you. It took several years to understand that, and as a result, my career path admittedly hasn't been as linear as expected. You know what? Life happens. The book isn't completed yet, so stayed tuned for the next chapters.

adrian vs. cedric

grab a ringside seat
tickets are free .99, silly, for the wildest walmart has to offer
hope they got their gloves
(and it may even go twelve rounds)
these two heavyweights duke it out for ducats and dinner rolls:
yes, bitches, it's adrian vs cedric
someone's getting paid - maybe full.

is this nigga bipolar?

as the opening bell sounds, the ever-observant adrian watches cedric swagger drunkenly
beads of pabst blue ribbon pooling from his forehead toward the tarmac
belting out rick james one-lines
"what did the hand say to the face? s-lap!"
expecting a very short fight circa mike tyson 1986.
debauchery must continue; ima whoop dis nerd an' git me some pussy from hoes ova there.
so what if im drunk?
adrian ain't nobody.
unfortunately for cedric, adrian didn't plan on being a speed bump to the top.
at least not today.
adrian's first jab stings cedric, who realizes oh shit! i need to fight - he ain't fuckin' around.
another right and a pair of left handed uppercuts to the face leave him staggering for a corner.
all mouth, no action; adrian is set to thrash cedric in short work.
hours of analyzing film
             studying technique
             learning to leave the extra dinner roll in the ryan's bread basket behind
             abstaining from apathy and compromise
             all seem to be paying off.
adrian's efficiency has him dominating the scorecards and winning the admiration of his peers.
for cedric, the first round mercifully ends slumped over, red bar stool matching all that blood.
will this thing be called?

you've got to be kidding.
i'm gettin' my ass beat by a fat, four-eyed freak?!!
this can't be happening.

round two begins, much to the chagrin of cedric's handlers.
they wanted to call the fight, tuck tail, and go home.
them niggas don't know me, he thinks.
cedric signals to the referee, imploring to continue battle with adrian.
adrian sees a wounded man opposite the ring and sharpens his eye to finish him.
a bit of complacency must have set in, a face virtually untouched save a graze midway round one begins to grin.

the two combatants arise, and like a barrel of crabs trying to escape their own evil clutches
they grip closely to each other
adrian racking cedric's aching ribs,
and cedric swinging wildly at air.
this looks (and has been too one-sided); an adrian victory is imminent.
suddenly, cedric takes a step backward
                draws a right jab
                and POW! breaks adrian's nose at the bridge.
blood begins to gush, kilmanjaro-esque
and the collected, efficient demeanor is shattered just like that.
could this be one of the greatest upsets ever?
people have counted cedric out for years
                 considered a flyweight
                 a nobody amongst somebodies
                 some caricature to laugh at and shelve in the far reaches of memory
but now, he could GO! ALL! THE! WAY! and rewrite history.
but first...
temporarily blinded from the broken nose, adrian swerves toward his corner,
navy blue stool which previously served as a holding cell for lemon-lime gatorade.
the blood isn't stopping, nor is it slowing down
the damn emt needs to to fix this yesterday
yes, i'm talking to you!
this epic may very well determine my legacy
and if i am handled with kid gloves, there goes the hall of fame.
the game needs me!
never a quitter, adrian returns to the ring albeit with blurred vision.
fifteen seconds later, the round ends with so much a whimper.

rounds three through twelve proceed quickly;
both adrian and cedric see tarmac twice in the eighth and tenth.
neither man wants to wave the white flag for surrender
for both fear cowardice and the accompanying ridicule.
the head judge, amidst booing and jeering, declares a draw.
empty miller bottles and roses with confetti shards litter this box,
and as the two depart...
they morph into one.
ME.

for those who didn't understand, here it is:
adrian is my perfectionist side, seeking both knowledge and efficiency.
cedric simply happens to be my sorta childish, fun-at-all-costs side.
am i bipolar? i don't think so, but there are at least two women who would happily say so.
i am striving to find a work-life balance
(no fun with work-work balance)
and looking for a better job around here.
but nap time is here
cedric needs to be put down (what about hansel & gretel?)
so smile, laugh, and play a lot
keep your hands off of my daddy red dax wave cap can
use protection if you don't want to pay 'pote later
and see you in dreamland
bye bye
love peace and soouuullll!!!!!

you still here? deuces!

...for the Bible tells me so

Yes, Jesus loves me, but do you?
I wonder that when I see older women clutching their Dooney & Burke purses
and ex-Klansmen turned conservative leaders spew their bigotry...?
I am curious to know if you love me the way Jesus does.
You know, giving to the poor
                  teaching the uneducated
                  never talking beneath my understanding
                  forgiving me when I mess up
                  keeping your snide comments to yourself
                  feeding the hungry
                  et cetera, et cetera.

I was humming the children's choral classic earlier this morning after I read the paper.
I inquired to myself, "Does Jesus love me because the Bible says so, or because He really does?"
All of those years in Aunt Liz's Sunday School classes, and this is my question?
Nearly twenty-four years after accepting Christ as my personal savior
listening to loads of ministerial malarkey misdirected to the masses
while wistfully reading other passages in my own Bible
I am still blindly reciting "for the Bible tells me so?"
I am sorta Pharisee - I grew up in Baptist doctrine:
                    Communion on First Sunday
                    no drinking nor wildly provocative dancing
                    please don't swear
                    watch the reverend whoop and holler and do cartwheels as his so-called asthma consumes the                            cordless microphone he preaches from
                    (sounds more like emphysema; may just wanna quit smoking)
                    back to back offerings
                    "we got a special 'nouncement to make: de cemetery need mowin'. All mens come out Surt'dee                          at eight a' clock wit mowers."
and when the invitation to discipleship comes, everyone either flails around
or gets that sick "You're going to hell, boy!" look on his face.
Let's not forget to support the Democrat for elected office
because Kennedy and Clinton were ones
although the next time we'll see this feller will be in four years.
Repeat cycle.
For the Bible tells me so?
Give me a break!
Jesus wasn't a politician, for starters.

I listened to some nut hope failure upon the President.
Did the Bible tell me that Barack Obama will be a colossal failure?
Didn't think so.
It doesn't say specifically that George W. Bush was a spectacular fraud, either.
I also heard folks says fornication is wrong because the Bible tells me so,
 but what about cohabitation?
I can hear it now: They shackin' up, ain't that a shame.
                            Dat boy should know better.
                            Can't she do right? Aw, she knocked up.
                            Oh well, pray tell dey stop livin' in sin.

After all of this, Jesus does love me
for the Bible tells me so.
(He loves too because He chose to)