I'm a big boy now...

Almost every Friday night for the last several months, since mid February if I remember correctly, I have spent my evenings well into the learly hours of the morning with an amazing group of flesh craving, heartbeat deprived lunatics. Not many people have the opportunity to spend time every week with a horde of seemingly insatiable zombies. Even fewer, I think, have the chance to willfully forfeit the living world for an eve and join the thralldom, enslaved by a never ending hunger for warm blood. We even get paid for this nonsense! I consider myself very lucky.

Put it on ya head...

About one week ago here in New York City, I found myself digging out a jacket from my little storage bin. I had put most of them away once the weather started to turn warm enough for comfortable open toed shoes on the regular. It seems that weather in the Big Apple is just as finicky as back in Florida, though, and so I found myself needing the warm makery once again.

Flash forward to the now times…it’s hot as balls! It feels like the sun decided to hop on down for a day of sitting directly on my head. You give me food, sun, you give me life. Don’t think I’m not appreciative, but holy fuck monkeys you’ve got to stay further away. We’re talking somewhere in the 80s at night, people. Several mornings now I have woken up in a puddle of my own sweat. A puddle! I sleep naked and uncovered…this should not be a thing. This weather, friends, is full of yuck.

Facts...

It’s 9:51 PM.

It has been dark for almost five complete and total hours now, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I like the sunlight, but at the same time I feel most productive during the darker twilight hours.

I do not enjoy the Twilight series. I’m all for team ‘burn that atrocity.’

No Girls Allowed...

I am a man.

Some days I wear lots of jewelry, and some days I don’t. On occasion I prefer my clothes to be light and airy, but on most days I stick with my novelty t-shirts and blue jeans. Every day of the week, I dance around like a fool and sing along to the songs in my head. I like cats as well as dogs. Beer makes me cringe, but wine is my friend. Sports have never been of great interest to me, but in a crowd I can bring my testosterone to a boil like the best of them. I work part time and scrape by, but I’m happy with what I do and I don’t depend upon other people to keep myself alive. I can grow a full beard though I have never let it get beyond a few days of stubble. My emotions work hard to rule my big life decisions, and my head has learned to at least listen to what they have to say. Whatever my mood of the day, one fact still remains: I am most assuredly a man.

Open your mind, open your mouth, and stick it in...

If there is nothing else to be learned about New York City, learn this: living here is like living in every country on the surface of this beautiful blue-green ball all at once. Half of the time, especially in the outer boroughs, I can’t read most of the signs. And in a matter of blocks, I still can’t read the signs, but the language has completely changed. Quite often I find myself wondering if it’s a language at all. Then people walk by having some kind of debate in what I can only assume is the vocalization of the current set of hieroglyphs before my eyes. I’m not sure if you can call this city a true melting pot, though, as the cultural sections of town are pretty definite in their invisible and unspoken territorial dividing lines. But with so many different groups clumped together in such a tiny space, there is only one certainty.

The food here is the bomb.

Honesty is the best policy...

“Honesty is the best policy.”

                        -They

For the most part, They are right. The policy of unwavering honesty is one I have tried to abide by throughout my life. I’m human, and I have had my fair share of lies, but I try my damndest. Lying breaks apart your insides, and it only becomes easier to tell outright lies once your innards are left in tatters from constant tearing. At least that’s what I believe.

People Make Me Smile

9am to 7:45pm. That was my shift at work today.

No matter how generally bubbly I appear to be, and after five or so years working at a grocery store I have gotten pretty good at keeping up the effervescence, that is a long damn day. Even the bubbliest soda goes flat if you leave it open for too long.

By about 5 o’clock, I was flat as a cartoon character that’s been run over by a steam roller. For a clear mental image, just think Judge Doom (Christopher Lloyd) in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. If for some reason you can’t recall that scene or have never seen this movie, you deserve to be steam rolled.

Moving on!

Out of the blue, a magickal thing happened.

“Brogan?” A man with brilliant blue devilish eyes and a lilt in his voice peered at my name tag through his Harry Potteresque spectacles. “You must have some Irish in ya.”

“Well yes, it is Irish. I’m only about half Irish, myself.”

“I’m just teasin’ ya, boy. I know a thing or two about being Irish. The name’s…” This man listed at least six names. Among them were Brandon, Patrick, and Riley. Some I didn’t catch because his accent was rockin. Needless to say, I felt no need to question his authenticity.

“You know, I knew a Brogan growin’ up. We were friends in school. Well, not really friends. The man’s a bit of a bastard. But you seem really nice.”

Feeling round aboutly complimented, I continued with the transaction. The whole time, no other person came in my line. It was like one of my homelands, sensing its child on the brink of losing his bubble, decided to send an emissary my way. He was charged with setting up a barrier to keep my line down for about 10 straight minutes (an invisible Irish magick barrier, mind you), being ridiculously awesome, and of course re-carbonating me.

As a side note, I’m not surprised that when my effervescence was direly low I heard nothing from my German homeland. There’s nothing like a full blooded German to kick your ass back to happy town. ‘You vill bubble. YOU VILL BUBBLE NOW!’

Regrettably, I was still at work and had to finish the order. My new Irish friend told me he frequents the store, and now he would be keeping an eye out for me. We’ve got to stick together, I suppose. Kind of like I gained a new family member…crazy old Irish uncle six names.

“Alrighty, you’re all set. You have yourself a wonderful day and I will see you around.”

Crazy uncle six names looked over his change, grabbed his bags and said, “Oh with the help of Jesus and a couple police, you will.” He winked at me and then disappeared through the front doors.

Maybe I will see him again. My gut says no though. 

Either way, he put a big smile on my face and gave me the energy to finish off the day without decapitating customers.

Glad to know that Ireland’s got my back.