Bliss

"Cover up everything. Bathe us in bliss that you can never touch. Knowing that everything will fade as we rise to the rush." -Blaqk Audio

A friend of mine invited me to Buffalo Wild Wings for her twenty-first birthday, which I felt I needed to be there. These are milestones you're only going to experience once. Her boyfriend of a year handed the waitress his phone, and in front of God and everyone, proposed to her. Naturally, she agreed, as most of those stories go. 

Another individual, a female, had said she would attend and went as far as to tell me I was her date. Okay, cool. I'll play along. As dates tend to go, not attending counts as standing me up which is precisely what she did. I'm not offended about it at all, but the principle of the matter is still there. People have informed me that she's bisexual, and she's convinced of what I am. Though I deny it tenfold, she's right. I think she hits on me just to see. She gives me hugs occasionally, and I don't know what she's trying to prove with that, and I know I'm overthinking this. 

So in the hours leading up to this brief soiree at B Dubs, I allowed my mind to entertain itself with thoughts of her. I had a "date" and amused myself by thinking of it. Unfortunately, the conclusion I came to is not what you would think. She's full of herself and a tease, and thinks she's above everyone else. I had her pegged as a heartbreaker from the start, and that turns me off. If I think you'll hurt me in the end, I'm not letting you in from the start. If nothing else, her "standing me up" proved that in the end, I won't chase her. 

I've told people several times I don't have feelings and they look at me like I'm stupid. They've seen me happy, mad, upset, and so on. Emotions, I have. I experience them to such a high extent that at times, I'm not sure how to deal with myself. Feelings, though. I don't have them. Not for me, and not for you. Whenever I come across someone I think I might have them for, the walls refortify and my mind tosses and turns until the attraction is no longer there. Sometimes it takes a great deal of time for the refortification to commence, and sometimes it's fairly quick. I entertained the idea of pursuit with this one woman, and almost instantly removed it from my thoughts. 

My stepmother has reminded me time and time again: "Everyone has someone, even you. You just haven't met yours yet." 

I am convinced mine isn't there. The one meant for me had to have been killed in an auto accident or something. While I'm finally beginning to embrace who I am, I have not embraced the idea of acting on it. Okay, you're gay. Now what? 

I'll tell you what. Absolutely nothing. Sometimes I am jealous of what people have. That love. That connection. Sometimes I actually want it, but then I remind myself I don't. And I continue to do without because I've convinced myself I don't need it. 

And then I've convinced myself I am incapable of needing it, hence the "I don't have feelings" ideal.

In closing: Love isn't for me. I am almost incapable of embracing it. I apologize for all the negativity, but you don't have to read this. I also apologize for the length. Short blogs are better than no blogs.

-DCV-

They're Coming Out to Find You...

I don't even know why I'm posting a new blog post right now. There's something on my mind, but I can't seem to pull it forward to process it. I feel funny though. I've discussed with a friend of mine what this particular feeling is, and we've both chalked it up as anxiety. I never figured myself as one who suffered from such until it was brought to my attention. 

It feels like a weight on my chest. Like someone took one of those weights you put on a barbell and placed it ever so gently on top of my chest. I feel like there might be duct tape involved, but I can't be sure. Usually for me it's a sign that the world I thought I knew is about to shift. I've said before that change is not something I am fond of, good or bad. In fact, I hate it. I like the luxury of falling into a routine and sticking with it, but here lately I can't even have that.

BOOM you're gay. Now you get to deal with that.

BOOM you have to tell people. Now you get to work on getting it out.

BOOM some sort of something at work has changed and your normal work routine has shifted. You get to readjust again.

Ugh. This post is annoying. 

I give up.

-DCV-

Peeves.

I am currently watching Captain America while attempting to clean my disaster of a house. The other day I had an appointment to be, and when in the process of leaving, I had a mental breakdown because I couldn't find my keys. I looked everywhere. My dad eventually came over and they were in the fold of my recliner...where I had looked several times.


So I'm going to talk about peeves. And not just any peeves, but my peeves. This is my blog. I get to talk about whatever I want. I don't care about your peeves.


Unfortunately, I have several peeves under a wide variety of topics, most of which were formed through working at Walmart.


Little plastic hand cart for convenient use? Place it on my register belt and give me a look like I'm your slave and I better empty it for you. I overturn it. Gets quite a few dirty looks, but hey.


I'm sorry, ma'am, I wasn't aware that the belt monster that just ate your change was supposed to process your money into the register. I just always assumed if you wanted me to take care of it, you'd hand me your money, and not the hungry belt monster. Nor is that nifty place for signing checks or the center of the bag carousel going to handle it. 


Yes, I see the case of water, or drinks, or dog food etc underneath your buggy. Yes, I will ring them up. Pulling your buggy around behind my register to make me do it immediately will not only make me grumpy, but will make me adamant about ringing those items up last.


Don't get mad because my current customer is taking her time and you're in a hurry. You're in Walmart at 0300. I'm only one person. You've just ensured I will take my freakin' time. 


I am not a sir. Or a him. Or a he. So, don't get mad when I confuse your inability to see the massive growths on my chest as a game of "Opposite Day."


It goes on and on and on.


However, here recently I've come to find that one of my peeves that keeps hanging out close to the top five list is as follows: Texting. 


I understand people are busy. They sleep, they shower, they do whatever. I understand that I can't expect them to converse with me 24/7 via text. However, I was always under the impression that upon sending a text, once the receiver has an opportunity to reply, they will. I also understand that maybe my conversational attempts are fairly subpar. So I saw this guy in walmart today... <--That text usually isn't responded to. I don't ever say Hey or Sup. How ya doin? Because that's annoying. 


Okay, so maybe you were busy all day and now feel that the text took place in a time frame larger than what you would anticipate an appropriate response time should occur. 


The fun part about this particular pet peeve is the fact that my mind gets to twist all of the unanswered texts around over and over until it's processed in a completely inaccurate manner. So honest inconveniences are now "You're ignoring me." or "You really know how to make me feel small." 


Moral of the story: ANSWER YOUR FUCKING TEXTS. 

-DCV-

Love is Control, I'll Die if I Let Go

Today's blog title is brought to you by "All Within My Hands" by Metallica of their record St. Anger. 


Soul searching is something I do frequently. With the same token, it is something I should seriously consider not doing. Ever again. Leave the searching to my therapist and hang on for the ride. Sounds like a good idea, right? Right? RIGHT? Wrong. Thank God with clandestine blogs, because all that soul searching can now be documented for later speculation, and without the cramping a hand gets from writing so much.


In any sort of Bipolar deal, there are always triggers. Something to let you know (if you're paying attention...) that "Hey. You're probably about to start a cycle. I'm thinking you should quit. 


I just recently realized that alcohol happens to be one of mine, which is quite depressing. I love the alcoholic beverage as much as the next person. Unfortunately I was never capable of having just one. One mixed drink. One beer. One glass of wine. One mixed drink always turned into two. Three. Four. Several. If I ran out of that, I moved to beer. I don't keep wine very often, but that usually came first over the other two. Wine is delicious, but only white wines (to include blush wines). Red wines are gross, but that is beside the point. 


Usually the motivator to take a drink and then two and then several is completely situational. I see something. I read something. God forbid, I feel something. Whatever it is, it's something I don't like. Not at all. I can try distracting myself from it. Think about something else. Read something else. Feel something else. But now that the signals in my brain are firing at a much more rapid pace (I love metaphors!), I am drawn to whatever it is I've seen or read or felt that's bothering me. I let it in. Hey, make yourself at home. We're all friends here. But the relationship between what I've let in and my own personal self is always toxic. Now it's inside, and all of a sudden, now I want it out. 


But this thing doesn't want out. Oh, no. So if I can't use simple distractions to make it go away, surely I can drown it right? Smother it? Throw a blanket over it and save it for later? 


WRONG. And that is where I make every single alcoholic mistake in the entire world. "Oh, hurr hurr you've lost a little control. Let's drown ourselves in a high BAC and hope it goes away hurr hurr." No. NOOOO. On a physical level, people's bodies generally tend to react the same, but on an emotional level, everyone is different. In my case, every single emotion that in my waking mind I am trying to smother now gets to come forward and smack me in the face. Oh, you don't want to feel a thing? GUESS WHAT? NOW YOU FEEL EVERYTHING.


And there's the second trigger. CONTROL. If I lose it, even a little bit, my mind starts freaking out. If I believe things are going well and I've settled into a comfortable routine and everything's working exactly how I want it, then I'm good. Happy even. But let's throw in a little chaos and send everything completely shifting in the opposite direction. It's like riding on the top of a train holding on for dear life without knowing if you'll make it or not. Control is actually something that I believe leads to the alcohol malfunction. In fact, I feel like control is at the heart of the issue, if I'm being honest with myself. 


The third trigger that I know of is actually a combination of two, and quite common in my emotional make up. Anger and fear. Anger is a response to how I've processed a situation...and processed...and reprocessed...and processed again...to the point where the situation is no longer valid and I'm mad about something that doesn't even exist. Anger's best friend is fear, and my lack of an ability to fully feel comfortable with what I've become and who I am is fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. FEAR. I'm afraid to take the next step out into the world because I'm afraid I'll retreat back into my hole. That stigma? I'm afraid of that too. 


I'd love to be the happy homosexual woman prancing around in public clad in a variety of bright rainbow colors. Hey, check me out! I'm gay. 


But the notion of doing so is completely horrendous to me, and leads back to fear. And if I let the fear of doing something bother me, fear shifts to anger. Anger shifts to control. Control is drowned by alcohol. Now I've lost my mind. Now I get to fight it tooth and nail to get it back. Now I'm exhausted and tired from battling and I retreat back into my hidey hole. Now I'm disappointed that I lost. Now I'm sad. BOOM. Depression. 


Couple weeks of a normal life, and BOOM. Repeat everything I've talked about before. 


Now I know what you're probably wondering by now. What provoked the last blog? What bothered me that much to feel motivated enough to drown it in a last ditch effort to get rid of it? It was something I read online in response to something I had said. Something I didn't want to read. I didn't want to know this. What I had done was fall into a new routine upon realizing a truth I've hidden for several years, and just as I was feeling comfortable with who I was enough to consider beginning to tell people, BOOM. I was told something I didn't want to hear. AT ALL. And to save any confusion, it wasn't anything in the form of light conversation where the other party spoke in a hurtful manner toward gay people. Quite the opposite actually. For their sake, I'm not going to say what was said. I'm going to end this blog fairly soon, because guess what's happening now?


I'm thinking about what bothered me. Playing and replaying it over again til it bothers me some more. Til my brain says "Hey, do something about it. I don't care what." If I continue thinking about it, it'll get pulled to the front and will eventually stare me in the freakin' face. So this particular post is over. Pray that I am able to put the exact same thing that drove me to drink myself stupid as quickly as possible out of my mind forever. 


Until next time...

-DCV-

Hurt

"I hurt myself today to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real."


DISCLAIMER:
Pardon ahead of time. This is a whiny ass "Pity me, I'm broken" blog post. Believe me, I'm as sick of it as you will be upon reading it. My heart. My mind. My feelings, and if I keep on keeping them inside in my champagne bottle of emotions, more than what I did to my arm might happen.


ACTUAL POST: 
Such a good night last night. Anything good for me always goes to shit. I can't just revel in the awesome from the night before, I always have to ruin it. I was starting to feel better after letting a dear friend and my brother know the secret I've hidden for years. I felt like things were looking up because now I've got someone on the inside to talk about these feelings. Who knows what just might be going on through my head. Unfortunately, I don't believe she knows. How can she know if I don't even know? Perhaps this post might make sense to me later on, or her. Whatever.


Let me also point out the big mistake I made the other day. When I poured out everything containing Everclear, I failed to also pour out my cheap vodka. So I write this blog almost completely smashed. Pardon the errors, I'm not really paying attention to grammar right now. The fact that I can spell is at least a testament to something. 


Remember that last post I did a few hours ago? Seeing Red? It started off as me being pissed. I know exactly why I'm pissed too, but I won't tell you that. It compromises my own position. So naturally, upon growing pissed off at something I'm not going to say that is secretly something stupid, those symptoms I talked about in the last post began. First the quickened breathing through my nose. Then the puffy chest. Then my face got hot. Then I drove to Walmart to buy a 2 liter of Sam's Choice Mountain Dew to pour my cheap vodka in, because if I couldn't get what was bothering me to go away, I was going to smother it.


One of these days I'll learn that alcohol has never made a problem go away. In fact, through trial and error  I learned that it brings everything to the front. ALL AT ONCE.


I am very thankful for the friendships I have now, because I swear anyone in their right mind would have turned their back on me. There's no telling what would happen if I didn't have anybody. I could probably text Chris, but he'd tell me I'm an attention whore, and who's to say he's not fucking right? Why else are there FOUR additional lines on my fucking arm? So I texted that dear friend of mine. She did what any normal friend would do and asked why I was so upset. Of course I wouldn't tell her. I told her I didn't know, but I do. I know good and damn well, but I'm almost embarrassed about it. I promise it's something stupid, because only I make stupid situations WORSE. 


I'M TIRED OF LOOKING AT FUCKING BABY PICTURES ON FACEBOOK.


My apologies. I've seen about the 43890th picture of a freakin' baby today. They all look the same. 


I apologize sincerely for lying, but it's best I let myself implode instead of bringing everyone down with me. 


Which I'm gonna go back to me being thankful for the friends I have. Because in this sudden implosion of emotions, I began doing what I do best: pushing people away. She wants nothing more than to help and make me feel better. Offering prayers and attempts at consolation but I'm the one being a stubborn fucking motherfucker with a mouth worse than that of a sailor. I keep showing her pictures and telling her what I've done because part of my mind is SCREAMING at me to push her away. I'm only going to hurt her later and ruin it myself, might as well do it right now, right? NO. There's the much stronger part of me saying "Hey dumbass. Fucking STOP." Keep in touch, you'll notice that I talk about my mind like it's not actually part of me, but still controlling everything I do. I'm serious. I'm fucking crazy.


Like the other day, shortly after realizing, "Hey dumbass. You're gay." It started with this weight on my chest. Yeah, I got the weight of my shoulders, but all it really did was shift. With that feeling on my chest, I got this, as I often describe, beside myself feeling. Like I was watching myself to see how I'd react to this revelation. How I'd react to learning that a dear friend of mine went through the same feelings. Like none of this is real, and I'd wake up tomorrow realizing "Hey dumbass. You fabricated everything." Here's the horrifying part of it though: IT'S REAL. Her being gay? Real. My own sexuality? Real. The fact that I can't control ANY of my fucking emotions? REAL. Reality is quite unsettling, and I'm losing my fucking mind just writing this. Why? I'M OVER-FUCKING-THINKING IT. 


It's something so simple (and stupid) that I've tossed and turned over and over in the back of my head until hey, I'm mad about it now. But OH NO, it doesn't stop there. Now that I'm mad about it, I've got to toss and turn it over and over in the back of my head until I'm stark raving mad about it, then I have to let all my emotions run WILD until I can no longer take it, and after a trip to Walmart, the alcohol didn't help. There's now an X and four additional lines running parallel to part of it. Fear naught, though. I didn't actually cut myself like a fucking loser (this is a poor attempt at justifiyng what I just did tomyself), but used the top of a pencil at a RAPID speed until the skin was broken. I remember in middle school kids would play this game where you ran an eraser over your arm as fast as yu could and the first one to give up because of the pain lost. I only played once and I won. Like a boss. My stepmom bitched me out later over it. 


So that's what it is. That's how the X got started, based on the pictures I took of it. I guess I had thought cutting into it would be easier if I removed the top layer. I dunno. 


To my one friend who activly reads my blogs, I'm sorry. I'm so deeply very sorry that I regained contact with you. Because now I'm putting you through the horrors of the inner confines of my mind. The fact that I'm even still alive right now is a testament to God's refusal to let anything happen to me, and my stubborness to live. Thank you so much for sticking by me this long, and I hope you intend to hang on for the ride, because no matter how hard the drinking binge is or how deep the cuts, deep down inside I know I'm just as fragile as I was before, ready and willing to let people in. Once you get past the picky security guard mind that is ever watchful and always guarding the walls around my heart, you're pretty much in. But no one will ever get in until I get out of my head, and it's situations like this that prove it. I let a dumb ass stupid simple thing pester the ever living HELL out of me until I got four lines on my arm. 


Thank you so much, Brandiilyne, for looking out for me. Maybe one day I'll learn to look after myself.


Fuck.

-DCV-

Seeing Red Again...

My eyes grow distant. You can talk to me, speak to me even. And while I hear you loud and clear and process everything you are saying to me, it might as well go in one ear and out the other. Everything around me freezes. Just stops. Comes to a quick and hasty stop. 


My face feels hot as the blood rushes to the brain to fuel the signals firing over and over and over. My teeth are clamped shut with my tongue pressed against them, not quite sure what to do in this instance. My back straightens to an overwhelming degree (people say I "bow up" like I'm ready to fight) and I suppose I puff out my chest a little bit. Let's face it: I'm ready to fight.


My hands clench. Then unclench. Then clench. If you see my hands look like I'm trying to crack them without actually using the other hand, it's usually a problem. 


My breath quickens. My chest puffs out in a futile attempt (at least I think so) to open the lungs allowing more air flow. And I only breathe through my nose. The breaths exit through my nose in quick almost audible bursts. My mind is racing over and over replaying what ever happened to pump the blood to the rapidly firing signals in my brain. It races, replays, twists. Whatever happened has been raped to a point to where my mind is now processing the situation inaccurately. Ever tell someone something and it get back to you in a completely different fashion? Like that. Only it takes about 45 seconds and all occurs within my own head. (this is a problem, my therapist tells me. I twist situations in my head until I'm now mad over something that doesn't exist) It's at this moment where rational thought doesn't exist. Whether you're a saint in my eyes, or the worst person ever. What I want the absolute most at this current moment is to destroy you.


Also at this current point in time, nothing else in the entire world matters. I don't care if I love you. I don't care if you suck. I don't care if I've never met you, or we've known each other forever. All I know is this: Someone's about to fucking die.


I'm almost positive what your next question is. What do I do? How do I calm you down?


Nothing. There is nothing you can do. You can talk to me, tell me I'm being ridiculous for being this absolutely irate over nothing, and it'll only fuel the burning fire. You can hug me in an attempt to console me, but that doesn't work either. I'll automatically subconsciously process it as you being condescending, and now you are the new reason I'm seeing red right now. On extremely rare occasions can someone talk me down. It usually never works.


Don't talk to me. Don't fucking touch me because then all I will want is to fucking kill you. I'm not capable of such, but it's at this instance where I'm at my breaking point, and that's a fragile state. Because if I snap, you really are going to die. But that's not the scariest part. What's terrifying is I know how to kill you with my bare hands.


Ride it out. Wait for it to be over. And for God's sake, stay the fuck away.


Pardon my French, but this is my damn blog. I'm not censoring myself for anyone.

Torn Between Scylla and Charybdis

"Apprehension runs down your chin. Masticate it, suck those tears in. Life's a battle, perpetual crusade. One against all, time to wield the blade."


Last night was amazing. I found myself in Nashville watching one of my favorite bands, and since this is a blog where I'm supposed to tell you things, I'm going to tell you all about it.


I was actually sweating this show, because I was waiting in anticipation for the Walmart stock I sold to clear my bank account just so I could buy the ticket. And by saying I was sweating it was an understatement. My brother said that depending on when he got paid, he'd buy my ticket for me just to help me out. Thank God it cleared in a timely manner, or I wouldn't have even gone.


I clocked out shortly after 0700, and from that point I filled my gas tank and got an oil change. The mechanics told me that my left front axle boot was busted, and they strongly recommended I get it fixed, as it could cause some serious problems in the future. After a round of google (which I do anytime there's a problem), I learned that this really could develop into a problem. I texted my mechanically inclined patriarch (the same one that is a piece of petrified dog feces in other aspects) and he said I should be fine. I waited on a friend of mine for a couple hours while I fought sleep to see if she could go with me. I was going to buy her ticket, but after a full tank and an oil change, I just couldn't swing that. She eventually bailed on me anyway, so I guess it works out. After purchasing om noms from McDonalds (please don't yell at me, it was delicious), I stopped by Walmart. The psychiatrist who prescribed me medication strongly advised against consuming any sort of caffeine, but with a sudden fear I'd fall asleep at the road, I bought two Amp energy drinks. They're the only energy drink I've found that actually works, as my body is immune to the massive amounts of Monster I've consumed just during AIT.


At around noon, I moseyed my way to Nashville, and typical of me the navigator, totally missed my turn and had to find a way around. However, I managed to successfully arrive at the Bridgestone Arena with THREE HOURS TO SPARE. Spent twenty bucks I didn't have on a parking meter that lasted until 2054 (08:54 PM, for you non-military folk) and was really sweating it once the show started. I didn't care about any of the other bands at all and just wanted to see Trivium, and my brother said they came on around 1945. I saw the itinerary at one point, and was delighted to discover Trivium came on from 1945 to 2020. Sweet. It just means I get to miss the last two bands, Killswitch Engage and Five Finger Death Punch, which I'm not too upset about. The first four bands weren't great enough to go into great detail besides the fact that During the second band, God Forbid (at least I think they were second, might have been Emmure...), I scored a nifty spot by the barrier just by helping save this one guy's spot. He was an infantryman in the Army. I'm part of the Transportation Corps, and his job needs mine. Being in the Army didn't land me a spot by the barrier, and it was only after I secured it that he learned of my status with the Army. 


The opener, Battlecross, was a relatively new band with only one album out. Their set wasn't bad, just not a band I will listen to later. God Forbid and Emmure were also somewhat okay, but let's face it. TRIVIUM. I enjoyed Pop Evil a lot more than the others only because I knew what was next. 


Trivium opened with "Capsizing the Sea," an intro on their new record that directly precedes the title song of their album In Waves called...well..."In Waves." It's also the first single, so naturally they'd play it. I tried jumping around, but between the pit behind me pressing other music lovers against me and the fans behind me trying to pull me off, I settled for bouncing on the balls of my combat boot clad feet (no one wants trampled toes. Some wore flip flops, and I'll never understand that). Following "In Waves" was a song the band generally tended to play every show, "Pull Harder on the Strings of your Martyr." It starts with an interesting drum number before the guitars kicked in, and usually has the crowd losing their minds. Great. More fighting for the barrier. I held on to my phone with dear life and constantly checked to make sure my wallet was still in my pocket because I'm paranoid like that. 


After that song was "Rain," off the same record as the song before, Ascendancy. Due to a misinterpreted lyrics video, I may never know the correct lyrics. The chorus starts like this: "As I'm pulled under the tides of this fast paced world" (and I had to google that to make sure it was right) I hear "As I float up there's a tie f**king flapping, WHY." So there wasn't much in the way of warbling that went down during that one because I just didn't know the correct words. 


Following that song was "Caustic Are the Ties that Bind," my brother's favorite song. It's also off their album In Waves. When he went to this show when they were in Illinois, he recorded a video of that song, and pre-show he told me to save my battery (which was at 34% when Trivium came on) so I could record the song that followed: "Torn Between Scylla and Charybdis" from their album Shogun. It's by far my favorite Trivium song ever, my favorite Greek story ever, and will eventually result in a tattoo covering my left forearm as soon as the X shaped scar fades enough to tattoo over. In fact, when I start closing this blog I'll post the photos of what I want there. You can tell me what you think, all 1 of you that are even actively reading this. 


The last song they played was also from Shogun, called "Throes of Perdition." I knew 98% of the words. My brother has this tradition where leading up to a concert, you're not supposed to listen to the band you're coming to see. I made my own tradition in a futile attempt to learn the words and we can all tell how well that went. I had to wait until the lights came on and people started calming down before I made my way to the back, where I went to pee and leave. All of the other bands mentioned hanging around their merchandise tables to give fans an opportunity to sign autographs and take pictures. I probably could have taken my picture (Let's face it, pictures mean more than signatures nowadays), but I already had a couple from when I saw Trivium 25 May, so I decided to just go home. I called my dad for directions home, because I was almost positive he knew better about how to get home than my iPhone GPS.  Its directions didn't make a bit of sense. I should have taken a picture of my arm, where I scrawled directions to the Bridgetone Arena all over it. It's easy to steal a glance at your arm, and not so easy to grab a piece of paper to look at. Besides, come night time both direction givers are obsolete. Not to mention the fact that I was convinced my axle was going to explode at any given moment the whole way there. It's about an hour and forty five minute drive, and a broken axle at any point is a great inconvenience.


And I opened the last Amp energy drink I had, knowing that since I hadn't slept since the 29th (and it was about five hours or so of sleep then) I realized that I was exhausted. Upon arrival at my home of residence, I sent texts to all the people that cared to know if I made it or not letting them know I didn't die, and my brother called me. I tried to get him to put off the conversation until the following day so I could sleep, but after 20 minutes of talking about the show, I made him shush. I uploaded some of the photos from the show before passing out, and the rest when I woke up, including the video of "Torn Between Scylla and Charybdis." All in all, it was a great show, well worth the 55 bucks I paid to essentially see one band. 


And now for that tattoo idea I was telling you about...

I just want the T (not the little circley thing above it) going down the inner part of my forearm. And surrounding that T in the form of a half sleeve:

Which will cost a lot of money without any doubt, but this is what I want, and get it I shall.


Thank you for taking the time to not only listen to my thoughts on the show (there were just so many attractive women, but the unattractive ones outweighed that and I was more focused on the actual show to spit any game), but to witness what I intend to have forever etched into my body. With just one tattoo so far, I plan on having several. And by several I mean I want full sleeves. I almost have the left one planned out (I don't want to finish the upper one until my tricep wings go away), and I'm being ridiculously picky about my right arm. Do you know how hard it is to find a picture of an Amaranth flower that I like? Let me tell you. It's hard.


Such a good night. I'm glad you could share in my experience. 

-DCV-