Looking Toward The New Year

2014 is quickly coming to a close. I feel like the year as flew by (except for the forty hours a week spent at work; the time there dragged). It was pretty much a duplicate of my 2013: same pointless job, same lack of dedication to my writing, pants, same relationship status, same debt, same doubts, same everything. I did get a sweet new ride, but other than that 2014 was 13's twin. There was one major difference is my wonderful nephew was with us for a full calendar year. He is fantastic and I love him dearly. He's an adorable bundle of joy and I'm blessed and honored to be the his Godfather.

Christopher David Perrucci Jr. is the cutest child of all time. Watching him grow over this past year was one of the only highlights of my year. He grew from a cone headed baby to a running, curious one year old. And I'm glad I've been there through it all. I'm excited to watch him continue to grow next year as well.

I tried to open myself up and I met a woman who I thought complimented me well, and it seemed like something that may have worked, but then BAM nothingness. 

So goes it: all my friends are in relationships, some of the getting married, yet I’m sitting here thinking how awesome my sheets smell and wish it was economical to wash them every day. 

Not that I’m dying to meet someone. I’m ok alone: it’s cheaper that way. Love is way too difficult to ascertain; being alone with cats is more up my alley. Maybe 2015 will I’ll me someone I can stand to be around, but I’m not going to hold my breath. I really need to focus on other things before meeting any broads.

One of those things is getting out of my current place of employment. My job is awful. It’s super monotonous and I get bored out of my mind doing it. Not to mention all the moronic people that I talk to on the phones all day long. Other than that it’s not bad, my boss isn't a dick, the hours are OK, the pay and benefits aren't terrible, but at the same time I’m 2 years in and I think it’s time for me to move on to something that I enjoy. That is my main goal in this upcoming year: find a new job. I am smart, hardworking, and to toot my own horn, pretty damn talented at times.

Seems like an easy enough goal to accomplish.

I also really just want to lose three pounds.

Moving out of 2014 I need to start taking my writing more seriously. I need to work on and hone my craft so maybe one day I can be published. I kind of lost my way and gave up writing, in fact this is the first thing I have written in nearly three months. I just lost my will to write. I lost faith in my talent. I was not in the right mind state to accomplish much of anything. 

This upcoming year, starting now, I am going to rededicate myself and improve. I will try to post more of my work here on this blog; along with the many, many, stories that are being written with the goal of getting them published somewhere.

Now with my goals clearly outlined its time to go finish my coffee grab a beer and get to making shit happen. Friends make sure you keep on me and make sure I’m applying to jobs and writing on a consistent basis.

I hope to provide you guys with more in 2015, so keep your eyes peeled to this blog. Until that time comes here is my Album of the year: The Roots “. . . and then you shoot your cousin.”

You Know You Suck at Driving If. . .

Driving on the highways in New Jersey can be a real pain in the ass at times, usually its because of the other morons on the road. I like driving, I really do: cruising with the windows down, feeling the cool air on my face, while jamming out to some tunes, but those other assclowns on the road seem to interrupt it. While driving down the road there are certain signals that make it known that someone is going to be an awful motorist, or as the great Larry David would call them; Schmohawks. The following is a list of these schmohawk warning signals.

1. Blue Platers

People driving around with this license plate, even though its 2014 and the states fine prisoners stopped producing this back in the very early 90s. This is a seems to be a New Jersey exclusive, though NY has a similar situation, people who still have the license plate with the Statue of Liberty on them, tend to be worse than the ones with the hideous orange ones, though "worse" is a relative term, because as far as my experience goes NY drivers suck, usually the people behind the wheel of the blue plated cars are ancient artifacts who think they are speeding along even though they are going well under the speed limit. Just know if you are stuck behind one of these ancients that you will be in for a long ride, but you can take solitude in knowing they wont be long for this world and won't be clogging our roadways for much longer.

2. Coexist

While this message is one of world unity and peace is a nice thought at its core principle, it usually means the driver is a fucking hippy who is stanking of body odor and marijuana, who likes to change lanes without signalling, drive in two lanes at once because they can't because they cant just exist in one lane, but they want to coexist with a couple of them. Some times I just wish I can run theses peoples Geo's off the road Grand Theft Auto Style.

3. Jesus Fishy

This is not just the stupid Jesus fish, but also people with the "Keep Christ In Christmas" stickers as well. These people are to busy trying to convert the tailgaters, and jamming out to the Jesus Pop jams that they tend to be unable to hole a constant speed, often fluctuating from the speed limit, well below and well above. I wish that these people would listen to that Carrie Underwood song and just like Jesus take the wheel, because I bet that dude could drive like Jeff Gordon.

4. Family Ties

First off: no one gives a flying fuck how many times you have reproduce.

Second: No one gives two flaming shits about how many cats, dogs, rabbits, hamsters, or gold fish you have.

Third: the only thing we want from you is to go back to the DMV, pick up a drivers manual, and learn how to operate a motor vehicle properly.

And please, for the love of god, hire a professional to teach those stick figure offspring of yours how to drive, because if they drive half as awful as you then were all screwed.

5. Homer's Odyssey

Not all Mini-Van drivers drive like turds, in fact most of them zip along and follow traffic rules, this is probably due to the fact that their kids are pissing them off and they just want to get home quickly and safely so they can beat them in the privacy of their own home, but for some reason, the drivers of a certain mini van drive like Andrea Bargnani taking it to the hole.

These particular mini vans are the Honda Odyssey. I'm not sure what happens when you get behind the wheel of one of these that makes them into complete and utter disasters. It could be that it seems like 60% of the owners of the Odyssey are of Asian decent and, as we all know, they cant drive. Is that racist if its true? Or at that point is it a fact? Not sure, but I'll stick to it.

6. Pennsyltucky

Perhaps, the worst drivers on the New Jersey roads are those syphilis ridden dick holes that come from the west to work in our fair state and in NY: Pennsylvanians. Every single god damn thing to piss another driver off these asshats do. They love to sit in the left lane and not move over when they have finished passing someone: BREAKING NEWS: THE LEFT LANE IS FOR PASSING, SO PASS AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY. And if you try to pass them on the right (which may be illegal, but since they won't move, its the only option left) they just speed up to not let you pass them, or if you do successfully pass them they speed up and pass you again and then slow down again. Its called speed control; its also called something people from Pennsylvania don't get. Seriously, how hard is it to maintain a speed, switch lanes with a signal when not passing and not drive like a turd sandwich? I really wish they would all just take a fucking bus, or not drive like they were taught how to operate a motor vehicle by Helen Keller.



In conclusion; if you get stuck behind an Jesus freak Asian driving a Honda Odyssey from Pennsylvania with a large family who just wants everyone to get along you're fucked

Throwback Thursday- Tears of a 90's Kid

It was past midnight on a Wednesday, I suppose technically Thursday, and I sat trying to find and buy my childhood on the internet. As you may our may not know I'm a sucker for the 90's, so what started as a simple unbearably difficult search for perhaps the greatest childhood game of all time– Top Corner Hockey–  turned into a trip down memory lane, me wanting to buy everything I saw, then realizing I'm poor and can't afford a damn thing, (I have a birthday coming up though *wink wink*.)

As stated above it started with me searching for the elusive and wonderful Top Corner Hockey tabletop rod hockey game. Now I can see you sitting here reading this saying "Dan, just go and buy some other table top hockey games, what’s the difference? To that I would like to tell you to sit on it and rotate; Top Corner was the only table top game with real slap shot action, I would lift the puck high over the net into my brother’s face, and what’s better than assaulting your siblings with flying pieces of plastic? Nothing, that's what. I spent about an hour pursing sites far and wide, only locating one Top Corner Hockey game in the Frenchiest corners of the Western Hemisphere: Quebec.

Upon failing to find any of these up for sale in the United States, I gave up and started a venture through all other toys and games from my youth.

One I really think I'm going to get is Crossfire. That was one bad ass, pointless, game. For those of you who don't remember the game would recognize the totally 90's commercial for it. The concept you would fire steel marbles and these plastic thing-a-ma-bobs until you get the opponents off of the board, (why is it 94% of the toys from when we were growing up could be doubled as a weapon against siblings whom just kicked your ass at said game?) The only reason I ever wanted it as a kid was so I can send off my opponent spinning into the lightning ridden night– now that is badassery at its finest. 

The next few moments of my dumb, time consuming search was of games such as Don't Wake Daddy, Icebreakers, Kerplunk, Perfection, Guess Who?, so and on and so on. Damn toys were just so much better when we were kids. The youth today have no idea what they are missing; they’re too consumed with their video games to realize what fun they are missing. Not only were our toys worlds better, they all had memorable commercials where we can actually sing into our parents ears until they bought the toys for us (same goes for candy, that damn whats in a Wonder Ball song still gets stuck in my noggin from time to time. . . fuck I just put it there now, here's to a long day). Sometimes I feel bad for this generation, then one of them annoys me at the store and I loathe them. Do kids these days even still play with Hot Wheels?? OR damn Micro Machines? Legos? (All hold the ability to hurt someone and all make nice birthday presents for someone turning 27.)

OR Slot cars for Jesus Herbert Christ's sake; Fucking SLOT CARS!

I am buying a set of Slot cars and an excess of racetrack with loops, crossovers, high bank turns, and I will be having a damn tournament to end all tournaments. I know you will all want to come and I will destroy you all like you're flying  first class on Malaysia Airlines.

In the end what I really gained was a deepening anger that I, as a young lad, didn't have the foresight to realize that games would go down the shitter and that I would miss all my destroyed games. Fuck you pre-teen Dan, you ruined everything you jerk. I sitting here on the brink of 27 and I just wish I could play all the games from when I was 12; life is a strange thing that way; it just makes me want to cry.

So, I'll end this post as I pour out some St. Ides to my long lost love Top Corner Hockey: may we meet again one day soon

What games did I miss? Lets reminisce below.

Future Road

"What the fuck am I going to do for the rest of my life?"

I received this text from a friend of mine mainly because she knew that I would be able to relate to her sense of an unknown future.

So, this got me thinking (thanks a lot) seriously; what the fuck am doing with my life? I'm 26 and have accomplished basically nothing. I have friends becoming successful in careers, relationships, and I'm sitting like a rat turd rotting away in the wall.

What do I want to do?

Beats the hell out of me, I always just thought something would come along and I would figure out what to do when I grew up. Well, I'm grown up and I don't have a career, nor do I have a goal for one. I obviously have dreams to be a writer and make a living doing that, but let's face it I'm not the most talented writer to grace this earth; shit I'm not even the most talented writer I know. With that being said; can I become a successful writer? Maybe, I mean this IS America where people with no talent become successful, so there is hope for me considering I do have some talent (or I like to pretend I do sometimes). A major problem for me as a writer is my brain. It is constantly turning with new ideas for short stories, full blown novels, poems, screenplays, and other various nonsensical ramblings. This is my asset as a creative person, but it also serves as a detriment because it creates a problem sticking to a project and seeing it through. Those of you who are still waiting on the first complete draft of my kick ass screenplay “Slothcano” know exactly what I mean. This is a project which was started and over a third completed when my mind switched gears and went to another project that was less humorous and one where my mind was in a place to work on. My mind needs to be in a particular state to write something, and with it switching so often I lose the mindset to work on certain projects: “Slothcano” being the most infamous of these.

The main issue is that I have absolutely no deadlines. If I were to have deadlines I could finish any project of any length in the given time, which, I suppose, bodes well for me in the world of professional writing and editing. It’s a deadline based game and I work well under pressure, so it’s a seemingly perfect fit. As far as my creative writing there is no time table to complete anything which is why nothing of importance ever seems to come to fruition.

How can I really be a successful writer with an inability to finish a project longer than 5000 words? Beats me; I mean I can write short stories and I have posted several on this blog (Example 1, 2, 3, and my favorite 4), but they have little or nothing to do with each other thematically to assemble together as a collection. Maybe I’ll just say “fuck it” with that logic and do it anyway, but even doing that would require my mind to stay focused on selecting a group of stories, ordering them, fully editing, and rewriting them which is easier said than done. In all reality I can't really put all my eggs into that basket, because what are the odds I can join the small percentage of “writers” in this world to make it. I need to find a career; I need to essentially find myself.

Who am I?

That's an easy one.

I know who I am.

Now that we clearly know who I am I can now proceed with my post.

What am I capable to do? I can write, when I feel like it I can, believe it or not, edit, and outside of that I’m not really qualified for squat. I hate almost all people; which tends to create quite the problem in most customer service jobs. Though I am a fantastic actor and can fake the shit out of polite communication with the moronic inhabitants of this planet, so maybe my true destiny is to head west for L.A. and become Hollywood’s next heartthrob/fantastic actor.

Watch out Mr. Gosling here I come.

And in advance I would like to thank the Academy, my family, my friends, and most importantly the ultimate power that makes all of this possible: myself.

Shit, I went off topic again: this is the crap I was talking about. I just can never stay focused on the task at hand; my mind wanders aimlessly and it’s hard to find like Malaysia Flight 370. Even the writing of this short rambling piece took me over a week to get my mind on topic.

Anyway, as I was saying before I went on my Hollywood daydream is that I am capable to do customer service jobs, but it is not my first choice . . . or second . . . or third . . . or . . . you get the idea it’s just not a field I want to stay within. It’s just mind numbing and doesn’t provide me with any type of challenges.

In conclusion, as my resume bombards potential employers/rejecters I shall keep my fingers crossed that I can land a job that makes me not despise waking up in the morning, and I'll hope that it is a job outside of the realm of direct customer service. In the mean time I will keep writing and hopefully staying focused long enough to finish something that will be published for the world to read, or maybe I will finish “Slothcano” by my own self imposed July deadline and I can finally sleep on a pile of SyFy TV movie money.

P.S.

For you Hollywood big wigs reading this I want you to know one thing about me…

For All the Single Ladies. . . The Club is Jumpin' Jumpin'

I've been single for a long time now and I am reminded of it on a near daily basis. My friends will point it out by saying I should pursue this woman or that woman, (only once it being said about someone I actually had any desire to date and I should probably actively see if that could go anywhere. I'm sure it won't, but that is neither here nor there) or there will be jokes about my balls drying out and disintegrating into nothingness, which if I'm not mistaken would defy all laws of physiology, but don't quote me on that one: I'm not a doctor I only pretend to be one.

Point is this gets as obnoxious as watching back to back to back Pauly Shore movies. This is due mainly to the fact that they have been in stable relationships for a long time, which makes me the habitual extra wheel. I'm just a spare tire sitting in a trunk waiting to be put to some use on an nice American automobile. And how do some of my friends think I should get myself pulled out and hooked on to a nice axle? 

Online dating. 

I have no desire to do such anything, but I have had one say they will secretly make me a profile, set me up on dates, then tell me to meet them somewhere and then when I arrive, kablamo, I'm on a date! My reply to this is always the same: "go fuck yourself". They haven't done this yet so I'm banking on the fact that they are too damn lazy to actually go through that much trouble over my nonexistent love life. I can't knock online dating because I know a number of people whom have met someone on there; I just don't think that's for me. This is basically due to the fact that it seems like way too much trouble to cycle through all the morons, ugmos, fatties, shitheads, creepers, and skanks to locate anyone worth my time. 

But if I did find it worth my very, very, very, valuable time what would my profile look like? The goal of a dating profile is to make you seem super awesome, super duper attractive, and seem like just a plain old hootenanny. In reality I'm only one of those things (I'll allow the reader to choose which one). 

This brings me, finally, to the point of this blog post; this is what my dating profile would look like (ladies email me your numbers, and not all at once we don't want to crash Google's servers). 

 

Sup ladies,

My name is Dan: I'm 26, single and looking to mingle. I am pretty sure that is how you start these things out. It seems like a great and not cheesy at all, not in the slightest, way to draw you into the words that are typed onto this internet website doohickey.

Now after that brilliant opening I just have one question for you potential lady friends: "Would you f*** me? I'd to f*** me. I'd f*** me hard. I'd f*** me so hard."

And if you don’t get that reference, move on because you clearly are not one for me. Click over to some other profile and on your way over there make sure to go to hell, don't pass Go, and definitely  DO NOT COLLECT YOUR $200

I'm sure you see my sexy picture and want to get to know that homeless looking bearded dream boat just a tad bit more, and that's what I'll do for you! 

To date me you would have many perks, outside of the sexual of course (boom, wink face bam!!!) I cook, and my opinion pretty damn well, that is if you like Italian food, and I usually cook with pants on! I also am a tad bit anal when it comes to cleaning which is an activity I do without the aforementioned pants. Though I do both these things it would be wonderful if you cooked and cleaned as well; doing so without a shirt would be even better, but certainly is not a requirement. Messes piss me off so if you make a mess I am liable to freak out, well maybe not freak out, but I may go on a cleaning rampage. 

So, if you are sitting there, reading this, and you are surrounded by clutter please move on to some other turd on this site, because I would want to hit you with a rolled up magazine if we dated.

Now I'm a pretty damn wild person, so I need someone who can keep up with my super wildness. I love to sit at home watching sports and movies. I'm a huge movie person so if you love to hear movie quotes all day I'm your guy. 50% of my conversation is just random quotes and with certain friends that percentage increases exponentially. And I say this not joking in the slightest; I'll quote movies that range from Citizen Kane on to Mean Girls. Oh and Tommy Wiseau's classic abortion "The Room" can and will get quoted daily, so you would have to waste 99 minutes of your life watching this "film", and trust me you cannot un-watch this movie.

Oh, it is also very important to know that I wear pink ONLY on Wednesdays and I swear to god if you wear sweatpants on a fucking Monday you cannot, and will not, sit with me.  
(If that reference went over your head you had better go and reevaluate your life, because you ain't worthy.)

Sometimes I like to mix it up and quote some SpongeBob. 

Yes, I am 26 and watch SpongeBob. . . 

Daily.

Why don't you leave your stupid comments in your pocket?

There are times in the day when I will break out in random song, usually from SpongeBob, Always Sunny in Philadelphia, or just some good solid 90's tunes like Joan Osborne, because, seriously, what if God WAS one of us? Just a slob like the people who stopped reading this a few paragraphs ago? Just some stranger on a bus trying to make his way home?

I also would like to make it extremely clear that I am indeed the Dayman, fighter of the Nightman, champion of the sun! You're a master of karate and friendship for everyone! 

When I'm not watching movies, cartoons, or singing the songs that I like I'm usually reading or writing. I like to think of myself as a rather intelligent creature (though I think of myself as all around awesome, you call it narcissistic I call it being Dan Perrucci). So, please, for the love of god, if you are stupid keep moving because there is nothing in this world I can stand less than stupid people. Stupid is the one thing I hate the most in humans, other than the fact that they are people, I hate that too: I prefer cats.

As you may have gathered by my unkempt profile picture and by reading this far on this profile I also hate doing social things with other human beings. Especially ones in places where the service blows more than a ceiling fan and where the music is louder than a fat woman screaming because she found a slice a cake in a fat roll. These places make me want to rip all the other patrons’ collar bones out. That is not something I want to do, I'm getting to old do those things and go to jail. I do, however, enjoy a nice get-together at my house where I can relax in basketball shorts and wear my worn out ripped slippers. I like this because I can control who shows up and I rarely have to engage in false pleasantries with new people. Though I must say I am brutally honest I rarely try to fake being nice, except at work where I am a master and faking kindness,

And before I wrap this up I just want you to know that I make some of the most inappropriate jokes of all time and I love to make fun of people, so if you can't handle that go fuck yourself you god damn square. 

So if you like eating, reading, movies, SpongeBob, sports, inappropriate jokes and an nice healthy antisocial living give me a call and let's meet.

And please no fatties. I'm a thin guy and don't want to die by getting crushed to death because you picked a Big Mac over a salad.

Cold Winter Night

His feet stamp through the fresh white snow

giving me an easy path to stalk and follow.

The Chicago streets are empty: except for he and I.

Gas lamp after gas lamp fades as I slowly creep bye.

I know he is there;

he doesn’t know I’m here.

Catching him from behind, with a brick, I land a solid blow

and stand smiling, gleefully watch his final breath flow.

Red oozes warming and painting the powder covered street.

Solo Journey

My soul has become dark

since you walked away

dousing out our remaining spark.

I became unable to find my way,

my clouded heart struggled to beat

while wandering the world for a new flame.

Yet, reaming all alone on the moon lit street.

There is only one person to shoulder the blame;

me, myself, and I alone take the burden.

Searching within myself for a new birth,

yet I remain the same: just one of many men

searching the cold earth

lost looking for a soul mate,

but ending up having to masturbate.

'Till Death Do Us Part

A soft cry echoes from the bedroom upstairs.

The ancient chair creaks as Vic rises to his feet, “God damn, can’t a man watch a game in peace?”  His voice aches from exhaustion. His forest green Russell sweatshirt stained around the armpits from the sweat protruding through  his seventy-two year old glands; the orange glow from the droppings of Doritos dot his navy blue sweatpants. His knees crack as he takes his first step, his slippers scuffing along the hard wood floor.

Another cry of pain reverberates down the stairwell just as Vic’s right foot touches the first step. The beige carpet that lines the stairs had been worn down over the fifty-four years Vic and his wife have lived in the home. His freckled callused hand reaches to the banister, which was once painted a radiant white, but from the years of Vic’s rough hands, had been worn down to a wood pipe specked with pealing skin. Vic slowly made his way up the stairs. The crying continued and as he got closer to the top he could make the words out more clearly.

“Vic,” the voice said painfully, “please jus’ end this, I can’t.” the female’s voice was softened by the years of her pain. “Please.” She began to sob lightly.

Vic rubs his thumb and pointer finger along the bridge of his nose. He knows what she wanted from him.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, Vic stares into the dusty Victorian mirror. His brown eyes were sunken into his wrinkled face; his long grey hair splotched amongst the liver spots that dotted his scalp, his nose hair peeping out of his left nostril. It didn’t bother him. He breaks away from the reflection and walks down the faded red rug to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

He slowly opens the door.

“Vic?” the woman whispers. She lies on her back in the bed. Her golden hair was all but fallen out, her eyes blood shot from crying, her skin nearly blue, and her face covered in defeat. Vic walks over to the bed and seats himself right next to the woman. He grabs her hand and holds it in his.

“You’re freezing.” Vic pulls the comforter over the frail skeleton lying next to him. “You know I love you, dear. I can’t stand to see you like this.” He brushes a strand of her reaming hair out of her fading blue eye. He kisses her on her icy forehead and lies next to her gently wrapping his arms around her fragile frame.

Her weak voice speaks, cracking with the torture of the disease, “I jus’ can’t do it Vic; I jus’ can’t anymore.”

Tears once again begin to puddle along the deep bags seated under her eyes. Vic sits ups and wipes them away with his left hand as a tear of his own wells up in the corner of his eye and rolls down the cracks of his once smooth face.   

            “I wouldn’t know what to do without you Rebecca,” he wipes the tear off his cheek, “You are my life.”

            Rebecca doesn’t say anything just sobs gently. Turning her head directly toward her husband, she notices the anguish in his face, whereas he can see the considerably worse pain in hers.

            “Just try and get some sleep.” He kisses her on her dry lips, and lies back down with her humming gently. They lie in silence for several moments before Rebecca finally drifts into a deep sleep. Vic sits up and stares at his dying wife. He kisses her bony cheek once more and makes his way to the door. As he shuts off the light, he turns toward the bed and whispers, “I love you, til death do us part, my love.”

            He walks back down to the living room collapsing his exhausted body down into the olive recliner, the clock on the game was winding down and his beloved New Jersey Devils are winning 3-0 and on their way to hoisting the Stanley Cup once again, but Vic could not get back into the game, as an eerie feeling convulsing throughout his soul.

As the buzzer sounds he watches his team celebrate before shutting off the television. Nerved by the feeling trembling through him, he walks back to his bedroom.

He enters the room, slips off his slippers, and climbs into the bed, putting his arms around his lifeless wife. Welled up tears stream down his cheeks moistening his dry skin. Her pain has finally ended; now he can sleep.

He closes his eyes succumbing to a final sleep in hopes he will be reuniting with his wife once again.

             

Trapped Words

I think of things to say and to do,
but once it’s time to make things happen
they don’t;
I say nothing of importance:
I don’t do anything.

I think about your lips touching mine,
your body in my arms,
my hands on your ass,
but I don’t do a thing.

I want to tell you that we should
make us
into US,
tell you that you are more important
than I let on,
and to speak words that will make
you melt in my arms,
but I say nothing of the sort.

Maybe I’m nervous.
Maybe I don’t want to lose a friend.
Maybe I’m scared to hear the word “no”.
Maybe it’s a lot of things,

but I know it won’t happen because
regardless of the thoughts in my head
and the feelings in my heart
my lips will never let the words escape.