A Dream Fulfilled Remains a Dream

My hands grab her thin hips

pulling her body close to mine

I lean down and lock our lips.

A kiss with the passion of the first time.

Something I have dreamt to see

since our eyes met through the crowd.

Her breasts pressed up against me;

our souls dancing high on a cloud.

A loud thump sounds as my heart

fills with a feeling I can’t explain.

Our gentle embrace ends and we part,

but her bright red lipstick remains.

My weary eyes open a crack,

but just my cold ceiling looks back.

A Moment of Honesty

As you all know I am single. It doesn’t bother me one bit, though some nights it would be nice to have someone like that in my life. I recapped this all almost exactly one year ago right here on this blog since that posting I have gone out on a date with one broad. After the initial date we saw each other for a couple of months and then it was over.  It was nice while it lasted, a few good times, obviously which mean bupkus because it didn’t lead anywhere, but I got my feet wet in the dating game again after a long hiatus. By long I mean forever long. Long enough to the point where my last girlfriend found the real love of her life and is set to get married this fall, an event that should be a good time.  I’m happy for her; most people think that it would bother me that the first person I loved is getting married. It really doesn’t for the simple fact that if it was meant to be it would have been. It wasn’t she saw that, I saw that eventually after. She found her soul mate and I’m more than happy for a good friend of mine.  I cannot wait to celebrate with the both of them, and wish them the brightest future.

Now let me get back to doing what I do so well and talk about myself. Right now as of today I still am looking for someone to come into my life that will be my soul mate; I’m not rushing though, it will happen when it happens. Obviously I do not expect the next girl date or sleep with to be that person, but I look forward to finding them. Life is an adventure and finding love is one of those things that happen during that adventure: or sometimes it doesn’t. Maybe I won’t ever meet that perfect person for me. I won’t meet someone who complements me, who will make me strive to be the best me I can be.  If they never come into my life then I will finish the adventure alone, and I’m ok with that too. I will never be one to force myself into something because all my friends are doing it or that society says that it should happen, fuck that I’m me and if I can’t find someone who gets that wants to share an adventure with me then I’ll just go on by myself with a few hookers mixed in or something.

As of now there are two women in my life that I would like to try and find out if it will go anywhere. They are both far out of my league which is why I haven’t actually pursued anything. One of them I have know for a while now and I know them, and can tell from that it would last for anything, so I will never do anything as far as a relationship. I think it will be better to keep the friendship where it stands.

This other person, I really don’t know and I’m pretty sure doesn’t share the same attraction for me that I have for her. Once again in my mind she is out of my league, maybe more so than my friend in the previous paragraph. But she really intrigues me. She meets all of the requirements on the “What is Dan Perrucci looking for” list: gorgeous, funny, smart, hard working, and independent. Will I ever ask her out? Probably not, I mean I should, my own mind has told me so during one of my late night conversations with myself, but I most likely won’t, though there is maybe a 4% chance that I do.

The reason for this is this thinking is that I always have in my mind that every woman I find myself physically and mentally attracted can do better than me and why should I prevent them from finding that better person by wasting their time? Logical right?

No, I know it’s fucking stupid. I am a super confident person except apparently when it comes to this, and my writing, sometimes I doubt that I am any good at putting words together. So what does this really say about my desire to meet someone if all the females I am attracted to my brain tells me they can do better or that I have no chance to even begin with because the attraction isn’t mutual . I always agree so I’m dead in the water right there. Maybe it is my brains way of preventing my heart from getting hurt, or maybe I really aren’t as confident as I let myself believe.

Whatever the answer is I just hope one day I overcome this idiotic tick in my brain to open myself up to someone, but if not I will be ok. I swear, I don’t need anyone in my life I am an individual and will be the same person regardless of my relationship status. I just think it would be nice to have someone to hold at night and talk about this adventure that is called life.

Insomnia: A Conversation With Myself

Those of you know me know that I have the worst time sleeping and nothing seems to aide in me getting a good night’s rest. In fact I would not be able to tell you the last time I got 7 or 8 hours of straight sleep without waking up in the middle of the night.

“Dan, that happens to a lot of folks, just go back to sleep!”

I wish it was that simple pretend reader asking me pretend questions. It is this time when my brain starts talking to me. The following is a true transcript between myself and myself during one of these times:

“I really should finish Slothcano.”

“You think so? It’s not that good.”

“Its pretty good, I think it’s funny. It is still in the first draft so I can improve it.”

“You should really decided how to get to the end of that story your working on.”

“I have the ending already the main character is going to [content removed] and the he will [content removed].”

“You should really ask [content removed] out one day.”

“Nah, that isn’t worth it. It wouldn’t work out.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah what’s the point? Oh Hi samba!”

“How’s it going kitty. Let me bother you for a moment.”

“Cats are better than dogs.”

“Yeah dogs always have a weird smell and are annoying.”

“She is attractive though, you should just do it.”

“Whatever. I need a new job, I hate being poor.”

“Yeah you can’t work there anymore your starting to snap.”

“I’m talking to myself.”

“I really should send more stuff to get published.”

“I should check my phone, maybe jam out or something.”

“It’s 2 am I should sleep.”

“I need to do laundry.”

“You should have done it tonight while you were doing nothing.”

“The Third Man is such a brilliant film, I had to watch it.”

“And Jake Busey on Justified? He is just a crazy as his father.”

“I wonder how it’s going to end. Sam Elliot is going to get his head blown off.”

“I have to send this RSVP for Danny and Ali’s wedding.”

“Can I get a date before the wedding or should I just put only one attending?”

“I don’t get why people give me options.”

“What should I make for dinner tomorrow?”

“MMMM, Sausage stuff.”

“I have to wash my sweatpants before going out.”

“I should go to Sublime on Saturday and have a beer alone.”

“Nah, pizza hut and beer and work on part three of the story.”

“That still needs a title.”

“Simba you are so warm. You’re such a good kitty.

“All cats love me, it’s weird.”

“People hate you, cats love you. Sounds like a solid future.”

“What the hell am I doing with my life?”

“Why did you even go to school?”

“I became a better writer.”

“You’re not that good, it’s probably not going to get you anywhere in life.”

“Alexis, Christina, and Andrew seem to believe in my talent.”

“It won’t get you anywhere.”

“You’re probably right. I need a new job.”

“I’m so hungry. I need food.”

“I need to sleep. I’m going to place my head between my two pillows maybe that will help me sleep.”

“You should get up early tomorrow to write.”

“I really should get my hockey skates sharpened.”

“She doesn’t even like you.”

“I know that.”

“I really wish I could afford stuff.”

“Stupid loans.”

“Why do I work with such idiots?”

“It’s like a carnival in that place.”

“I don’t belong in offices I’m too politically incorrect.”

“I can’t believe Jon Stewart is leaving the Daily Show.”

“I should have my own tv show.”

“Radio is probably better for someone of your looks.”

“I have a good voice.”

“It would have to be satellite radio because you make dead baby jokes and things.”

“I really want sausage stuff.”

“Make it tomorrow. I really should get ordained and marry Steph and Shaun. That would be fantastic.”

“Definitely put down just one for Danny’s wedding. You won’t find a date before the wedding.”

“I’m going to get wasted. I never get wild.”

“I’m sleeping now.”

“Now who am I going to talk with? Simba?”

“………”

“Ok maybe I can sleep.”

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.”

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…

Coffee and Cream- The Dunkin' Chronicles Part- Social Experiments

Working in the service industry is a horrid existence, when in it you dread nearly every day you have to get into the car, pull out of the drive way and head down the road to another 8 hours of fun. And by fun I mean it in the same way that scurvy was fun for sailors or dysentery was for those trekking the Oregon Trail. But it needs to be done and done it is by wonderful cheerful people like myself. I worked at Dunkin' Donuts for longer then I care to comment and every day I said “once I find a new job out of this shit hole”, days passed, months passed and years passed until finally I was released to waivers. 

At Dunkin' we needed tips; it was our only motivation to be kind to customers, yet we still weren't kind to most people. We had our regulars and knew which ones would be kind enough to drop a single into our strip, tip cup. And we also knew who which customers were as stingy as a Muslims on Christmas and wouldn't even drop their nickel change in there for us. After a while working in this coffee scented hell you could judge even new customers just by looking at their miserable faces which ones would tip and which ones wouldn't. So before they could even order we hated their guts and thought in the back of our minds that we wanted to smash a pot full of scorching hot coffee over the top of their insignificant skulls: we didn't because we had what they call in the biz self control. There was an exception to this: good looking people. Hot chicks regardless of their ability to drop extra money into our pockets got good treatment. Now if you were a hot chick that tipped? Not only was service exceptional, we definitely flirted with you.

Can you blame us? First we are men. Second we worked at a miserable job all day, so we needed something to occupy our time (which led to the creation of the game which I will tackle like Ray Lewis does a murder charge in another post).

Dick customers were a whole different ballgame, they were treated like they looked: awfully. You know that saying “the customer is always right”? Well it is fucking ridiculous. Most of the time the customer is a giant moron who to our awe and amazement was able to make it through their childhood without running into the street to grab something shiny and getting smacked down by an eighteen wheeler; if a lot of these people were crushed under a few tons of American Mack the world be a better place. Some times I wish they would be tossed into an anaconda pit with others of equal ungratefulness and stupidity.

We always had a saying at the old DD: “if there were no customers this would be a pretty sweet job.” We just would fuck around all day, drinking coffee, eating donuts, catching up on the latest Baldini works, and bullshit with the occasionally cleaning of the store. But the reality was there were customers, a damn constant stream of them.  Most of whom would rather pocket their change then to drop it into our tip cup, some would not even grant us the common human fucking courtesy of a warm “thank you” are you really that much of a worthless life form that you can’t thank someone who despite your dumb face refrained from spitting in your cup of coffee? This is another reason the world is fucked. It may sound cynical, but really who doesn’t thank someone? I understand that you are paying for the service to have a poor schmohawk pour your coffee, but they are still people and deserve to be treated like such— scumbags.

     Anyway enough with the rant about the sad state of the world and back to a fun story involving myself, a uni-browed coworker and a social experiment. Well I guess it would be two separate social experiments, both of which involved our tip cups and both of which taught us many things about people.

Experiment #1- Which of the two sexes prefers real life violence

It began like any day, Adrian and I arrived at work miserable and ready to go, both donning our white polo and apron as per requirements of the Dunkin' corporate world, though I’m sure Adrian was just wearing a white tee shirt with a fire truck or some stupid crap on it. He thought it was cool to break the rules. Or its because the one time he showed up wearing what we all just assumed was his sisters polo shirt and maybe that made him sad on the inside so he never wanted to show up like that and get bullied harder then a kid jumping off a bridge. Well, it was more like he didn’t give a flying T-Rex what anyone said to them, what were going to do fire him? That’s laughable.

Back to the experiment.

We worked for a few hours serving dillbags their fix of caffeine— though let me make sure, in case any of them are reading, there were several customers that we actually enjoyed when they entered. They were real people who were friendly and courteous . . . or just fine as Pamela Anderson when she was being plowed by Tommy Lee — when the idea came to us to test the level for the love of violence in the common public: the morons.

We grabbed a sheet of receipt paper and with a marker wrote these words,  “Put money in this cup and I will punch Adrian, thanks”. We taped the paper to a cup and waited for our first rat.

The first person that saw the sign was a middle-aged male who simply laughed and put a quarter into the regular tip cup. A few more males came in none of which acknowledged the sign. We waited until a group of three females, varying in age saw the sign. The plump one read it and began chuckling as only a plum person could.

“Who is Adrian?” she cackled.

I pointed at Adrian, she looked at me and dropped some change into our cup and waited for her free entertainment. I obliged, by cocking my arm back and slamming my fist into Adrian’s arm. They loved every second of it, and left with their day made

            

     We left the cup there for a few more hours and the women would drop change and watch as I turned Adrian’s arm from a tan to a dark black and blue. The men, who we thought would be more into watching two bored young adults slug each other, rarely dropped anything in to the cup.

     Our theory when the experiment was all said and done and Adrian could barely pick his arm up was as follows:

     Women, though usually dread over gory action films and other such violent fictions love to watch real life violence, while the men of the world would rather watch Robert De Niro get his face smashed in Raging Bull than watch a real person get hit for shits and giggles. Women you are a bunch of sick people go and get your damn selves checked out by a psychotherapist.

Experiment 2- Sex Change VS Dead Beat Dad

     This experiment starts out identical to the previous one. Adrian and I arrive at work, trade hellos and insults and begin our day providing the fiends with their fix. Once again out of boredom I grabbed a sheet of receipt paper and a marker and jotted something for a new tip cup.

     “Tips will go to Adrian’s child support payments. If he falls any further behind he will go to prison. Please save Adrian’s butthole. Thanks!”

     Adrian upon finally noting this created a separate tip cup, which read as follows:

     “Please help Dan pay for his sex change operation”   

     Once again we waited for the imbeciles. Most laughed taking our grand social experimentation as a complete joke, this want it a joke at all. It was as much of a joke as the chance a fat person is going to keel over on the walk to their car

     The ones who participated, made there feelings very clear whom they would rather support. The cup which was helping me fund becoming a woman was nearly empty, I had a single pity coin, meanwhile the cup for Mr. “I don’t like to support the children that I populated the world with” Turner’s cup had not just change, but dollar bills.

      Thus leading our finding as far as this matter:

     People would rather support a incompetent father pay for back child support because he is a lazy good for nothing and instead of finding a real job he works at Dunkin' making minimum wage, than they would support someone who just wants to become on the outside who they feel they are on the inside. Bunch of insensitive dickwads. Most were even disgusted by the fact that someone wanted a sex change.  I can still remember their faces as the dropped money in a cup for Adrian’s children and apologized to me. Don’t apologized for being a jerk and not helping me reach my fictitious goals.

In conclusion

     How the fuck did we manage to do this without a single customer reporting us? How did we not get fired? There were children coming in while this was going on. CHILDREN! Won’t someone please think of the children! 

Going to Get the Paper

I close the door of my maroon Chevy Cavalier, my heart starts to race as the knife in my pocket hits my thigh. The winter wind starts to gush; I shiver and zip up my white hooded sweatshirt. I walk toward the store and I hear my name being shouted; I ignore it and stay the course. I walk in the Quick Check, purchase the thick Sunday paper, tuck it under my arm and head back out into the bright sun.

I once again hear my name accompanied by a slew of profanity; I take a deep breath keeping my head straight forward trying to pay the overweight Neanderthal no mind. I take another step, turning my head down as I walk past the group of morons hanging out in the parking lot of a store, because that is what cool people do apparently. The sidewalk was speckled with old chewing gum, most likely spat out by other groups of rad cats who made the strip mall their lounge, amongst the array of gum I see a foot step in my sight line, a black skate shoe; I knew I was stuck.

I look up and his face is nearly nose to nose with mine, his stench penetrates my nose canal, it’s the typical douche bag smell: a combination of body odor, a whole bottle of cheap cologne and lack of self worth. I take it in for a moment

“Move asshole,” I blurt out.

“We can do this right now if you want, pussy." He replies, I didn't even know the kid knew that many words; 10 is a lot for someone who still hasn't reached the peak of human evolution. I assume he still lives in a cave and kills his food with a big stick. I look around; not seeing any saber tooth tigers I assume I'm the one he is grunting at.

“Fine,” I say in a fit of rage, I don't want to fight him he is quite a bit larger than I, but what choice do I have? So, we engage in fisticuffs.

He throws a quick right hand in my direction; I duck and slam a hard right into his kidney region, then a quick left at his jaw. Knowing he is on his way to a loss he knees me in the stomach and tackles me to the ground, using his probably more than 40 pounds to his advantage. He sits on me like a chair at McDonald's and starts pounding my head against the ground; probably with the same ferocity he pounds down Big Mac's and shamrock shakes. I struggle to get him off of me, but with the adrenaline pumping I don't feel a thing, though it couldn't hide his fowl stink.

Finally, after another slams against the hard concrete I toss him off of me,  and I spring to my feet, I black out with rage. Without thinking about what I am doing I reach into my pocket and pull out the knife and with a quick lick of the wrist the blade is exposed. I stand shaking with anger, the sub human steps back and I say something, I’m not sure what is coming out of my mouth; I'm pretty sure it is just a slew of obscenities. Anger makes me sound as ignorant as the man I'm threatening.

I pick the newspaper off the ground and walk to my car; I tune out the grunting behind me. I take sit on the driver’s seat, finally I return to reality and I realize what I just did. I panic.

I drive home and park in the driveway. I pull out my cell phone, flipping it open I make a call to my girlfriend, who is out of town and can't help me, but I need to talk to someone. As I explain what had just happened, a police car pulls down the road and another one approaches from the other direction.

“I got to go babe, I think I'm getting arrested now. I love you.” I close the phone, step out of the car and begin walk toward the police woman. She pulls her gun from the holster and points it in my direction, my heart beats faster,

“Put your hands up, now!”

I comply. As she puts the cuffs on my wrists my mind races in a maze trying to figure out what is going to happen to me: trying to figure out what I just did to my future.