Love is just a role that we play.

The days are starting to blur together. Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes turn to hours. Hours turn to days. Weeks. Months. It was Mother's Day yesterday. It seems like just yesterday I was creating culinary art for my mom in our kitchen. Strange to think that was a year ago. Even stranger is looking back on this past year and what I've done. The people I've met. The places I've seen. The things I've felt. It grounds you, you know. I miss my mother. I never really thought about it...her love for me. I haven't been the best son around, yet she loves me unconditionally. That alone is enough to make you feel incredible. That no matter what you do, what you say, or what you look like; there's another human being on this rock that can look at you and genuinely LOVE you. My mother has been through Hell and back to get my sister and I to where we both respectively are in our lives, and I've got nothing but love and respect for the woman who birthed me. Growing up in poverty-stricken Mexico, my mom and her six siblings had barely enough to survive. From that, to crossing the Mexico-US border multiple times in order to find a better life for herself, my mom's been through the struggle for the better part of 40 years. As soon as she had my sister and I, and our dad chucked the deuce and left my mom to raise two kids in East Los Angeles, my mom's been working her ass off to make sure we didn't have to go through what she did. In order to make sure of that, our family relocated to northern Nevada in an attempt to get away from the violence and street life we would have been exposed to in L.A. That being said, growing up we weren't wealthy by any means, but my mom made sure we had the essentials. Roof over our heads, clothes, and food. Looking back at it, you never really realize or appreciate that kind of shit, you know? You ask for a new toy, parents say no, and you throw a bitch fit. Hindsight's 20/20, and looking back I'm eternally grateful for the sacrifices my mother made to get me here. I've often wondered if I'll ever be as good of a parent as my mom is, and I tell myself that if I grow up to be half as good as she was, I'll be in good shape. I love you mom.

Insane by a landslide.

Being an addict of many forms, I find it increasingly more difficult to deal with menial, everyday situations. Let's face it; life is way less entertaining when sober. I fear that my need to be blitzed out of my skull at all hours of the day can and will place me in a situation where I'll be emotionally compromised. I'm slowly losing my mind. My outlook may be more grim then most, but the fault is not all mine. Okay, who am I kidding? It's all my fucking fault. Truth is, I'm tired of feeling this way. It's not in my personality to be depressed all the time. I've always considered myself a pretty happy individual. I try to be, anyway. I find it rather comical that I tend to give pretty decent advice about this sort of thing, yet can't seem to give any to myself. Or at least follow it. You see, for the past couple of weeks things have been pretty off in my life. For one, I quit smoking weed (again). For reals this time! I figured the best way to jump start my happiness was to change myself for the better. Not even for anyone in particular, just for ME. So I started working out again, and let me tell you, being a burn-out may have its up's, but it sure as fuck doesn't help with the whole cardio thing. I ran three miles and nearly stroked out. So, I quit smoking weed and have been a little more irritable towards the people around me; mainly my coworkers. Which brings me to my second point about not being particularly happy. Over the past few months I've been getting to know this person. I won't front, its a girl. Not just any girl though. Rumor has it that everyone has a subconscious list of 10 things they look for in people of the opposite sex. Now, most people are lucky if they find 3-4 things on their list in someone. This girl is a solid 8. So yeah, the kind of girl who's picture is in the dictionary next to the definition of the word incredible. I've become good friends with this girl, you know? Most guys only become friends with girls for one reason, usually. Because they want a piece of ass. Not at all what this is about. My curiosity in learning about what made this girl tick, sort of just naturally transgressed into me genuinely liking who she was as a person. The more I knew about her and the more we talked, the more I liked her. Wherein lies the dilemma. You see, like most of the time this has happened to any guy, the feelings weren't mutual. She had quickly become one of my best friends, and I went and ruined it by telling her how I felt about her. Pump the breaks, I didn't confess my undying love or anything. I merely told her I liked her as more than just friends. I'm not the kind of guy that's afraid of telling someone how I feel, but at the same time...I should have kept my fucking mouth shut. She may deny it all she wants, but things are far from the same. I know she won't confide in me the same way she used to for risk of "hurting my feelings". She likes someone else, and that is honestly okay. I'm not jealous in the least, I'm not that kind of person. I just wish she knew that. As fucking corny as it sounds, I just want her to be happy. Her liking someone else isn't even the shitty part. The shitty part is that I have become the guy I wrote about a few posts back. I'm the guy that would get texted "You're perfect for me", yet somehow still end up empty handed. And it's a shocker to her when I try and distance myself. I'm sorry if I started not being there anymore because it fucking sucks being a doormat. I've been trying to shrug this off for the better part of three weeks now, but it's not that easy. I've been trying to NOT make things weird, but I know the damage has already been done. It just feels different. Thing we would normally talk about, aren't being brought up. Oh, and that's if we actually even talk. Lately, our conversations are short and almost forced. I know she has a lot of shit to deal with as well, but I used to be the go-to guy! If anything was wrong, I'd be there to give my two-cents. Maybe I'm not the only one trying to distance myself though, you know? If I had to use a metaphor to describe this whole debacle, it's like a sheet of paper. You take a perfect sheet of paper and you crumple it up into a ball, right? You uncrumple it, and you still have a full sheet of paper, but no amount of work will ever make that sheet perfectly smooth again. See what the fuck I'm dealing with here?! It's heavy shit, man! Honestly though, all I really want is for things to go back to the way they were before. Reading this, you may be thinking that I'm a creep or that I'm in love. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Love...that's a whole different fucking story. Have you ever been in love? It's horrible. It makes you so fucking vulnerable. It opens up your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside of you and fuck you up. You build up all these defenses. Barriers. A whole suit of armor. For what reason? So no one can hurt you. Then one stupid person, no different from the plethora of stupid people you'll meet, wanders into your stupid life. And what do you do? You give them a piece of you. But they didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day like smile at you, and from that point on, your life isn't your own anymore. Why? Because love takes hostages. It gets inside of you. It eats you alive and leaves you crying in the darkness in your underwear, eating cold Chef Boyardee out of a fucking can, when a simple phrase like "Maybe we should just be friends" turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It penetrates the deepest recesses of your soul. A real "gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart" pain. Nothing should be able to do that, especially love. Whoa, you'll have to forgive my ranting, it's getting extremely late and I'm on the verge of collapsing into the comfort of my air mattress. Before I end this post however, I have to admit that I feel a ton better. Not just about my situation with said friend, but just better in general. For now, I'm taking it day by day. Trying to stay clean. Trying to get back into shape. Trying to not lose my mind. It's a tough job being me. Do I know what's going to happen? Not a fucking clue. There is one thing I'm certain of, and that's that everything happens for a reason. The universe tends to unfold itself as it should.

-Fabian

Kicking your crosses down.

Inhale. The sunken feeling in your chest is suddenly stabbed back to life. You begin to wonder if anything is real. The pain in your chest can't be made up. Exhale. Your mind is chaos. Scrambling to think about one thing, or a million things. Nothing at all. Everything at once. "It'll get easier", you tell yourself. It has to, right? Inhale. Your eyes are closed, trying to sift through the vast junkyard of feelings and thoughts in your mind. Vision? Fuzzy. Things slowly start to come into focus. Exhale. Who are you? Not your name, what you like, what you dislike. Who are YOU? I am me, and you are you. Who am I? Inhale. The fuzziness of your vision subsides, and you see clearly. You're standing in a junkyard, alone. Alone. No one is there, but you. You're alone with your own thoughts and emotions. They've taken on a tangible form. Towering over you. Threatening to collapse on you. They stretch as far as the eye can see. You grow more anxious with each passing second. You chest screams with pain. Focus. Focus on something. Anything? Who am I? Exhale. Eyes open. You know the answer. You know who you are. You're the funny guy. Yes, the funny guy who uses humor as a way to deal with his own set of insecurities and issues. The guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, only to have people blow their noses on it. But the facade must be immaculate. No one can ever know these things, because...lets be honest here. YOU'RE the stable one. You're not massively intellectual; mainly having a strong and keen sense of "common sense" that transfers over to some facets of your life. But those that know you, know you as that "Funny, borderline Narcissist". Facade. In reality, you're the one with way to much empathy. The one people tell their problems to. You HAVE to remain the stable one that will always do what he can to help those he loves. Loves. To help the ones he loves, even if he knows they will end up disappointing him later. You can't even complain, because to them, you'll be considered spoiled or inconsiderate. You have your own problems too. You are incredibly lonely most of the time and have parents, friends, and loved ones who think you're doing ok. Truth is, you're lonely. The days seem to blend into one another, just one more preset period of time before you're on to the next thing. Inhale. The pain in your chest is still there. Constant. Knife being mercilessly driven into bone and flesh. Metaphorically, of course, because we both know the pain in your chest isn't physical. It's not physical in the least. They must never know. They can't, because you're a rock. You're THEIR rock. The damage revealed the cost,and it wasn't worth it. But they'll never know. They can't. Exhale. Your mind is clear, the junkyard decimated like a million sand castles against the tide. The pain in your chest is now nothing more than a bad thought. You can't help but wonder, however.....

Don't rocks need a rock too?

Breathe.

Someone so tired of their routines and disappearing self-esteems.

A war is being raged. This war won't be broadcasted on major news channels. It won't be found in the New York Times or in your local newspaper. This war is being raged inside of my head. I'm battling severe fatigue. You see, today just happened to be the day that I worked a double shift at my place of employment. 10 1/2 hours of work, with a 15 minute break. My eyelids weigh a ton. My mind keeps racing. Don't even get me started on my lower back. Yet despite all of this, I'm awake. The only thing cutting the pitch black; the lingering darkness that is my room, is the dull glow of my monitor. Aside from the sound of my shallow breathing, the only thing I can hear is the clitter-clatter of my furious key strokes. I want to sleep. Fuck it, I want to be in a vegetative state for the next couple of days. Yet I fight the urge. Why? The rational and logical side of my brain is imploring me to crawl into bed and let sleep overcome my body. I know that by staying up this late, I'm just going to make it worst. But you know what? Tonight I like it that way. I like the numbness that comes with being excruciatingly exhausted. The oblivion. The chaos which only exists inside of my own head. Everyone else's problems are suddenly so far from my own. Because I have shit to deal with too. If I'm tired, I have an excuse to just lounge around and not leave my house. To evade the constant problems that don't concern me anyway. When I get to this point, I don't even need to try to block things out, the exhaustion does it for me. And I like that. So for now, as I feel as though my body is withering away beneath me, and I start to slip deeper and deeper into a state of deliriousness, I can't help but wonder if I'm the only person who feels this way? Aaaaahhh, fuck it. It's time for bed.

Stars. The sky. Since the dawn of time, human beings have looked to the sky and wondered. Hoped. Dreamed. We've been infatuated with it since we were able to think. What amazes me is that to this very day, that still has a hold of me. It's amazing what solitude and an open night's sky can do for one's perspective and clarity. At least mine, anyway. I'm writing this from my back porch. I live relatively close to a mountain, so my backyard is a perfect place to view the mountains with a starry night as a backdrop. Finally mustered the effort to dust my little netbook and give it a whirl. So I sit here, wrapped in my winter's finest, listening to Eriatarka by The Mars Volta....and I'm completely and utterly at peace. Looking up at the sky, lost in the sounds of Progressive Rock and my own thoughts. Shooting star. They say if you make a wish upon a shooting star, it's supposed to make your wish come true. Crock of shit, if I ever heard one. Whoever's in charge of the Shooting-Star-Wish-Granting-Association-of-America needs to get fired. I've been doing that nonsense for the better half of 15 years, each time naively thinking THIS would be the one. This one would count. And come 6 months later, I still don't have Jessica Alba in boy shorts playing Xbox with me. Think about it though. What it is about the sky that mystifies us? I don't know, but I can honestly say that this is my Nirvana. Is this how monks feel when they get into that state of meditation? There's nothing more beautiful to me than a night's sky with a full moon and thousands of stars. It really helps you put things into perspective. Like how insignificant we actually are. I read that in 2003, the Hubble telescope was chillin, when it noticed a blank piece of sky. Meaning, a black spot with no stars visible to the naked eye. So it aimed it's camera at this blank spot for 4 months right? They get the images, and what they found were THOUSANDS of galaxies. Each with TRILLIONS of stars, some of which have solar systems, much like our own. Dare you to do the math on that. So that blank spot that they observed, is 1/13,000,000,000th (Trillionth) of the night sky. Yeah. We're a fucking grain of sand in a beach. It's crazy to think about. You feel like your problems here are so big. "Oh, so and so is hooking up with blah blah blah" or "My life is so shitty, I'm depressed." In the grand scheme of things, we're a fucking nano second. If I could tie this all together with like, a central thesis, it would be this: as cliche as it might sound, life's too short to not be having a fucking party everyday. You're in control of your own emotions. So next time you're feeling sad, just smile instead. Trust me, you'll feel a ton better. And all of this, courtesy of your friendly neighborhood sky, found in backyards across the globe.

-Fabian

Untitled.

...Huh?

It's snowing outside? Snow... Never really crosses your mind how peaceful snow truly is. It's like rain without the clutter or noise. You walk out of the warmth of your apartment and into the cold winter air, heading towards the local corner store. You arrive and make your purchases, consisting of a box of Hot Pockets and a 6-Pack of Monster. The world...no one really remembers what you did. You don't care, there are plenty of other awesome things you've done. But you can't shake this feeling. You feel some what...hollow? Why? Is it selfishness? Bah, you're just a kid with a good heart who manages to find his way out of trouble. You don't deserve jack shit. That certain someone's face appears in your mind, as if seared into your brain. What is this? Why can't you get her out of your head? Come on man! You don't deserve her. No matter how much you try, you'll always be that friendly, ordinary dude who does extraordinary things.

"Hmmm..?" Something catches your eye. There's an old man sitting on the curb. No cars going by, and the place looks more desolate than a ghost town. It gives you an eerie feeling of emptiness. Like a void. You look around, as if to gauge your surroundings. Fuck it, you approach him.

"Hey Old-Timer, getting drunk on the curb?" He looks at you wearily and sighs.

"Talking to an old guy like me durin' this shit-storm?"

"Some place I should be?" you reply, almost mockingly.

"Kid, it's written all over your face..." He gives an even more exasperated sigh.

"Son, you see those wedding props lying in the middle of the road?" You notice there's a few paper cans rolling around.

"Yeah, did I miss something good?" You feel yourself dropping your guard a bit.

"You wanna know what makes a wedding so special?"

"Beats me, the cake?"

"Love."

"You're getting mushy on me, old guy."

"Yeah, but I like mushy things sometimes lad, I'ma sucker fer em, really."

"Yeah, I hear you." Her face instantly comes back to mind.

"Anywho, the married couple could be insulting each other this very minute, hittin' each other, cheatin' on each other....but durin' the wedding..." He proceeds to take a sip from the bottle. Liquor dribbles down his mangy beard. "...durin' the wedding, it just melts away. Tow souls come together and share a piece of them within themselves, ya know?" He looks at the puzzled expression on your face. "You like weddings, kid?"

"Not really, I don't believe in the institution of marriage."

"You never do, until you meet the right women." Somehow, you knew he was going to say that. They always do.

"Nowadays? Women are all the same Grandpa...Conniving, over-empowered, whores. Chivalry is dead." You scoff.

"Exactly mah point son. That's what makes that special someone so special! Uniqueness."

"I suppose so."

"Wanna hear a story, son?"

You glace down at your bag of late-night gamer snacks. You look back up at this man, who probably hasn't had any sort of positive human interaction in quite some time. You've already gone this far right? Maybe you can learn a thing or two from this guy.

"Sure old man, I don't have anywhere to be." You sit down, and grab a Monster.

"Just wait a second..." He looks over towards the empty alleyway. An old dog comes hobbling out. A mangy looking fur-ball.

"Heh, cute dog. I would have taken you for a cat guy though."

"This dog...there was a boy who came through here on his way to school, few years back. Lonely kid, never really fit in with any of the other kids. He always had this sort of permanent frown on his face." Another sip.

"...."

"One day, he was pushed into a garbage can down that alley by a bunch of older kids. They though it was funny 'cause the didn't know no better. He cried and cried, until a little pup came out of a box that was in the very same garbage can and started lickin' the boy's face."

"Hate to think where that dog's tongue has been.", you mutter under your breath.

"The boy looked at the door with a perplexed face. The dog did the same. That made the boy chuckle a small bit and the pup got excited and hopped onto his lap and gave him a big ol' smoocher. The boy had finally found a friend. The puppy had been abandoned and thrown away like a scrap of trash. And when he met this boy, that puppy finally felt like he had a master. A friend. Someone he could love."

"I see..." Your guard melts away as you grow increasingly interested in this man's tale.

"Each day, the puppy would walk with the boy to the stop sign and wait for him to come back from school. The day began and ended with those meetings. Eventually, the boy grew up a bit, and thanks to the dog's love, became more outgoing. He found friends and stuck up for himself and such. The boy was finally happy, and it was all thanks to this here pup." He gently pat's the old dog's head.

"......"

"One day, the boy was walking home from the school bus, and there was this terribly stupid moron who decided to drink and drive. He was a suicidal maniac and he didn't care who he took with him. The boy bent down to give his puppy a gift; a collar. He told him that from that day forward, he would be his dog and best friend. Forever."

"The driver-"

"The boy was struck right next to the stop sign. He died instantly. The sonofabitch drivin' was just injured. The puppy walked over towards it's master and sat there. It didn't budge from that boy's side. He whimpered and lifted the boy's hand with it's nose, but the child lay motionless. They say dogs can't cry, but that didn't stop this one. Even if it wasn't on the outside."

"That's horrible..." You feel your eyes swell up a bit.

"The dog grew up , and each day it would return to this spot and wait for it's master. The boy would never come, but the dog will never stop returning to this stop sign."

"My heart feels heavy..."

"Shit like this happens everyday, son." The old man takes a long sip from his bottle. "Do you understand what I'm talkin' about, boy?"

"Yeah, I get the jist of it, old-timer."

"You're a lot like that puppy."

You laugh. "Why? Am I waiting for a master that'll never come?"

"No, the difference between you and him is that your master...is still alive."

"You know, for an old drunk guy who I just met, you sure are fuckin' preachy."

You both let out slight chuckles.

"It's the booze, kid. Makes fools outta all of us."

"And time as well."

"Hahaha, yep. Time as well. So many things I wish I could do again. So much I'll never accomplish. But that's life."

"Bullshit. Age is just a number."

"Maybe yer right, but you don't see any 63 year old men playing ice hockey on the moon."

"I don't think anyone plays ice hockey on the moon, Grandpa."

"I woulda been the first, kid."

"God damn, you're depressing."

"You're listen' to me, aren't cha? Isn't that even more depressing?"

"Well shit, you have a point there."

"You got someone you like, dontcha kid?"

"Eeehhh, I dunno."

"You don't know? Quit being such a fucking pussy."

"...You're right, if I see something I want, I should take it!"

"AHA! Now yer talkin'! Good luck kid, I got a date with a fluffy lookin' box with newspaper for blankets."

"Thanks a lot, for the talk. What did you say your name was again?"

"Never did, but Old-Timer works just fine kid. Now go get yerself a wench."

You stand up, pump up, and vanish into the snowy night.

"That idiot left without saying goodbye...damn kids."

The old man sits down and stares at the spot where that boy lay all those years ago. Its still in his mind to this very day.

"Sorry kid."

The old man sheds a tear as he regrets the day he decided to drink and drive.

The dog lets a howl into the night.

Forever loyal.

Forever waiting.

Chasing the ghost of a good thing.

I figured I'd update my blog, seeing as it's been a little more than a month. I'll set off the month of February with a tribute. A tribute, you ask? A tribute to what? It's not a question of what, but of to who. This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are while disproving the very point. This particular blog post is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to cry on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs. Those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how gorgeous/smart/sexy/funny their female friend is at the appropriate moment because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is for the guys with open minds, laid-back attitudes, honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl's every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style. This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they're at her door. For the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population. For the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, because they deserve them. Yup, this is for the guys who play by the rules in a game where cheating gets you further. This is for the millions of dudes out there who are accredited as "boyfriend material", but somehow don't end up being boyfriends. They end up being overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, on top of manipulated, misled and unjustly abandoned. This post is for you.

This is for that time she left you 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a fucking prick, you assured her that it would all be ok and she shouldn't worry about it. You know, nowadays, the nice guy is a dying breed. Chivalry is all but gone. And it's because being an asshole gets you further than being genuinely nice. The nice guys don't often get credit where credit is due. I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can't. From what I've observed on college campuses and from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion that I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim the just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as "Oh, he's too nice to date" or "He would be a good boyfriend, but he's just not for me" or my personal favorite "No, it would ruin our friendship". Yet, they continue to mourn and lament the lack of datable men in the world and expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the man that are jerks. You know what that's like? That is roughly the equivalent of the guy going to a job interview and the company saying, "You have a great resume. You have all the qualifications we are looking for, but we're not going to hire you. We will however, use your resume as the basis for comparison for all other applicants. But sadly, we're going to hire somebody who is far less qualified and is probably an alcoholic. And if he doesn't work out, we'll hire somebody else, but still not you. In fact, we will never hire you. But we will call you from time to time to complain about the person that we hired". Girls like this are beyond my ability to fathom. I can't figure out why the connection breaks down between what they SAY (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I'm going to fuck this complete and total asshole!). But one thing I can do is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn't last forever. There are definitely girls out there who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating good dudes, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls. Even trickier, is finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys that may be reading this. You know who you are, and I know you're sick of hearing yourself describes as ubiquitously nice. The truth of the matter is, the world NEEDS your patience in the department store, your holding the door open like a gentleman, your party escorting services, and your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate. For the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgment, and my gratitude goes out to you. You DO have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming. I'm patiently waiting along with you.