They shot at my boots and told me to dance...

I have a 15 page paper due on Friday. Thanks to the wonderful website JSTOR, I should be able to find enough sources to write a paper on a topic that I know very little about. At the moment, I should be in the basement or on the 2M floor of Gorgas library finding the other sources for my book. Instead, I've been sitting here for the last four hours, wasting resources that other people could be using to do school work or research, to search Lawrence Arms videos and trying to not feel like a creep lurking on peoples' Facebook pages (which failed, by the way. I always feel like a creep for lurking).

So I was at my sister's house for Thanksgiving dinner with my family. It was me, my mom, dad, brother, sister, brother-in-law, and my dad's sisters and their spouses and offspring. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Up until a couple of years ago, we always did Thanksgiving with my mom's side of my family. As I was riding with my brother down to Caroline and Mark's house, we passed our grandmother's old house and I commented that it's still weird to me that we'll never have a family gathering there or set foot in that house ever again.

When I got to town Wednesday afternoon, I went straight to my sister's house. She and Momma were already cooking. If there is something that my family does well, it's cook. I'm for real. Paula Dean can kiss my ass. My mom and sister are the best cooks in the world. As Caroline was getting reading to make the dressing, I saw the note cards with the recipe on the counter. Step-by-step directions written in cursive and neat lines on the cards. It's handwriting that I will always recognize, handwriting that always makes me smile and always makes me a little sad. Before she started mixing the ingredients, my sister took a picture off of the coffee table to set on the kitchen counter. It was a picture of our grandmother. I never asked her why she put that picture in there, but I'm pretty sure I know why.

Back to Thursday. We had all finished eating and my aunt's husband was filling out a family tree, asking our names and birth dates and all of that shit. It bugs me a little bit that the dude that my aunt is married to knows more about my family than I do, but whatever. What really aggravated the hell out of me was when my aunt was telling me about a relative, I think great-great-great-great grandfather, and said that he was in the ledger at the courthouse listed as a slave trader. She then asked me if it feels good to be superior. I can't begin to describe how much this rubbed my ass the wrong way. Superior for what? Because someone four or five generations ago made a living selling people? No, that doesn't make me feel superior. I think it's disgusting and anyone that believes that it makes them superior makes me disgusted. Honestly, I'm ashamed to know that, even if she may be wrong. I hope like hell that she's wrong. I don't know much about my family history. Hell, I can't even tell you the names of my great-grandparents. All I know is that a bunch of them grew up dirt poor and worked for everything that they had. That's what makes me feel superior.

Whoa, damn. It gets really high up here on my moral soapbox. I should probably go find those books for my paper. Fifteen pages due by 11:30am Friday. I think I can do it. Then I've got a 10 page paper due next week for another class and I already have the sources for that one. Yeah, this paper is going to be my bitch. Both of them are.

I officially drank too much this past weekend. Last night was the culmination of beating the hell out of my insides when I passed out before 9pm. I woke up to a nice make-up job and a bunch of new pictures of me looking like a turd. It's a good thing that I'll be too busy to drink over the next couple of weeks.

The computer desks in Gorgas keep fucking up my left arm. Every time I sit at one of these for more than a few minutes, it aggravates a nerve in my left arms and the pinky and ring fingers on my left hand go numb. It's weird. It took me a couple of days to realize that I wasn't stroking out.

Yep, I'm outta here. Gotta get them books. I'm going to give you what is probably the most depressing song in the Off With Their Heads discography. That's really saying something, too. Read the lyrics to any of their songs. Regardless of how upbeat the songs sound, the subject matter is some heavy shit. Addiction, depression, suicide. Maybe that's why I like them so much. I love the hell out of some sad songs and these take the cake lyrically.

Playing the role of the idiot...Not me

This is going to be the only time that I bring this up. I'm going to say as much I as I can try to get off of my chest and be done with it. Also, I'm not using names. I'm not that much of an asshole.

A little back story. I had been kinda seeing this girl for a little bit. By kinda, I mean that we weren't actually dating, but we hung out a good bit and I was really into her.

Fast forward to about three weeks ago. Shit was over. No big deal. We just both knew that I was way more into her than she was me. I didn't lose any sleep over it and I wasn't bummed out or anything. We're still cool.

Over supper last night, I found out that someone that I consider a pretty good friend has been making a solid effort to date her. This is were I have a problem. If any of you know me at all, then you know that I'm very, very loyal to my friends. I consider them an extension of my family. As such, when my friends date someone or I date someone, that person becomes off limits to the rest of us. I respect that rule in regards to my friends and they respect that rule in regards to me. It's not an issue of how serious it was with that person, it's that we showed interest in someone for a period time. That said, about a year and a half ago I had sex with the dude's ex-girlfriend (which is where this blog got its name). Even though it had been a couple of years since they dated when it happened, I still told him. I respect my friends enough and hold them in a high enough regard to be honest with them.

That's what I'm getting at here. It was never serious to begin with. This is what has annoyed me the most about this whole thing. If he would have just said that he had an eye for her, I would have no problem whatsoever. I don't mean asking if I was okay with it. That's dumb. We're all adults. People are going to do what they want. Instead, he tried to keep it from me like I wouldn't find out. People find out, and I don't like knowing that someone I consider a good friend would sneak around and do things behind my back. I'm not an idiot, so don't try to play me like one. I show my friends a level of honesty and respect that I expect in return.

I'm not mad. I'm not upset. I'm not losing sleep or plotting some dumbass scheme in my head. I'm just annoyed. That's all. I wanted to get this off of my chest and it will be the last that I mention it. So please, for the love of not being an asshole, don't spout off to me about this. If you do feel the need, you've probably got my phone number. Hardly anyone calls and it would be kinda nice to get a phone call from someone that isn't my mom, dad, or sister.

It needs to be Wednesday afternoon at 2 o'clock in the afternoon already. I haven't crossed the Etowah County line since the first of October and even though I'm only going to be there for about a day and a half, I'm really stoked about going home, going to my home bar, and seeing my family.

Also, the Iron Bowl is Friday! To be totally honest, I really think that the cow college will be on the victorious end. That quarterback that they have is pretty damn good and he has shown excellent composure the past few weeks considering there seems to be someone else trying to drag his name through the mud every couple of days. Is any of the stuff true? I don't know. Honestly, I don't give a damn. The dude is one hell of a football player and the people that are trying to pull him under are probably just pissed that he isn't playing for them (not like it would matter, Mississippi State, you guys are still going to stay near the bottom of the SEC West). I'm just ready to go to my second Iron Bowl in person and watch what is probably going to be the best damn football game that I'll see for a long time.

My best friend is in the hospital. I'm not going to put the gory details on here because I'm pretty sure that would aggravate the hell out of her, but I've been friends with this girl since at least middle school and she's been like a sister to me for a long time. I don't pray, but I'm hoping like hell that everything turns out alright.

This past Monday(the 15th), was one year to the day that I quit smoking. If you want to know what motivated me to quit, Monday the 15th was also one year to the day that my grandmother died of lung cancer caused by, you guessed it, smoking.

Okay. my throat is scratchy and I have to be at Jimmy John's at 7am to pick my schedules for the Christmas break and spring semester. Oh joy. Considering how high the turnover rate is there and that I've been there for over a year now, I should be able to get the shifts that I want.

If I'm not back before then, which I won't be, Happy Thanksgiving! Be safe, eat too much, and drink too much.

I'm done.

Breaking the Broken

Someone asked me last night when Suburban Skies was going to do a reunion. I said never. The person tried to change my mind. I still said no. I wrote this song about Suburban Skies the other day. It's simple, but that was intentional. All of our songs were simple. It doesn't have a name yet.

I met them all when I was 16 and no one liked us or so it seemed
And we would stand around all alone
Singing songs on weekend nights
Arm in arm, it all felt right
We never thought that this would end

And I had your back and you had mine

Load up in a beat up truck
1000 fliers and endless punk rock
We thought that we would change the world
Drive around as we sing and shout
But no one cared so we just got loud
Running in circles never felt so pure as we went

And I had your back and you had mine

As we got older things all changed
We lost touch and went our separate ways
I never grew up but we all changed
That last time we had just two
Sang all the songs that we all knew
But I knew that this whole thing was dead

And I had your back and you had mine

So yeah, that's it. I could probably work on it a little more, but I think I'm gonna leave it like it is.

Rock the No!

Today is Election Day. In my beloved Alabama (that would have been a sarcastic statement when I was in high school), we get to choose our new governor, a product of the Alabama Democratic Machine and some old fucker that looks like Mr. Burns and insists on having "Doctor" added before his name on the ballot.

I'm tired of this. I've been getting mailings at least 4 times a week from Phil Poole and Gerald Allen about which one is more of a son of a bitch and doesn't deserve my district's seat in the Alabama senate (I'm registered to vote in Tuscaloosa). I really don't like knowing that the Alabama Republican Committee has my mailing address. Same for the Democratic Party.

Here's the honest truth. Regardless of who you vote for, nothing is going to change. They can talk about how much they plan to do for your city/county/district/state/country/whatever but once they're elected and most of the times even before, there are interest groups with money talking in their ears saying that they will help finance their campaign if they do them some favors in the legislature or give them a few kickbacks. The people running for office don't give two shits and a bucket of piss about any of us.

I remember 5 years ago when I registered to vote. I was 18 and surprisingly, not as bitter a person as I am now. I walked into the Etowah County Courthouse upright with my head held up because I was doing my patriotic duty of registering to vote, goddammit! The first time that I voted was the next year, in the primaries for the 2006 midterm elections. My grandmother was still alive and working as a poll sitter at my voting location. I walked in, was given a ballot, and watched her smile as my name was marked off of the ledger of people that had voted. When I put my ballot in the machine, she walked up to me and put the "I Voted" sticker on my shirt. I still have that sticker, but it's stuck to my laptop now, and covered with a Lucero sticker.

That said, I'm not voting today and probably not ever again (with the exception of the Sunday alcohol sales vote in February). It just doesn't change anything.

That's enough of that. I'm gonna get off of my high horse now and find something to do that doesn't involve drinking. I'm drying out this week, at least until this weekend.

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit "Cigarettes and Wine" from Tugboat Productions on Vimeo.