They say it is better to have loved and lost....

How do you replace the irreplaceable?

When something comes along that cannot be duplicated, that cannot be replaced, and it means more to you than you want it too, how do you move on when it is inherently gone? An infinite number of questions repeat in my overactive, hyper-analytical brain. All leading back to the same monolithic sub-structure, "why?".

Is this the meaning of what life is supposed to be? To sling these seemingly impossible scenarios at us and test our ability to move forward? Is this what all these half-wit Christians talk about when they say "God has a plan for us all"? Somehow, on a more basic level, I don't think it's that complex. In fact I'm a firm believer that the meaning of life and the only valid answer to "why are we here?" is that there shouldn't have been a question there in the first place. There is no "here". There is no "there". There is only an organized chaos.

This is the first blog in a long time that I'm writing just to put all my feelings on the table. As I am not really concerned with consequence anymore, things really can't get any worse, It's just gonna come out. I usually hide behind a volley of witty banter and amusing subject matter to put on this facade of happiness. Well, happiness is the wrong word...Continuity, if you will.

I lost something very dear to me. Over the past ten years, I have stashed something away inside myself. That thing is myself. The me that I knew before I got married to what really may have been, the worst human being in this hemisphere, has vanished behind a force-field of a calloused shell. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know that the person I was is behind the callous anymore or if he has escaped, leaving this shell completely hollow. I don't have feelings. I don't have desires (besides just one), I don't feel remorse, I don't feel emotional extremes, I don't react to anger, happiness, sadness, trials, fears; I am empty. Every time I look at myself in the mirror, I see an unrecognizable face. Like my soul is made from cellophane, translucent and invisible when sought at certain angles. Somehow, the idea that this could be scary to oneself comes to mind, but I cannot feel scared. I can't feel anything. I can't remember this person I was. He is lost, and I want him back. Why do we always want what we cannot have?

Pain has become my only recognizable emotion. This pain is exterior. Not an Emo, comb my hair over one eye and listen to My Chemical Romance type of pain.

I've recently (last night) come to the realization that I am no longer 100% of what I was, or ever could be again. Formally, to every individual I've shunned, will probably shun very soon, and has been hurt because I'm no longer who I have tried desperately to be again, I'm sorry that I cannot give anything. Seriously, there's nothing there to give. I could sit here and give the "it's not you, it's me" speech all day. It's the truth. It's me. There's nothing here. It's funny how I use the words "I'm sorry". Truth is, I'm not really sorry. If you want to get technical, I could give two shits about most people, which probably includes you. I know that may seem harsh, but it really isn't your doing. There are literally, 8 people I would die for on this earth, and even in the circumstances that have come up recently with some of them, that list remains unchanged. Truth be told, there's no more room on that list for anyone else. No one will ever make that cut again.

The adage says "it is better to have loved and lost then never to of loved at all." I say, "Fuckin try it, dickheads."

"My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control over them."

Random Comic

Question and Answer

Question:
Why does my microwave need to know the date when it forces me reset the clock? It doesn't do anything with that information. It doesn't adjust the clock based on daylight savings time, or send me an e-card on my birthday. It just sits there, refusing to proceed to operability until I tell it what DDMMYY it is. So what the French?


Answer:
What's with these keyboards coming out now days anyway? Do we really need a button on the keyboard to do every little function on the PC?
My keyboard at work has the following buttons:
Back and Forward (Assuming it is related to internet browsing)
Stop (also browsing)
Refresh
Home
Sleep, which instantly closes everything and puts the computer to beddie-bye and is located right next to the "back" button. This is helpful.
A button with an envelope on it which opens up Outlook
A magnifying glass (?)
A new folder button
A button to declare war on Yemen
A button to open up Media player
A button to open the calculator
A button to open up the "My Computer" folder
Improbability drive
Play/Pause
Rewind
Fast Forward
Stop
Mute
A god damn volume control wheel
An Ipod Dock
USB ports

Um...Unnecessary. Use the mouse. Jack-hole.

I'm Back!

So my divorce is final. God, that's nice. We went Friday and finished everything. Thankfully, things have become MUCH more easy going then they were when this whole thing started (or ended).
More good news: Now I can finally post some of the blogs I've written throughout this whole time. That should go over well. I've had some feedback from several people about these blogs. I think I'll probably just post one. It's my favorite. Not many people know too much about the horrid details of my marriage and the shit I put up with but I think this will at least give them some insight. I'm not gonna start a brand new blog, I'll just post it on this one. HA! This is gonna get me some hate mail.

-

Here goes: This was entitled "Pacification"

Ok, Ok, I suppose I should write something.

I'd like to say first off that I'm so grateful to everyone who has been supportive and has gone out of their way to help me without a shadow of judgment or narrow-minded opinion in all this mess. Thank you, sincerely. I've realized in these past weeks how much of a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It is nice having a house not completely filled with negativity. It really is no ones fault, it's just been a very long time coming. I'm glad I have people in my life that can see this for what it is and it's unfortunate that others have gone completely off the deep end with ignorance and spontaneous assumptions.
I guess what I'm really trying to say is:


Which brings me to my next order of business. Saying what I really mean. Recently/over the past several years I've been called quite a few names by some people that I never got a chance/had the patience to retort to. Let's just go down the list for a little bit, and I'm sure several will be omitted for reasons of memory failure...
Lets begin with the most recent.

Pussy-ass cyberspace shit talking faget[sic] - This one is funny since I've been pretty much silent and out of the loop entirely which includes answering my phone, writing emails/blogs/Facebook updates, and fucking other men in the ass.

Selfish childish high school idiot - This one is original. I enjoyed seeing this one in a recent email for several reasons. The most obvious being the selfish part, which i won't go too far into for obvious reasons, the childish part because of the nature and context of the email was just oozing with hypocrisy, and the high school idiot part because there were more grammatical and spelling errors in this email than the combined test results of every under-privileged student in Los Angeles.

note: those last two and several others were all in the same email from someone who's name I've decided to keep obscured. Lets just call this person, a sexually frustrated, pseudo-sophisticated, uncultured, unemployed, father who is 50 years old, broke, perverted, angry, and still attached to his tired 80 year old mother's wrinkled, flaccid mammary glands.

Stupid Fat Fuck - this was probably the most common phrase heard around the home, with or without company present. One of my personal favorites. This is a three-part insult that can be broken down. I don't even think I need to address the stupid part. The fat part could be taken literally as I have gained some weight over the years, but it's hard to keep those pounds off when I don't spend my nights and weekends spinning around a tall steel pole. The fuck part is funny because not a whole lot of fucking took place in the last several years (at least with me involved) unless it refers to the financial kind, which, if that’s the case, it should be “fuckee”.

Asshole - This one is actually true, can't really argue with this.

Useless deadbeat dad - Out of all the names I’ve been called, this one hit a little harder, especially since it came from someone whose name will also be omitted to protect America’s drug addicted, kleptomaniac, self-centered attention whores who sleep until 2pm while their children beg for attention or remain locked in a bedroom with nothing more than a cup of water while cats are allowed to roam the house at will, pissing on everything within reach.

-

Ok, that feels good to post. I wrote that almost a year ago. It's been sitting in my drafts along with 20-25 other blogs I haven't put up, just gathering mold.

More to come. I'll share a bit about current events when I have some time. I'd also like to put up some before and after pics of my house since I'm sure everyone is just DYING to know how much a few insignificant things in my house look different.

New idea based on my inability to publish blogs because of my hypersensitive douchy ex-relatives.

So I had this idea a few months back about just starting a Q&A blog instead of writing blogs about the shit that is pissing me off. According to some, since I'm pissed off at completely random things, this inherently means, I'm "talking shit online and being a fag". Ok, I totally get that. Except that came in an email to me which had to be written online and... Oh fuck it.

So anyway, I've been absent for a while on here because my mother tells me to write shit and just not post it. Which I have, but anyone who knows me understands that I can't just keep shit to myself, I must blab it out passive aggressively with carefully constructed innuendos and euphemisms indicating how much of a douche canoe some people (and you know who you are!) can be at times. Well, maybe all the time. Yeah, some people are just total jack-holes and I believe that it is my big-bang given duty to tell them.

Oh, on a lighter note, doesn't Jonah Hill totally look like a goat scrotum?


I'd like the question and answer thing to work, really I would. Mostly because I want to keep writing blogs, and because I think human interaction is much more interesting to read. So by all means, if anyone has a question they would like answered, and it could be about anything, please email me.

jvmuss@hotmail.com

Google Fail

Periodically, Google takes part in a collection of art from children of all ages and grades, and sticks them together for us to vote on which one should be the next homepage graphic. This is nice in a
winner/loser kind of way and I'd like to share with you my take on some of these drawings done by children.
I must warn you, if you haven't read my blog or spent a great deal of time with me, you may not realize that I'm a little bit of a dickhead. The drawing and, well, drawling can be cute at times if you have that "bless their little heart" mentality, which thanks to several genetic abnormalities/advantages/or-what-have-you, I was born without.

Anyway, on with it...

The theme here is "If I could do anything, I would..." Then the child starts rambling about what he or she would do if they could do anything, which is totally ridiculous, because lets face it, children can't do anything. Nobody can do anything.

Here's a submission from little Vicky, age 6 from Oregon.

Vicky writes: "No Pollution! The coral reef is dying! Small fish live in the coral reef. If the coral reef dies, the small fish will have nothing to eat. If the small fish dies, the big fish will have nothing to eat. Then the bigger fish will have nothing to eat. SAVE THE CORAL"

Joels verdict: Solid C-. Vicky, You're correct. The coral reef is dying, and your little circle of life analogy is very poetic, But there is more than one coral reef and the rest of us that do not live in bleeding heart Oregon, would still like to purchase dried coral and other reef inhabitants to decorate our bathrooms. Nothing says cozy #2 like a baked starfish and coral soap dish. I also can't help but notice the spot of copyright infringement we have with little Nemo.

We then have Craig, age 7 from Vegas:

"If I could do anything, I would..." give everyone in the world a super fast computer and Internet. People could become friends. They could help each other. They could find the answers to problems together. They could have fun together. People will not go to war because they are friends.

Joel: This simply will not work. People are not friends, Craig. People only stand each other at different levels. These levels change based on how much money the other has, or depending on how many fingers you can get in the others girlfriend. You should also know that if everyone had super-fast computers, no-one would. This is philosophy at the basic level Craig. There will always be the need to one-up the other guy, which in fact, leads to war. You're heart is in the right place, and you do live in Vegas where prostitution is legal so I'll go with a C+.

Next, Isabella, age 9 from Tennessee.

She writes:

I Am The Best Teacher

If I was a teacher I would teach the whole world. I want to show math, science, reading, handwriting and a lot more. I want everyone to say I am the best teacher. I won't be strict. I will be nice and I won't make them do so much homework.

Joel: First, let's talk about sentence structure, Isabella. "If I could do anything, I would... I Am The Best Teacher"? No. Just NO. Now lets move on to physics. First, your crayons are not only suspended in a sort of cosmic state, one of them is broken. Next, light particles (photons) do not bend in this way unless that clock happens to be a super-massive black hole, disguised as a clock. Your apple has a reflection that is hanging off of your desk which, I should add is completely impractical, and you should know that somewhere in Oregon, there is a 6 year old that just owned your artistic ability. If you want to be the "Best Teacher", you have your work cut out for you. F.

Olivia, 11 from Fort Wayne, Indiana:

"If I could do anything, I would..." ... splatter the whole world in bright colors.

Joel: What? F.





Cynthia, 11 from Jersey:

"If I could do anything, I would..." create a bridge of harmony between mankind and nature. Better life relies on the co-existence between man and wildlife, so I would make an ideal world for them by filling the world with hope for a better tomorrow.

Joel: I can't decide what you've been doing more, smoking weed, or listening to We Are The World remixes. Maybe both.
F. Drugs are bad, mm-kay? You're 11. Slow down, Drew Barrymore.

Bryan, age 11, Washington:

"Because of the recent earthquake tragedies in Haiti and Chile. I think it is important to build a city that earthquakes cannot damage or destroy. The high rise buildings should be strong enough to withstand any earthquakes, so that people can be safe and will not be threatened. "

Joel: Which ultimately leads to overpopulation, pollution, famine, poor education, a downfall in global economics, civil disobedience, plague, and the increased chance that someone will fly planes into your "safe" high-rise buildings. This is just poorly thought out, not to mention incomplete. Your buildings have some kind of white void in the middle of them. F. Learn to finish things you start. It'll give you a sense of closure which is very important in life.

Rafael, 17 from Jersey:

"If I could do anything, I would..." find a way to improve education for underprivileged students in cities, towns and neighborhoods that are suffering from poverty. Consequently, that generation of young men and women could become the leaders and role models for the next generation.

Joel: Good art Rafael, too bad you don't know shit about sociology. You find thousands of tenured faculty willing to get paid peanuts and dodge bullets to weed out 1 or 2 role models from a sea of asshole teenagers who's drug laden parents have passed down a legacy of crime and addiction to them and their half-dozen miscreant siblings. Stick to drawing. B (for the art) F for the commentary. And what's simple addition and complex theory doing on the same blackboard? You have to crawl before you can walk. Perhaps you should get together with little Isabella and talk a bit about Einstein's Theory of Relativity.

Elizabeth, 18, from Connecticut.

"I would travel on a robot around the world. Everyone desires to see this vast world, but only a handful of people can fulfill their aspiration with today's limited technology. In the future maybe everyone can have their own transportation to travel the world. With technology, the possibilities are endless"

Joel: Yes, you read that right. This girl is 18. She's 18 and she desires to travel on a ROBOT around the world. ... F out of principle.

Alex, 17, from West Virginia:

"If I could do anything, I would..." go to Japan. I would love to go to Japan because I want to see and explore its architecture, like Tokyo Tower. I also want to master the style of art, both traditional and digital. I also would love to eat the food.

Joel: Fuckin' A, Alex. A totally rational aspiration. This is a 17 year old kid who wants to be doing EXACTLY what 17 year old boys should be doing. Flying to Japan (or any other country of choice), eating their food (women), and exploring their architecture (women). A+. I know whats in your heart, buddy. Good for you.

Muscle Aches, Sniffels and the Guilt Queen

So it's summer again and I... am not happy about that.

Summer is the time of year where being an Italian/Armenian living in California is somewhat like being trapped in an old Volkswagen in the Utah Salt Flats with the windows rolled up, no car keys and zipped up in a Chewbacca costume. It's hot, sticky, there seems to be a constant shortage of oxygen, and it smells bad. Usually by the end of the day, certain areas of clothing have turned into just a wad of uncomfortable damp material, some being heavier than others and all rubbing and pulling out hair from different parts of the body. The only semi-positive thing about the summer time is when the back of my shirt has retained so much sweat, it forces my center of gravity backwards, straightening out my posture to prepare me for the hunched over misery and despair of the inevitable holiday season.
It's also that time of year that allergies are the most rampant. Apparently this time of year, little things fall off of trees, catch some invisible slipstream of wind and travel directly into my nasal passage, resulting in itchy, watery, sinus pressure accompanied by nosebleeds, spontaneous and uncontrollable sneezing fits, sore throats and headaches. Very few medicines work since I seem to have the ability to immunize myself to them very quickly. So basically, to sum it up, the next three to four months of life, I will transform into a frustrated, hot, uncomfortable, sneezing, sweating, itchy, stinky, crusty, mucousy, bloody pile of hairy shit.

Oh yeah... I'm bringing sexy back.

As if things couldn't get any worse, the next few weeks will be spent outdoors, and several times driving the US Cold Storage work truck. The US Cold work truck is one of three trucks my company uses to transport small materials around, pick up tools and materials from the nearby hardware store and is general purpose for deliveries for things like paperwork, dry ice, hookers, etc. There are three work trucks, all from different era's of the evolution of the truck. There is a nice shiny, silver Nissan Frontier, brought in last year sometime, a bright blue 90's model Ford F-150 that's in good condition, and then the one I get to drive. It looks a little like this:
Don't get me wrong, it's a good truck. Has very low mileage for it's age. It does have a short list of discrepancies which aren't to much of a big deal. There is no turn signal so arm gestures are required, there's no radio, it's interior has kind of a brown leather "Boogie Nights" feel to it, no A/C, it's literally covered in rust, but for the most part, it gets the job done. The problem with driving this in the summer coupled with my Chris Farley-ish sweat capability is removing myself from the brown leather. It's a little like peeling a fruit roll-up out of it's plastic wrap.

My house is finally my house. That's good news. There is a ton of work that needs to be done. Painting and cleaning mostly. The house is in rather good condition aside from some spots that need to be scrubbed down and cleaned off and the poor state of the backyard. It'll take some time, but it will be a healthy break from sitting on my ass in a rental.
My brother helped me move all my stuff over, and I can't thank him enough for that, especially since my house was teeming with useless the entire weekend. We got ALL my large furniture packed and unpacked in one day and I'm still feeling the side effects. Immediately after unpacking my stuff, we then went off to Vince's for a high-velocity band practice. I'm still pretty achy.
Another note, last weekend we went up to Daniel's (My brother-in-law) birthday party where Laura announced her pregnancy. I'm gonna be an uncle. It's going to be an exciting year with everything going on. I'm sure Daniel and Laura will make great parents. I don't know too many people as responsible and caring as those two.
We also stopped by my mom's house for "Armenian Violin" day. We had excellent food, excellent company, shitty coffee, and Landon provided the entertainment for the evening. It was a tight squeeze to fit everything in on such a short weekend but Mom was persuasive. So persuasive in fact that she paid off a few utility bills without my knowledge, ultimately resulting in a well-maneuvered guilt trip. I tell you, she's good at what she does. We then show up and she's sweating over a stove and running all over the house trying to provide a giant meal for everyone. She's definitely the chip-leader in the game of guilt.
So we ate...well, I ate. By the end of the night, when I was on my 6th or 7th pound of pilaf, I looked around and realized, I was the only one left at the table. Mom then brought out what seemed to be some sort of an Ewok beverage. She called it Turkish coffee, I called it sweetened coal tar. It wasn't going down too well so I poured it on my scalp, and I don't think I'll be getting dandruff ever again.
I'm looking forward to the next meal like that, hoping she'll cook some Sarma. It is my favorite. I live so far away, I hardly ever get to eat the things I got too when I was young. Sarma was always the best. Maybe my Mom will come and visit me in the new house I just worked so hard for and cook me Sarma and pilaf. After all, I am her first-born son, it was always my favorite, and she hardly ever comes here to see me and her baby grandson.

Yes, the genetic traits are strong in this family.

It's really a small price to pay for this double chin and all this fucking hair.