I am not ever going to change who I am at my core. The restaurant menu at the core of my soul has no room for modifications, alterations or the mixing of unrelated menu items into one chef's nightmare. My menu cannot be changed for women, friends or loud mouthed Baptist preachers. They can all believe that I'm going to Hell, what they believe doesn't matter. How you are perceived doesn't matter when it comes right down to brass tax. I know what I've done and who I really am, that's all that matters. When I tell you that I want to marry the real life equivalent of the character Ada Wong from the Resident Evil series, you know that I'm a crazy person. But I am a crazy person that I can live with.
I am a repellent for liars and fakes that can't tolerate knowing what they are. If you want someone who will cater to you and your fragile ego then I'm just not the guy. I tell the truth about myself, I'm not going to then turn right around and buy the bullshit that you spout about yourself. Being friends with me when you are like that is like having an insatiable appetite for McDonald's breakfast while also having positively no tolerance for stomach pain. It's just not going to work.
I am really very much alone in my walk through life. Alone when being with someone means being able to tolerate bullshit. I've already had experiences with the best people out there. I remember what it was like when I didn't have to listen to drunken blabbering at 2am from some alcoholic broad that thinks she takes care of an old woman that doesn't need her. How do I know that one doesn't need the other? Well the old lady kicked the young lady out for six months. If you take care of someone, but they don't need you for six months, then you don't take care of them. I took care of my grandmother for 3 years and if I would have left her for 6 months, at any time, she would have been dead when I got back. That's just how dementia works. You can't lie to me and if you do, and then I find out about it, then you won't lie to me again. I've already known the best people, and they don't do that shit.
I do have an understanding of what makes people tick and I know what makes me tick. If you can't tolerate someone who operates with that information and is willing to say it all out loud, then I am not for you. Being with me is like adding a full bottle of angostura bitters to a caramel macchiato. If you don't know what angostura bitters taste like, well they are bitters. So they taste a bit bitter and that is what I am. If you're a caramel macchiato then you don't want bitter in you, period.
Yes I hurt feelings all the time, I have been called evil, I've been slapped, punched, knocked out, spit on, attacked with knives and shot at. I am hated by some people. But I don't care. I can live with myself and that's all that matters. I am a guy who can start out on a mission to make myself a delicious Belgian waffle and end up googling how to treat 3rd degree burns from mishandling my coffee machine. My clumsiness has nothing to do with what I've been talking about here, but my hand still really fucking hurts.
I will never change, when I'm shot or stabbed to death or whatever it is, I won't go into that last good night ashamed or embarrassed by the way that I've lived, because I was honest. It would be far more likely that I would drink myself to death on accident. That last line makes me hope that my mother doesn't read this material. All that I have done, I have done it my way. If tomorrow I was convinced that apple butter makes the best hair gel, I'd probably not live and die by that one small aspect of life. But I would need some serious proof to refute my belief about apple butter as hair gel. I would also need someone to test the new theory for me as I am bald. The point of all this rambling was to make someone out there laugh. But also to remind any of those that thought that a few mean texts or a slap or punch or whatever you thought would end me, will not end me. You can leave, I don't care. People want to be around me, there will never not be more of those people.
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