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Old 05-24-2006, 09:17 PM   #11 (permalink)
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DJQ, this is a good thread, cause its give us, humans, a chance to talk about and share our experience, and in this case, not the happy experiences.

is this Therapy, in away, but it should tell everyone to enjoy life. Live from your experiences, and pass on experiences to people that are lucky enough not to have experienced the shit that we have.

So when you bitch about not getting paid enough, or could get your balls licked by the hot chick, it could be a lot worse, and its not the end of the world. Try harder, work harder, and god dammit, play harder.

I ask for no mercy or sympathy, and i know you to, phil are the same way. This is the hand that has been dealt, play the fucking cards.
"I may not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend it to the death, for your right to say it."
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Old 05-24-2006, 09:22 PM   #12 (permalink)
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My wife and I are out celebrating her birthday. We're at the theater when my beeper begins to vibrate. It's my mother. My beeper goes off again.

Intermission comes and I go and stand in line for a payphone. My beeper's gone off four times and by now I'm shaking. I can't remember my calling card number. I try and try but I keep on fucking up. I have a little sister who lives with my mom and I miss her so. Not a day goes that I don't ache for not being with her as she grows up.

There's a old guy in a suit on line behind me and he's getting impatient. I ignore him.

I finally connect with my mother and she's crying.

"What happened?" I ask and I think the worst. My sister.

"Michael's dead" she says.


"Michael. Your cousin. He's dead."

And then the details. There was some sort of car accident. He died.

He was seventeen. He was bright. Inquisitive. Artful. He loved Halen post Lee Roth. Played Nintendo. Nowadays hed be on the net, maybe even here.

I make my way back to my seat and kiss my wife.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing," I tell her, not wanting to ruin her night. "It's not important. I'll tell you later."

That evening I take the last bus out to Jersey. Our entire family's gathering. I come from a large family and everyone is flying in. Seventeen. 1999. Were gonna party Prom. Senior trip. College. For months after they get mail with his name on it. At the funeral, as the coffin passes, I reach out and touch the box, knowing hes no longer with us, but in my heart and mind I say good-bye, and once again I pray that Im wrong and that one day well meet again.

There are three of us on the bus, then just myself and the driver. He asks me where I'm going and then drops me off a little closer.

Bad mistake. It's night. Wintertime and I don't know the area.

As the bus pulls away I begin to walk in the dark and head in the direction he told me and soon realize I'm lost.

I go back to where I was left off, A "main road" - if there are such things in the deep suburb - and begin to walk, passing homes with dim porch lights glowing. It's cold. Winter cold. Should I knock on a door? Would you open your door to a stranger?

After a while I find a payphone. There's a taxi service sticker and so I call the number. I don't know where I am, just the town and the street. You would think it would be enough but somehow the service has no idea where I'm at. "There's no street by that name in that town." Fuck! Where did the bus driver leave me? I could call my aunt's house but that's not how I do things. I take care of myself. Have for years and I don't ask favors of anyone. It drives my wife and friends crazy but it hurts me, makes me feel ashamed - to ask for help.

A life cut short. That afternoon he borrowed the car. Later we find out he turned too quickly, too fast. I think the trees still there. Ive never dared ask.

So I start to walk. I'm freezing and I look up at the sky. Stars like you never see in the city. I'm at the top of an incline and near the bottom, in the distance; I think I see a gas station. I can't tell. A half hour's walk - maybe.

I'm cold and yet it's so beautiful. It's a night that I know I'll never forget. I'm shivering - it's so cold. But I take care of myself. No one needs to help me.

But then, as I wait for a car to pass by I hear my name. "William?" And inside it's one of my cousins. I come from a large family.

"Hi." I say.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks.

"Going to ____."

That evening my little adventure brings a smile to some, making it all worthwhile.


Later. And this I've shared with few - and to me it's the saddest part - it's what I meant to write about - something so personal happens that I'd rather not post it publicly for there are people I love who I'd rather not have them know. PM me if you're read this far and I'll let you know.

"That's me -- call me crazy, call me a pervert, but this is something I enjoy."
- Boogie Nights

Last edited by william; 12-24-2007 at 07:08 PM. Reason: Edited for Privacy
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Old 05-24-2006, 10:19 PM   #13 (permalink)
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My Uncle used to sniff Gasoline/Paint/glue anything with fumes. Ran Out of gas on the way to work, because he siphoned out his gas so he could sniff it.

What was once a great guy, now sits in a corner and talk to the ghost who walk the earth.

The misery in his life is a sad shame.
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Old 05-25-2006, 02:50 AM   #14 (permalink)
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Im sitting on the living room couch with my older brother watching t.v. I was four if not younger. Suddenly without warning the front door flies off its hinges with a crash. Several men dressed all in black carrying large guns emerge, they slam my parents against the wall while my brother and I are carried out the door.

What I would come to understood much later, was that the men in black were S.W.A.T and my parents were being arrested for drug trafficking.

Charges would later be dropped due to discrepancies in the search warrant and my brother and I were returned to my parents custody.

My parents continue their trade, but now being extraordinarily cautious, means were moving every couple of years. Eventually financial success would provide both a large home in a nice neighborhood and deplorable living conditions. Drug dealers, junkies, alcoholics and criminals of all kinds were part of the atmosphere. As is so often the case, drug dealers become drug addicts, my father (whom I would later find out was my stepfather) was no exception.

Whew.... Im turning into William here, its cliffs notes from here on out - if youre actually curious about the details of my life, ask away Im not shy.

-Exorbitant amounts of coke and eventually crack makes daddy a scary person (not to mention all the other strangers in the house) cleans up her act and moves us (myself and 4 brothers) out...restraining orders, police escorts to school, go into hiding etc.

-mom has no professional skills/adequate education, we live in one room roach-pit, food stamps, hand-me-downs etc.

-Step dad does the rehabilitation/relapse thing for several years, he moves in/moves out, gets shot, beat up, kidnaps youngest brother, goes to prison etc.

-Real dad continues to have illegitimate kids (8 brothers total, that I know of), little to no contact.

-Mom finds jesus and gets a legitimate job. Forced to go to catholic schools and bible camps.

-Some brothers get jobs/go to school, some sell drugs etc.

-I bust ass as, roofer, gardner, painter, mover etc. Pay my way through college with spare money in the bank. Life become relatively uneventful compared to childhood (which is a very good thing), become overly cautious about drugs and having babies (again, a very good thing). Carouse the KATG forums with the rest of you degenerates and share too much personal info.

And now the speed round....
Uncle becomes retarded due to head injury. Cousin dies at 3 due to illness. Grandfather (a brilliant man) develops serious Alzheimer's - becomes heavy burden to family, dies. Grandmother has multiple strokes - becomes heavy burden to family. Several uncles, aunts and cousins die of cancer. Several successful and unsuccessful attempts of suicide by both family and friends.

Hmmmm......thats all I got for now, but repressed memories could surface at any moment
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Old 05-25-2006, 03:43 AM   #15 (permalink)
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im fairly happy with my life, my only real sob stories are that my blood grandfather on my moms side, i never got to know until he was about to die. my grandparents got divorced before i was born and i had no real contact with him except for once when i was 4 years old, i went and stayed on his farm for two weeks.

running through a cornfield at that age is one of the fondest memories i have, the world is still being discovered every day at that age, and a vast cornfield to get lost in is like some amazing labyrinth at that age. if you have a kid at that age, take them to a cornfield, that day wont be a lost memory.

also, there was this orange cat that had kittens under the back porch. i discovered them and she quickly moved them to a hallowed out tree, i remember the tree being so huge that i couldnt reach in with my whole arm and touch the kittens, they were still too far away. the momma cat didnt mind my trying, i guess, she never hissed or anything. when i left later, my grandfather gave me one of the kittens to take home, where i had it for maybe six months or a year, and then it ran away. i suppose it hit puberty, and theres no shortage of feral cats out in the woods.../shrug

i do recall thinking my grandfather was the smartest person in the world while i was there, as demonstrated by the tasks he gave me. go pull those big plants growing in the garden, when youre done, bring one to me. i return half an hour later sweaty and dirty, with the stalk of some thick weed. he pulls out his knife and carves on it a minute, and hands me back a working flute. it works till it dries out too much some 30 minutes later. i go find fresh weeds to pull to renew the fun, every half hour for the rest of the day.

i saw him again when i was 17. he was traveling around visiting all his realitives for some reason, i was in florida with my mom, his daughter. he and his wife stayed a day with us, he helped me figure out what was wrong with my car, which wasnt starting sometimes. there was a bad connection coming from the battery, he wore beige canvas overalls and a wide brim hat while he looked over the engine bay. he left the next day, headed for some other realative in some other place.

i didnt see him again until i was made aware he was diagnosed with some terminal cancer caused from smoking cigars. i went to visit, and stayed on his farm, which had become overgrown because of his declining health. he had visible neighbors now, not just a broad expanse of nature in all directions like before. we talked, nothing deep, i didnt know the man, didnt know what to say. i returned home, and got a phone call from him a couple weeks later, we talked about the weather, the seasons, i wished him well and said id probably see him again. he died a day later.

the tragedy was i never really got to know him. people die, theres nothing sad there, its only sad when you dont leave something behind, some peice of yourself. i wanted to know him, i wanted a peice of his past, his personality, but i never had the chance. and i guess now i never will. i wish i was a little wiser back then, i wish i could appreciate sitting down and talking about the distant past.

i recently decided to start a family book of sorts. im tracking down all my older blood realitives and intend to either have them write about their life, or conduct an extensive interview, and write it myself. it would be nice if one day my kids could get to know their family that had passed on, they might one day appreciate it. they might see a bit of themselves.
Originally Posted by thepetek View Post
To be fair, to really follow Spooky's diet, you can't just eat chicken. You have to spend your days cleaning up after a slob roommate and night shivering like a rain soaked rage filled chihuahua about having to clean up after said roommate until you finally snap and yell at him. It should be called the Mexican maid diet.

Last edited by spooky; 05-25-2006 at 03:48 AM.
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Old 05-25-2006, 06:53 AM   #16 (permalink)
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Originally Posted by ozdog
I agree DJQ, Come down south, I'll buy ya a beer. Actually ill be in the Cincy area in July, i'll let you buy me a beer.
hells yeah! you'd better look me up! PM me when you're on your way.
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Old 05-25-2006, 10:25 AM   #17 (permalink)
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Post May their memories be blessed...

March 9th, 2002 -

My girlfriend, at the time, was planning on going out for her birthday on a Saturday night with her girlfriends. One of her friends, Tali, had just started working at Cafe Moment, one of the more popular hang-out spots in Jerusalem. She was heading out to meet up with her friends there. We had just got into a massive argument about some bullshit I can't even remember. I remember my ex-girlfriend was upset cause it was almost 10:15 and our fighting had made her late for leaving. A few minutes after she left I heard the news and ran out to the bus stop which thankfully she was still there, waiting for the bus.

The bomber walked into the Cafe Moment, and exploded at 10:30 PM Saturday night. The bomber detonated a powerful explosive charge that completely gutted the restaurant. The cafe was teeming with dozens of people at the time of the attack. Hamas claimed responsibility for the attack.

Tali Eliyahu was one of 11 people killed in the explosion. Another 54 people were injured in the blast. Tali was 26 years old.

Tali Eliyahu grew up in a very religious family. Although she later decided to leave the religious way of life, she was still on good terms with her family. She was a student at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem.

On Saturday Tali began her first day as a waitress at Cafe Moment. She was supposed to work for just two hours. She was killed that same night.


April 30th, 2003 - Mike's Place Tel-Aviv Promenade

I was working at a Bodega nearby. My buddy, a former semi-professional heavyweight boxer, was working as a short order cook at this bar, Mike's Place, (reminds me of Nice Guy Eddies), which is near the US embassy on the boardwalk of the Tel-Aviv beachfront. I spent alot of time sucking down pints after my shift with my friend and got to know all of his co-workers there. The night before I was carrying my friend out of there at 5:30AM, which was no easy task. The next night, luckily, he was too hung over to come in to work.

At 12:45am on April 29, 2003, a suicide bomber approached Mike's Place in Tel Aviv and blew himself up at the entrance to the bar - killing Dominique Hass, 29, Ran Baron, 23, and Yanai Weiss, 46, and wounding over 50. One of the wounded was security guard Avi Tabib, who blocked the bomber, preventing him from entering the bar and causing further fatalities.

The Perpetrators

The attack was perpetrated by Asif Muhammad Hanif, 22, a British citizen.

A second British citizen, Omar Khan Sharif, 27, married, a resident of Derby, who was also due to have perpetrated a suicide attack, fled the scene. Khan Sharif attempted to detonate the bomb in his possession but the bomb failed to explode. He fled the scene after discarding the bomb. It cannot be ruled out that he was injured by the explosion of the detonator.

During his flight, Khan Sharif struggled with a security guard at the David Intercontinental Hotel as he tried to snatch the latter's ID. Khan Sharif's body was positively identified on May 19, 2003, after having washed ashore on the Tel Aviv beachfront on May 12.

The two British Muslims - Asif Hanif and Omar Khan Sharif - who were involved in the April 30, 2003 suicide bombing at Mike's Place in Tel Aviv were dispatched to perpetrate the attack by the Hamas military command in the Gaza Strip.

The Victims
(i only included two those who I knew fairly well. May their memories be blessed)

Ran Baron devoted his time to developing a career as a stand-up comedian and musician. Trained as a pianist at the Tel Aviv Conservatory, he concentrated on jazz and went to Mike's Place to play at the Tuesday night jam session. He was hoping to study communications and business administration at Tel Aviv University.

"He mainly played the piano," said his younger brother, Ido, "but he could get the sound he wanted from any instrument he'd pick up. He was unquestionably a performer... but he hadn't begun to enjoy civilian life. He was planning to go abroad and study business administration or communications or psychology."

Ido said he didn't know whether his brother had had a chance to play before he was slain. "I hope he had a good time there... He had an excellent sense of humor; he'd find something funny in every situation and this summed up his view of life. The good bits from life he'd put into his performances."

Dominique Hass came to Israel from France in 1997 and worked as a waitress at Mike's Place.

"She really loved Tel Aviv," said Tony and Rachel, two regulars at the pub. "She was one of the original waitresses at the place."

Hass studied cooking in Herzliya and wanted to open her own catering business, selling French pastry. She had come to the pub that night to ask the owner advice about setting up her own business.

Mike's Place co-owner Gal Ganzman said he was worried who would inform Dominique's parents, who live in France. "Dominique worked here from the day we opened. She came to live in Israel alone, and we were her family here. She was my best friend... We're a family here, and now we've lost a dear sister."
A bartender working there at the time has made a very powerful film about this incident. Blues by the Beach

Last edited by deuce; 05-29-2006 at 04:12 AM.
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Old 05-25-2006, 11:04 AM   #18 (permalink)
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Jesus christ, my life is pretty fucking tame compared to you guys. And I'm worried about losing 5 lbs and getting a new laptop? Time to put things into perspective.

For the record: One of my 2 best high school buddies tried to kill himself by crashing his truck into a light pole when we were seniors - over a girl. He only succeeded in visiting the hospital for about 3 months. About 4 years ago, he died while riding in a pickup that left the road (the driver was drunk) and hit a tree. He was 29 years old.

That's (very luckily) all I got.
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Old 05-25-2006, 01:17 PM   #19 (permalink)
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My father has emphysema. It seems to be progressing.. though I have't talked to him in months. I'm sure he'll die soon, but I'm not sure that i'll care. I've tried and tried and tried to have a decent relationship with him, but i just keep coming away hating him.

My greatest fear is that i'll fuck things up with my son, that he'll hate me too, and won't feel love for me.
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Old 05-25-2006, 02:32 PM   #20 (permalink)
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In regards to Mali's story

I can relate all to well.
this is something I feel very strongly about and I hope that in my sharing these feelings it may help you or someone else in a similar situation.

Of course I don't apply this philosophy if truly attrocious acts had been committed (i.e. molestation, abuse, etc).. That said...

My aunt and her son have not talked in almost ten years. He is married and has two beautiful children. Even though it kills my aunt she will not see her grandkids nor talk to her son. The original disagreement is so cluttered now by years of disregard, that I am quite sure neither of them remember what exactly set them off so much. Now each is so stubborn that they have gone close to ten years without speaking to each other. That makes no sense to me.

Life is so short and fleeting, and we so often get caught up in day-to-day bullshit we often can't see the bigger picture. My grandma put their situation in perspective for me when she wondered what if something were to godforbid happen to my aunt (who is sick incidentally) she will never have seen her grandchildren or made peace with her son. What's the point in that? Sometimes even when its not your own fault, its best to swallow pride and try to mend the bridge. I have been urging my cousin to do this.

Swallowing your pride to make someone feel better (even more so when that someone won't be here for that much longer) is usually a worthwhile trade-off.

Last edited by deuce; 05-29-2006 at 04:13 AM.
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