I Love Being a Basketball Fan

I was born in ’91. My first love (when it comes to sports) was basketball. I had a tiny, little basketball hoop and eventually got a big basketball goal that’s still in my driveway today (from ’97 to now). I played rec league basketball and won a watch from being the best shooter on the team after a day during practice in which I hit more shots than my teammates.

I thought Michael Jordan was the shit (just like every other ’90s kid). Space Jam was my jam; I even had the soundtrack playing all the time. I bandwagoned the Los Angeles Lakers when I was 8-years-old because I thought there could be no duo better than Shaq and Kobe. It pissed my dad off, because he was a Boston Celtics fan who wanted me to like them! He also was a big Tim Duncan fan, and the last NBA Finals we watched together before his death was the 2003 Finals between the San Antonio Spurs and New Jersey Nets.

I don’t really have a singular favorite “team”. I felt a soft spot in my heart when the Celtics beat the Lakers in the 2008 NBA Finals. I have a shithorde of favorite players from over the years. Tim Duncan, Kobe Bryant, Kevin Garnett, Tracy McGrady, Paul Pierce, Ray Allen, Brandon Roy……………. the list goes on and on.

That’s why, I guess, I still love the game now! So many people bitch and cry over the Golden State Warriors running the table, but I find it pretty entertaining. Of course, the league is at its best when big market teams are contenders.

I’m just a southern white boy from southwest Virginia. There are no teams here. I guess the closest one would be the Charlotte Hornets, about four hours away from me. I’m from a rural area that cares more about college and pro football than it does anything else. NBA isn’t talked about here unless you are playing basketball with other fans, and even then — despite it being shit in quality these days — college basketball is favored.

So hell, I love all the shit that is going on in the NBA right now. It’s fun. It’s entertaining. Sometimes I root for certain teams to defeat others, but all in all, I’m just a fan. I don’t feel this way with any other sport (outside of, say, an individual sport like MMA).

I’m a Hairy, Emotional Mess of a Man

My back is fookin’ killing me right now. Lower back. No other symptoms. I went to bed on Sunday night and woke up lying on my back, took a breath and boom, back pain city. Ever since, it’s been fairly consistent. Not severe (except for when I woke up at 5am and took a breath). It’s a dull ache. It radiates around my lower back from the middle to the sides/flank. No other symptoms (again).

My girlfriend bought us a brand new mattress on Thursday evening. Didn’t sleep good on Friday night, because she worked third shift (I never sleep good while she does those shifts; sleeping without her sucks). Didn’t sleep good on Saturday night, and I have no idea why, because we were out and about all day in 97 degree weather and I was pretty tired, but I struggled to fall asleep. Sunday night… went to bed but woke up with the aforementioned back pain, and it just hasn’t gone away.

I mowed the yard yesterday, and that always gives me back pain. While I don’t think I’m very tall (6’2″; average), mowing the yard always hurts my back because I have to bend forward a little bit to push the lawnmower. Probably didn’t help. Going to bed last night was a motherfucker.

Anyway, maybe it’s all due to stress?

How I feel at the moment.

I’m so scared of the future. I’m 26 years old. I just, for the first time ever, accepted my student loans. They are pending. I’m taking online classes, and one physical in person face to face class locally, at a university. The in person class will be local, at the community college I just finished up at. I have a hold on my student account that’s been troubling my mind lately. Anxiety city. Damn. Wish I had another month before classes start, so I can get my shit together, or at least pretend to.

One of my former high school teachers died last Friday. He was my geometry teacher during my junior year of high school in 2007-2008. I didn’t really think he was that great of a teacher — and I did poorly in his class, as a perennial bad math student until lately — but he was a hell of a person. Truly one of a kind. A lifelong heavy metal, all-things-WVU loving headbanger unafraid to say anything, unabashedly himself.

He retired last year. He was diagnosed with cancer in February or March… brain and lung (longtime smoker)… died last Friday.

He posted his phone number on Facebook asking for anybody to call him.

A few times, he asked people to visit him anytime.

He was sent home with hospice on July 5th.

I kept telling myself I was going to call and visit him.

I never did. I feel like a piece of shit for not doing so. I’m going to regret this forever, I feel. A lot of my fears was that, maybe he wouldn’t remember me? I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about how he passed away. He was always so healthy and active and growing his garden and going to heavy metal (Doro) concerts. And now he’s gone.

I get it. People died. I’ve lost more people in my 26 years than most have. All my grandparents, my dad, an uncle who was like a second dad to me, a great friend in 2010, my uncle in January…. it’s rough. But damn, the regret of never going to see him has been hurting my soul deeply.

Even though I eat a diet that — by all accounts, through scientific peer reviewed studies and research — is optimal for testosterone production…. I’ve been an emotional fucking mess.

For example, my girlfriend came home last night after working a 3-11 shift, and she said she heard some crazy noise outside, like footsteps, and she hurried and got in her car. She then said, “I thought I was a goner! And that I’d be dead, and wouldn’t get to see you again” …. and I don’t know fucking why, but replaying what she said a few times made me bawl like a little baby.

I love her so much.

But this depression/emotional state is killing me.

Usually, I love the summertime. Even if it’s hotter than hell and damn near impossible to deal with, it’s usually the happiest time of the year for me, but this has been one of the most stressful, emotionally taxing summers of my life. And I don’t know why.

I’ll never tell her this, but I feel like a burden to my girlfriend. She loves me so much, and I feel like I constantly disappoint her. She’s never expressed, implied or displayed feelings that implicate that, but I feel like I could be doing so much better. I probably kept her up way too late last night with my back pain. So full of guilty feelings today. Holy shit. Just had to get this all written down.

How I Know That I *Want* To Be Successful

I’m 26 and I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything in this life. If you also wield this mindset, don’t be afraid to chime in.

Here’s the quick overview of my story if you don’t know: I graduated high school in 2009 and started attending community college that fall. My relationship with my first love began to deteriorate and I stopped attending all my classes except my 8am English class (I didn’t properly drop my classes). I never returned for the spring semester in 2010. My first love eventually cheated on me and I ‘wallowed in the mire’ (as Jim Morrison and The Doors would say) for years until I returned to the same community college in 2014 and finally took a 1.9 GPA to a 3.5.

I’m supposed to begin my time at a university next month.

I’m nervous as hell. Almost sick.

More than anything, I’m just waiting to hear back that my student status is all good and that everything is OK.

I’m scared.

It’s hard for me to accept that these feelings and emotions are normal.

I practically lived in a bubble between 2010-early 2014. I didn’t do jack shit. I tried my best to be comfortable. That was never a way to live. I was always depressed. I’m depressed right now, but that’s only because I’m scared, full of fear and I’m worried about my student status.

Still waiting on my immunization forms to ‘go through’. My advisor is taking her sweet ass time getting back to me about it.

Fuck, I’m nervous. Have I mentioned that?

Taking out loans in freaking me the fuck out, too.

One of my classes is going to be a once a week evening class for five weeks. I know it’s going to be long and rigorous. My only problem with that is, I’m a morning person now. I’d rather the class start at 6 or 7 in the morning rather than 6 in the evening. My most productive hours of the day are in the morning. By the evening, I’m exhausted, no matter what. This is going to be difficult.

But fuck, I know I can do it. I have to do it.

Last month, I had a fear that my student loan was not going to cover tuition, books, etc. etc. During that fear, I was sick to my stomach over the thought that I would never be able to do what it is that I want to do. That made me sick. It still makes me sick. The thought of not doing something great, that I want to do, makes me want to go puke.

That’s how I know I want to be successful. How I need to be successful.

Believe in yourself, inner drive, optimism, all that bullshit doesn’t matter without action. Belief + action is what drives the bus. Action without belief just makes you a zombie. Belief without action just makes you a mental masturbation participator.

I’m full of extreme anxiety at this time (no, it’s not the caffeine).

I want to be successful so badly it hurts.

After those years of doing nothing and fantasizing about my first love not screwing me over, I’m on a pretty decent path now. I cannot fail. I must put in the hours of work to accomplish what I deem necessary.

I was a terrible high school student from 2005-2009; never studied. My peers never did. I skirted by. I’ve been on the straight and narrow since 2014, when I went back to college. It’s night and day. I put pressure on myself from the get-go to study, to learn how to study and simply do what’s necessary. Of course, most of my fellow classmates have been folks straight out of high school, and many of them slacked off (not surprising) as I’m sure they had their parents paying their way, but I just wanted to put my head down, work hard and get through all the bullshit.

I don’t know why I’m so worried at the moment. I’ve been accepted as a student. I’ve accepted my loans. Now it’s just a waiting game. Tuition is due in one week and I’m not sure how the fuck to ‘pay’ for it with my loans. Again, still waiting for my advisor to return my emails.

Thanks for reading this big batch of incoherent word vomit, if you read it. I just had to put something down on ‘paper’.

Suicide? Selfish?

Chester Bennington of Linkin Park committed suicide yesterday by hanging himself.

This death hit home for me, because I was a huge Linkin Park guy in the early to mid 2000s during my preteen and teen years. Hybryd Theory and Meteora were albums I listened to often. My best friend, who resembled Chester (skinny, glasses, buzz cut/nearly bald), and I would play Madden ’05 online with the Linkin Park/Jay-z collaboration “Numb/Encore” on repeat. Those were the days.

I used to think suicide was a selfish act. And, in a way, I still think that way, but not like I used to. If you tell a suicide person they are selfish for feeling suicidal, that only pushes them further to do so. Not a good mix.

The act of committing suicide is an unstable one. To want to do so, you are mentally unstable, because biologically we are programmed to take the path of survival.

I changed my views over the years, because over the past six or so years I secretly (in my real life) have suicidal thoughts on occasion. Nothing in particular triggers them. I’ve just gone through bouts of depression where I can’t pinpoint what I’m feeling. I think it’s possible to be depressed without knowing it. Recently in my life, I’ve felt almost no zest for anything at all…

Because of that, I’ve felt unfair to my girlfriend, friends and family. In that way, I do feel like a burden to them, because I feel like being around them has the possibility of causing them to be unhappy. I don’t voice the way I feel, because I don’t want to be a Debbie downer.

Regardless, I recognize these occasional feelings of suicide are irrational. Still, the thought of going to sleep and never waking up is something that comforts me, in a way. I’m not going to commit suicide, or at least I don’t plan to, but often the thought stays in the back of my head.

Selfishness be damned, when you feel like you are worthless and your value to others is at an all-time low, wielding the mindset that you belong, that you matter, that you are needed is difficult.

The worst part about suicide, however, is if you take your life when you have children that depend on you. Bennington has six kids, and I feel for each of them. If you have kids who need you and you commit suicide, I can’t help but think it’s selfish. But again, mental clarity is blurred in moments like these.

I hope we will find out what was troubling Chester Bennington. Maybe we never will. Depression isn’t easy to understand. It’s difficult to write about. We all have our own struggles and personal battles that often remain unbeknown to everybody. In fact, each person you meet in this world will have something going on in their lives that is affecting them in some kind of negative way, but 98% of the time you’ll never know it. We’ll never know it.

The thought of killing myself and leaving my girlfriend behind breaks my heart. I can’t imagine doing it to her. Even though I do often feel like a burden to her given that sometimes my passion for things is lost, I know she thinks the world of me and would be crushed if I did something like that. At the same rate, there are moments where I believe she’d be better off in the long run.

I’m also scared about the future prospect of possibly fathering a child. Even though I had an amazing father and mother, I feel like I won’t be as good as my dad.

I try to embrace and compound these feelings and sublimate them into positive pursuits, but when you have zero desire to do something and the discipline/habit to do it is lacking, life is hard.

Fuck yeah, life is supposed to be hard. But man. It’s just, I don’t fucking know.

Just talk to somebody. Anybody. When you are feeling like you want to end your life. Maybe I’m not the best to recommend that, but I’m here trying to put it into words.

Much love to anybody reading this. You do matter. Maybe you can’t see or understand it, but you do. You do make a difference.

Out of Sight; Out of Mind

I finally mustered up the courage to block all ways to look at my my first love’s Facebook. To clarify, I wasn’t looking out of emotional stimulus to see what she was up to; I was jacking off to her.

What a waste of time and energy.

I’m trying to move away from masturbating. I don’t mean never masturbating again; I mean sitting at my computer after I wake up between 5-7:30 AM and edging. It would be different if I was spending 5-15 minutes jacking off and that’s it, but I’m spending way too much time edging. It’s addictive, because you edge to build up to a harder, more intense cumshot. But hell, I’m just trying to masturbate less in general. The prolactin rise post-ejaculation is substantial. Even if it doesn’t last long, I feel tired, unmotivated, hungry and lazy. When I go a few days without cumming via jacking off, I feel great with a revived pep in my step.

I don’t feel that way after I fuck my girlfriend. I mean, sure, if we fuck during the day, I want to eat or sleep (or both, in that order) afterwards, but if we fuck at night, I don’t wake up feeling meh; I typically wake up harder than ever. Maybe that’s a biological reaction to the pheromones. I’m not scientifically articulate enough to explain it.

Out of sight; out of mind.

Gary Vaynerchuck (Google is your friend) recently talked about how he doesn’t pay any mind to critics, naysayers, negative shitheels, etc. or worrying about what people think because he’s too busy focusing on his goals and on executing. He stays busy.

This reminds me of what Tim Grover wrote in his book, “Relentless”. The first chapter is titled, “Don’t Think” and it’s about how overthinking kills happiness, drive, etc.

I think staying busy is key.

That’s not to say you don’t enjoy life every once in a while, slowing down enough to smell the roses.

But I’m irritated and feel despicable with myself over this habit every damn morning. My girlfriend will be in bed and here I’ll be in the other room doing what I described in the first couple of paragraphs. It’s bullshit. It’s not right, and I feel bad about it.

My Ass Sniffing Fetish

Whenever I see a sexy girl with a nice ass, I get turned on. Any heterosexual man who says otherwise either has low testosterone or is not into booty.

I’m an ass man. I mean, a real ass man. I love the smell, taste and feel of a woman’s ass and everything that encompasses it.

A cartoon depiction. Smelling her asshole through the back of her panties that she’s been wearing all day (or longer). Bliss. Except I’m not into the domination aspect AT ALL.

I’m just being candid here… don’t judge. If you aren’t mature enough to handle this topic, simple exit the site. I’m not into any fecal smells. I just love the natural, feminine, pheromonal musk back there. I could never, ever, ever, ever, ever in a million years be with a woman who isn’t into letting me sniff her back there. When I was with my first love, the entire summer of 2009 — every single night — was comprised of her begging me to sniff her asshole; she’d masturbate as I smelled her and exhaled onto her vagina. She is still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever been with; she was a 5’4″ brunette with a touch of Portuguese heritage and wielded a big, round butt. It would get super musky and she loved it when I delved into smelling and licking her.

It took me forever to get over her after our relationship ended in 2011. I finally made the move to start dating again in 2013 when I met Lexi, who was originally from Mississippi and attending college where I live. She was an extreme nympho who I talked into being in a relationship by simply being aloof (didn’t invest early), witty (her words…) and charming (again, her words). She had a bunch of siblings and was apparently pretty damn spoiled! Her father was a preacher and her mom was a nurse practitioner! Out of all her siblings, she was the youngest and was used to getting everything she wanted.

She was skinny, with decent sized tits but a small butt. I didn’t care, though. The sex was on point. She could ride a cock like no other. A part of me wishes she was here right now just to relive the cowgirl and reverse cowgirl positions with her. She knew my obsession with ass and allowed me to indulge. But I’ll never forget the first time we fucked, I had to go into the bathroom and cry afterwards because I obviously still wasn’t over my ex — my first love — at the time and it affected me.

Anyway, Lexi flaked in August 2013; she came back in December 2013 and we had a quick fling before she flaked again. She was a little loopy, but I guess I needed that experience with her to validate to myself that it was OK to finally move on.

My current girlfriend, who I’ve been with since 2014, completely lets me indulge in this desire… fetish… whatever you want to call it. She’s thick… chubby… and jean shorts look amazing on her (thick thighs are a turnon for me). Her butt isn’t as round as my first love’s, but it’s nice. She likes using the word “shithole”, which turns me on tenfold.

I still, whenever I’m out shopping, look at women’s butts and think to myself, “I wonder how dirty her asshole is” or I look at girls with big butts and think, “Fuck, I bet her asshole gets super musky having a booty that big.” I can’t help it. I’m just being honest here. If any of these women asked me, in a total fantasy world, “Would you care to smell my butt through the back of these shorts/jeans/leggings?” I would never decline… ever.

Reddit/Tumblr are time zappers.

I just love women’s asses. I can’t help it. I love the smell and the taste. I love being facesat.

If my girlfriend and I ever break up, I can’t be with a vanilla woman who thinks it’s disgusting. It’s just a major turn on. Nothing else gets me going as much as that.

I really don’t think it’s weird. I just enjoy the natural smell of her musk. It’s intoxicating. It’s the most private part of her body, and enjoying it is the greatest genuine compliment you can give to a woman (to enjoy the smell of the most private, dirtiest part of her body).

How You Begin Your Day is a Great Predictor for the Rest of it

This is simply my belief: how you start your day determines the rest of it. Sure, you can overcome a shitty start to a day, but sometimes it puts you in an uphill battle in regards to a negative mindset that’s difficult to deface.

I’ve noticed this the last few days.

My girlfriend’s family came in on Friday night and left yesterday. Each day, we were up early (fine by me; I’m a morning person these days). Saturday, we went grocery shopping for a weekend featuring epic meals (oh, they were). Sunday, we got up early to start up some barbecue smokin’ on my Weber Smokey Mountain cooker. Yesterday, we spent time together at Cabelas and Bass Pro Shops before they headed home.

It was a fun weekend, and it was sad seeing them go. Anyway… I had some damn good days, and it goes back to what I said.

Oftentimes, I fall into a trap. I get up, and well, as a man I’ll often wake up with rock hard morning wood, aching to get rid of it by…. taking care of business, of course.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the biggest waste of time is going to Tumblr and searching the “my butt”, “my booty”, “my ass” tags or going on Reddit’s many NSFW gonewild-esque subreddits and jacking off. It’s a waste of my time, personally, because two or three hours will pass by quickly, and before I know it I will have been edging for too damn long, and I’ll feel terrible about wasting that portion of the day sitting on my ass and doing nothing.

My typical, best days are when I wake the hell up, ignore taking care of my morning wood (saving up for my girlfriend for later), drink my water from my 64oz Stanley stainless steel growler, consume my caffeine, piss/shit and get on with my daily farmer’s carry workout and more. In the summer, I love going outside with just my shorts on, soaking up the morning sun and relaxing. It’s perfect.

Just getting up and doing something marginally productive is a great start to the day.