My Bucket of Fucks

Once in a while you have an awesome day, nothing can get you down, nothing can make you angry.  It usually comes after a good nights rest, for me at least.  Today was one of those days, it was a great day to do things like weed out your friends on various social networking sites, or just stop giving people the energy they so clearly don’t deserve. 

Most of the time, on a typical day I try to have a few “fucks” in my “bucket of fucks” which is where I keep all my “Give-a-fucks.”  Today the bucket was empty, and I felt empowered.  I don’t know why as humans we have the desire to keep holding on to things that at the end of the day add no value to us.  Someone once told me that your things begin to own you, well this is also true with “Friends.” 

I was doing some “Friend Math” today, which is basically me thinking about each person, and wondering, do they add value, or do they suck energy.  One is a positive, the other is a negative.  What you want to do when you do friend math is you want to have people on the positive side of zero.  Not too great into the positive, because then you become the void in their life and you are effectively using them.  

When it comes to people, and interpersonal interactions, you look at it over a long period of time, which is what makes it so difficult, it’s really like the money market.  Sometimes it takes a while to see a return on your investment, and the last thing you want to do is cut your losses before you have a chance to realize a gain.  It’s a tricky balance.   I went through the process today with a few people, it’s really quite exhausting and can be emotionally draining to realize you have been getting every ounce of your energy sucked from your soul just to appease a friendship.  Sometimes, it’s easy to see it has been happening, other times it is very difficult to see. 

I have a bit of a formula that I use to evaluate, firstly, I heavily scrutinize people in the same area code or time zone as me.  Those are the people who  are geographically closest to you, and that you should (logically) interact with the most. Well, when you look at that grouping of people, you have to ask yourself a few questions.  I’ll go through them, and then I’ll explain why this is important.

For people in the same geographic region as you (this may be 10 feet, or 1000 miles)

“How long have you known them?” 

if that answer is more than a year, and you haven’t seen them socially in that time more than once, there is a very good chance they should drop a few points.  I would start everyone off with a score of 5 and move from there.  (Point score +1 for yes or -1 for no.)

Do they know your mother/father’s name?

This is a way to exclude people from further scrutiny quickly and easily.  Chances are if they know your family somewhat, then they are probably the type of person that you can pick up where you left off even if it has been 30 years.

Have they ever been in your home for any reason other than alcohol or sex?

Score of -3 for no and +3 for yes.  Again, someone that you’ve trusted to come into your home when you aren’t having a party or sleeping with them is an indication that they may very well be trustworthy and should be evaluated on an individual basis. 

When is the last time you saw them?

If you haven't seen them since you’ve added them to your list of friends, good chance you should probably give them a call and make a plan.  Or delete them, you’re just data collecting from them. 

What secrets about you do they know?

Is it wise to upset someone that has damaging details (especially if they have proof) of something you’ve done in your life?  Sometimes, it’s easier to keep a friend, than fight a rumour.

Are they always busy when you try to plan things with them, and never get back to you when you ask them to let you know what may work?  They’re shit bags and don’t give a fuck about you, so maybe you should just cut the ties.  I’ve never met someone so piss poor at time management that they can’t find a spare hour in a week to meet up.  The “I’m busy” excuse works when it is justified, but the rest of the time it’s a default excuse.  (Yes, I’ve used it, but now I just tell people flat out that I would rather give myself a battery acid enema than hang out with them.  They usually get the point)

These questions should serve as some general guidelines on how to get rid of the fuckers that are sucking the life out of you.  

It’s tricky to navigate the world of friendships and relationships.  Stick to this bitter philosophy and remember that if you die with 2 or 3 good friends then you are lucky.  No one likes a funeral where all the good cold cuts and squares are taken by assholes who didn’t really give a shit.  Think about those people as you navigate life. 

This whole idea is really about getting rid of the “fucks” you have in your life, and emptying out the “bucket of fucks” to do it. 

Drive-Thru, Dumps, and Trail Running! FUCK!

So as some of you may know, I have a particular friend, let's call her Andrea, (she blogs here) who I’ve been quoted as saying "is Awesome".  Someday's I question my sanity, I still think Andrea is awesome, but when I run out of things to observe, usually because it’s winter and the forest is blanketed in a beautiful white carpet of snow.  So pristine in fact, that you don’t even want to tread on it for it would disturb its very majesty.  I think about footprints in the snow, and the first thing I think, how the fuck did Olaf in Frozen not leave behind a print as he dragged his snowy ass around in the snow throughout the whole movie.  I’m sure he did, but I don’t have a memory of it so it hasn’t happened yet.  If a tree falls…….

So back to my Sadistic friend Andrea who thinks that she is clever and witty. (She actually is the funniest person I know.)  I had a brief and by brief I MEAN BRIEF, conversation with her.  You see I have access to some technology out here in the middle of nowhere.  I would be pretty stupid not to equip myself adequately for the expedition. So, I shot out a message to her using some sort of Satellite device that I can only explain as “wizardly.” The message was probably as abrupt as the last few telegraphs coming off of the Titanic, it simply said.  “Fuck me! I’m horny, and NO Blog title.”  Now the message out seems vulgar to some, but this sadistic friend knows that by my professing my ravenous “hornatious” state, was the same as saying “All is well, I don’t need anything.”  

A few hours later, I received the following reply, “Fuck yourself, how about Drive-thru, dumps, and trail running.”  I thought, what a bitch, that’s not funny.…  It’s hilarious!!! 

I was thinking about the Drive-thru, dumps, and trail running concept slightly and didn’t know how my current reality would be able to really have any relevant point of reference to that whole nonsense.  I know that her intentions were simple.  Andrea was probably being a twat about the fact that I like to hit up drive-thrus for just about anything.  I thought a bit more deeply, and remembered, she’s completely self-involved, I’ll bet I caught her in the middle of trying to read email while simultaneously watch netflix as she wiggled her nose, and couldn’t be bothered with helping me figure out what type of retrospect to share.  This was likely her blog post title for the week. Somedays she's so transparent, but I accept her challenge, and will kick ass in writing a killer post to share with you.  I’m really just here for you.

Back to my love of drive-thru, if it has a drive-thru, I’ll buy whatever they’re selling, I really don’t like the drive-thrus with the rules that you have to be in a vehicle.  Really, if I want your product, you should be willing to provide it to me if I wanna stroll through on a pair of stilts, a unicycle or whilst being piggy backed on my cranky uncles back.  

I thought about a few of my favourite drive-thru memories, one in particular was with Andrea, she was wincing and moaning about how there are no hot navy guys to have sex with on this particular day.  I was confused about this particular rant, but I went with it knowing I would forever be changed/scarred/regretful, I boldly asked her; “What makes navy guys different?”  Andrea snorted a retort, “having sex with regular guys is like wanting a latte with whatever seasonal spicing from Starbucks, and getting the equivalent of someone just dumping a single creamer from a gas station into a cup of lukewarm coffee, it’s almost as pointless as eating hemp hearts.”  I laughed at her description, and could only imagine what her colourful depiction of fucking a seaman would be. 

Andrea didn’t naturally go into detail about the seaman difference, likely because something shiny distracted her, and really, she thinks everyone can read her mind.  Sometimes, they can’t Andrea.  So I was forced, and I asked, “so you’re telling me that’s not what it’s like with a naval member?”  

She snapped her head around and looked at me with a crazy gaze as if I had just spit out a mouth full of oil of oregano on her, she had been distracted by something on the outside of the car, and when she spun her head around it was so fast that it was almost like she spun it three times on her shoulders as she glared and gasped in unison; “No, have you seen sailors? they’re fucking hot man!” as if that was enough of a response for me to understand.  I had to change my approach, she was obviously hyper-focusing on something new, and If i wanted the answer, I would have to change the way I’m asking the question, or hit her with what I call a “Riti-Pen” which is basically an Epi-Pen with a dose of Ritalin so intense that it would give Pauly Shore the focus of an Asian Violinist.  

Not wanting to waste my Riti-Pen on her, I decided that I would just tell her I’m stupid and that she needed to be more clear, because she was clearly more affluent in the fucking of sailors than I was.  I personally only had experience with Air Force, they’re usually self involved to the point where they call out their own name in bed.  Yeah, it’s like they don’t really need anyone else in the room. 

Andrea started on about some sailor she knew, and his variety of very attractive man friends.  Immediately, I was imagining the start of just about every gay porno I’ve ever seen that had a naval theme….. Was that it?  She was liking the idea of a bunch of people that were more into each other than they were into her?  No, she elaborated on how they seem eager, and have the best stamina ever.  I may be paraphrasing, but I think she said something to the effect of.  They can run half marathons, you know they are good in bed. I run half marathons, and I make people crazy when I have sex with them, I’m so good.  Well, that settled that.

As soon as she started talking about marathons, I remembered a time when we had gone travelling together…. sometimes, there are things in life worth doing, and some worth doing again.  Travelling with Andrea is something I would do again in a heart beat.  A few years back, we went off to San Diego, and spent a week looking for seals, and monitoring bowel movements.  Apparently that trip helped us determine that I help with regularity.  I’m like fibre, I guess.  My friend had been having some issues taking dumps and she didn’t know what was going on.  She went on holiday with me, and it was like all of a sudden her body realized that I was awesome, and that she should poop regularly while she was in my company, it was an honour thing.  

Lucky for us, we were wise enough to get a private room for the duration of our stay, and I’m sure the other patrons appreciated it too.  I will credit Andrea with the new paint that they had to put in that bathroom after we left.  I’m not sure if I got charged for the damages to the paint or not.  Oh well, some things just don't matter.

So while Andrea has been able to dump regularly ever since, You’re welcome, She and I have grown closer and closer over the years.  It’s to the point when she tells me she’s going trail running, I know what she means.  However, I don’t usually know why.  I don’t ask why, anything that gets her out of the house for hours so she can’t comment and tag me in every thing on social media is a win!  

This week, she decided that she is going to take a dump, lock down a naval guy, and take him trail running.  I can only imagine one of them will come back with a dick in the ass.  I’ll bet it will be the sailor. I envision Andrea tripping and falling (Read: pretending to trip and fall, and be hurt) so that this poor unsuspecting seaman will come along and flex his muscles and carry her off the trail to safety.  She will faint and insist he take her back to her place and make sure she is okay.  Now anyone that has ever been to Andrea’s place knows she has a narrow hallway from her doorway which leads to a 90 degree turn into another hallway, first door is her bedroom, second door is her bathroom.  Somehow she has managed to make it so that her bedroom door blocks the exit when people come in so it’s like a funnel for people to go from the living area of the place, into her bedroom.  Now, my question is, why not just have the hall go through the bedroom.  Everyone ends up in there some how anyway.  So with this poor unsuspecting sweaty, muscular seaman in her place, she will need his help to make sure she doesn’t fall in the shower, and then to dry her off.  When he least expects it she will have him in a headlock with her thighs in a move that I call the “preying mantis” sealing his fate, and her deal.  Some people should be in institutions right?  So the take away from this, is…. If you trail run, don’t go with people named Andrea, and if they get hurt.  LEAVE THEM BEHIND.

Paulo - Fully Alive

So, one of my friends also has a blog..... you should go look at it too.

So, I get asked from time to time about my death, being in such a remote place with no connection really.  People are genuinely concerned that if I died no one would have no way of knowing about it.  

There is some truth to this concern, I mean really when you’re in a bush, and there is no connection to the outside world, it takes a day to get anywhere from the camp.  Most days you just sort of spend the day wrestling off cougars for a scrap of squirrel, or trying to fend of some frost bite to your butt cheeks because you are suffering from constipation. It’s easy to think that you could very well be forgotten.

What concerns me more about my situation is not my death, that’s already happened to me, so I’m pretty ready to contend with what it will be like when it happens again.  The concern I have is that maybe one day the people that know where I am and that offer me the crucial services that I need disappear on me.  See, I’m not worried about my disappearance because I’ve already sort of gone away and though there are people that know where to meet me one a semi-monthly basis.  The fear I have is; what do I do if one day they suddenly don’t show up, ever again?  What if they’re gone forever.  So, I try very hard to ensure that the people supporting me know how important they are to me, and how crucial they are to my wellbeing.  No different than the people that support you through your daily life that help you.  It’s easy to take them for granted. 

So, I’m sure you didn’t even read that full paragraph because you were caught up in the “Me dying part” of it.  Yes, it happened, had a funeral and everything.  So, not everyone gets the opportunity to die, and have people attend their funeral, and read a copy of the eulogy after but, i’m one of the lucky few.  

A few years back, I was off on an adventure, I like to go on adventures and seclude myself from society.  Back then I didn’t have a blog, I didn’t have a plan, or really a support network.  I did most things solo.  I mean, there were people that always had a general idea of where I was, but when I did my initial prep for my journey and camp zones, I messed up on the GPS coordinates for my routes through the wilderness.  Anyone that knows anything about GPS knows that it can locate you fairly accurately on the globe (provided you can see the sky typically.)  Well I went out and did my research for where I wanted to be, and what areas I wanted to visit.  I plotted the GPS for 3 of the 4 camps and wrote them down.  I didn’t notice, no one noticed.  I also revised my camp zones on the way home and didn’t update the coordinates.  So, essentially what I did was created a Geo Cache for myself, but the coordinates were wrong, so anyone that needed to come find me would be led to a tree in a clearing where my camp should be, but instead they were led to a waypoint on the way to where I actually wanted to camp.  

Needless to say, because I wasn’t blogging regularly, after about two weeks gone, something went wrong at home, and the people at home decided they wanted to come find me to bring me some supplies and get a list of other things I needed in the wilderness.  So they set off to my first camp point on the GPS plot, and I wasn’t there, there was no sign of me.  Remember, the first plot was a waypoint so all I really did was walked through that area, so I wouldn’t have left much of a trace that I had passed through.  Now, none of this is a very big deal to me, because I was aware that I was not lost, but the people who cared about me, had no clue where I was and they sometimes suffer from anxiety (we’ve medicated them since to ensure they don’t panic again)  So, my support system had a meltdown when they couldn’t find me, and it was all hands for an emergency meeting to find out what to do next.  I had left explicit instructions that no matter what, I would always leave information at my camp sites that I had moved on.  We used hobo symbols to communicate the information as it wasn’t exactly obvious to anyone what the intended message was. Again, they thought they found a camp, and there were no symbols.  They were prepared to call in the rangers and helicopters to search the area.  I was oblivious.  So, we met every two weeks at a camp location and there was no one at any of the camps, no sign whatsoever.  Because I was going to be gone for 6 months into the wild with not a lot of supply I just kept on trucking.  I had contingency plans in place that allowed for about 2 months of no supply delivery with the rations I stocked.  So I was sure I was safe and sound and that one missed rendezvous would not be the end of the journey.

I’ll be honest when the second rendezvous was missed I grew a bit more concerned.  I felt like maybe something could be wrong. Now I’m a good week hike into the wild, I wasn’t going to hike out a week just to check on things.  I began to think about what to do if I didn’t get supplies soon, and how to spread out the rations.  I wanted to achieve my 6 month goal of being out there.  It was possible, but I had to calculate every part.  If some calculation seemed off, I would easily digress out at one of the pass points that I had plotted for the adventure and seek support from whatever was nearby.  (Read: I’d call my mommy like a lil’ bitch and make her come get me)

So there I was blissfully ignorant to the chaos that was happening at home with search parties and posse’s going up and out onto my trail to find me.  My cousin took out his dirt bike and chased along the trail they thought I was on.  No luck.  After a bit of a rudimentary search, my family gathered both of my friends together (yes, I only have two.) and discussed the situation, and said that they had reason to believe that I had either disappeared intentionally, or had been eaten by a bear.  They were searching for my gear, as confirmation of my demise.  

About 3 months after I left, my family was quite at a loss for my disappearance, and there was a small memorial celebration for me held with family and the two friends, people took turns sharing stories about me, and crying together.  Meanwhile, I was taking one of the duress trails out of my location, and quite pissed that my support system had abandoned me in the bush with no support. I was making my way home on my own.  Being the stubborn ass that I am, I didn’t bother calling mommy like a lil’ bitch.  Instead, I hitched a ride once I made it to the main road and started the journey towards the family home about 2 hours away.   I hitched a ride with a stranger, they shared about the book they were writing.  It was something about cliches in life, and gods little miracles.  I so didn’t have enough fucks left for this broad who was nattering on about nonsense.  I was angry about my situation to some extend, and it was exacerbated by this woman’s voice and her tales of her book.  Referring to it as a book about “God’s little miracles” made me not want to probe into anything with her.  I had been in the bush for 3 months, I would have humped a papaya by this point, so she was pretty obnoxious to have this effect on me. Also, I was sure she was a fond believer in our lord and saviour, which I didn’t have the stomach for at this point either.  So, I avoided conversation at all cost, and that was easy enough to do because I’m great at pretending to be asleep.  SUCCESS!!!!

Lucky for me, this lady was going right past my house (well within a few blocks, because I really didn’t want her to know where I actually lived.)  I was home before I knew it.  Still oblivious to what was going on in the front of the house, I went into the kitchen through the back door.  I’m a fan of using the back door, my mom is super anal about people coming in through the front door when they’re dirty.  I had left my gear out in the yard, and came in to the house, there was sandwich trays all over the kitchen, with cold cuts, and cheese.  CHEESE…. I hadn’t had cheese since I left.  I ate about 65 cubes of cheese, well I don’t think what I did was called eating, it was more like what a snake does with a mouse.  As I was choking down the cubes of cheese, I heard my mom telling the most embarrassing wedding story she could possibly think of in the other room, and it was about me.  I was mortified that she was telling the story about when I was a teenager and trying to learn about my sexual being.  (Read: Masturbation)  Now, all I heard through the door was, “Paulo was standing there with it in his hand, and asked me why he saw the people on TV shaking it like they were trying to wake it up…… and then he began to shake it…. and his face went red, and he said, Ohhhhhh…. nevermind mom, I think I understand….” Then, what I heard next was a few too many people laughing at once…. I don’t know who the fuck she was telling this story to, but I was going to get in there and defend my reputation.  I shovelled a handful of cheese into my mouth and burst through the swinging doors that joined the Kitchen and the Living room.  

In the living room were some of those super uncomfortable chairs, that family bring out when relatives that you don’t really like get invited for holiday dinners and they sit at the folding table that you’re certain will collapse at any moment. In those chairs were aunts, uncles, cousins, my first date, my two friends, and my family.  I muttered through the cheese that was still in my mouth; “you make it sound like I was whacking off in front of you…..”  There was a simultaneous gasp from everyone in the room.  Remember, I’m still oblivious to whats going on, I stink like a mixture of coconut car freshener from the crazy girls car, pine needles, and dirt, mostly dirt.  I’m standing there pissed at my mom for telling all these people this story, and she begins to cry.  I thought, was I too mean in the way I said that? Nope, pretty sure I wasn’t.  Then the next thing I knew I was being hugged, but everyone.  I tried to shake them off, and told them to get the fuck off of me.  I stunk, and didn’t want to be mauled.  After telling my family to get the fuck off of me, my dad back handed me across the face, and said; “Don’t you dare talk to your family with those words at a funeral…”  I looked him in the eye, and said, “why didn’t you come get me if someone died?”  I still hadn’t gotten it.  He looked at me and then at my mom, then I looked at them, “Oh fuck!” I said as I realized that these drama queens were having a funeral for me.  My family is screwed up, I thought.  I had to think quickly and carefully about what I was about to say next.  These people were grieving for my sorry ass, and here I was walking into the middle of a memorial for myself and bitching at them.  I couldn’t think of anything, so I just said, “I smell like a Parisienne Whore House…. I’m going to go shower!”  I darted up the stairs, ripped my clothes off and got into the shower.  

After the shower, I came down and apologized to everyone for the interruption.  They told me that they had come looking for me and couldn’t find me or any trace of me, and because I wasn’t legally dead, and some bullshit, they had a small memorial for me.  In my typical dumb luck with timing, I walked in on the middle of it.  If I would have grabbed a motel room with my hitch hiking lady friend, I would have missed it all.  

My friends gave me copies of the nice things, and not so nice things, they had said about me.  I smiled, and cried a little bit.  I loved all of these crazy dramatic asses.  They were my support system.  A few months later as I went through my GPS tracks I realized where I had made the error in my coordinates, and together my support system and I came up with a new system for me, which is why I write these insane blog posts from time to time. 

—-Paulo, fully alive.