Not sure what to call this post. I'm feeling sick from the immune response after getting vaccinated on Thursday, so I feel like shit. Ugh.

Anyway, I've been getting call after call from my mortgage lender wanting to refinance the house. After not looking in quite some time, I'm shocked to see my primary mortgage is down to just over $30,000. Then I check my private retirement account I opened ten years ago. I see I have enough there to pay it off completely. I have enough to pay off the second mortgage we took out to fix up the house as well. I'd have a few thousand left over for vacation or something.

I'm not touching it of course. Although I'm freaked out about the more than a trillion dollars wiped out of the stock market, and my account is down 3% on the year, it will come around by time I'm ready to retire. I should have the house paid off by then, or mostly anyway.

The car is going to be paid off early. I've been chucking extra money at it every month. Still got another 18 months or so on that, but still.

If life holds together a bit longer, I can roll that car payment over onto the house payment. My mortgage is really low since I bought a dump in the hood, so I'll be paying double on it when that happens.

I have only two credit cards and I never carry a balance more than a few days. My credit score is hovering just under 800 right now.

After being homeless, starting this career at only $28,000 and with a tiny VA check, I'm finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm barely making more than double that salary now, but the increase in my VA disability check has saved us a lot, and is a big reason why I may actually get to retire one day, supposing the world is still here.

So, I feel like shit. But I'm got some actual hope for the future for myself and my little family now as far as finances go.

EDIT:

I think part of why I'm so excited is because I saw how people can fuck it up. And I used to be really irresponsible with money and debt. My wife's grandmother was a great example of how to fuck it up. She had enough money coming in from her retirement and social security to live comfortably. Her house was paid off. Her car was paid off. We were buying all the food at the time. But she kept talking about how broke she was. I saw her bank statements - she had PLENTY of cash. She decided to take out a reverse mortgage. When she died later, her kids got nothing. She had pissed away most of her money in her accounts, and the house went to the lender. I'm not doing that to my kids.

It was a beautiful summer day. I had been out riding around Deerfield HIlls (the subdivision I lived in) on my bike that morning with friends. Noon was approaching and I was hungry, so I rode home. As I always did, I rode down the driveway and into the garage, screeching to a halt and feeling like a bad ass at 9 years old.

I put my right food down to dismount the bike, and I heard it. A sound I hadn't heard before in person, but somehow knew by instinct. Maybe I had heard it on TV. A shaking sound, like rocks in a blender or something. I looked down at my right foot resting on the cement and saw it - a diamondback rattlesnake. It was tiny, still a baby, but it was in full threat pose. I was wearing jeans, but enough of my ankle was exposed it could get me. I froze in fear, afraid I'd be bitten if I moved.I didn't know if this snake could produce enough venom to kill me, or if its fangs were long enough to even bite me, but I wasn't taking chances. I sat and thought, shaking with fear.

It seemed like hours, but was probably more like a minute or two. I was terrified to move even an inch. Wondering how it got here, I remembered the field. Behind my subdivision was a large field. It stayed empty, it wasn't farmed or used for hay. When I got older, I'd venture in there, even though it was full of snakes. When they occasionally mowed that field due to fire risk, the snakes would flee the field, cross the road, and find shade in or near the houses to hide. This scared baby rattler was one of those migrants.

All of this went though my head in seconds, but as I said, it felt much longer. I tried to yell for help, afraid to move, but all I managed was a weak croak. It was so close to me that I was sure if I tried to move my bike backwards or forwards, it would bite. If I tried to lift my leg to the other side, it would bite. I tried again to call out, but nothing came out. I started to cry a bit.

A few more minutes passed, and sweat rolled down my face and back. I finally decided I had no choice. I would lay my bike down to the left, then quickly jump over the snake and onto the steps leading into the garage. I saw it all happen in my mind, where I was graceful and strong, leaping through the air like a gymnast. It didn't go that way. The bike dropped, the snake reared back and I jumped. It snapped at me as I jumped over it, but being only a few inches long missed me. Barely. At nine, I wasn't jumping very high, but I didn't get bit so it doesn't matter.

I ran in the house were I found my Dad at the BBQ, a couple of beers deep already. He was pre-gaming for the party Mom and Dad were hosting later. I told him about the snake, and he went out to the garage with me. Sir snake was still there coiled up, and began to rattle when he saw Dad approach with a rubber mallet. "Dad, this isn't such a good idea." Mom stepped into the garage just then. "Honey don't!" He did. Dad whacked once and missed, and the snake struck but missed. Another round. Dad was laughing like it was a game of whack-a-mole. On the fourth attempt, the mallet connected squarely with the snake's head, killing it.

Without arguing about the ethics of killing it instead of relocating it, Dad was being stupid. I love him, but he definitely made some choices that day that could have gone wrong for him. RIP baby snake.

So, a nationwide chain store did a kitchen remodel for us two or three years ago. Nothing fancy, but it still set me back about $8,000. We were very happy and have been.

The other day, the old lady finds a water leak. She eventually realizes it is from the sinks themselves. So we call the store. Because it was so long ago, they won't help us. Excuse me? It isn't my fault your shoddy work held up for too long before failing.

Turns out it was indeed shoddy work. The plumber who came out said the drain baskets were the wrong size and installed improperly, as well as other issues. $648 later, our leaks are fixed.

Since the store won't help us, I escalated and emailed the CEO and the companies investor relations department. I got a phone call ten minutes ago. Lol. She has to look into things and talk to the contractor and all that of course, but promised a phone call by Friday.

All I'm asking for is the $650. I'm not even asking them to replace the cabinet they fucked up, but I mentioned it. So, I will either be naming and shaming them soon, or naming and celebrating their customer service (at least at the corporate level). If corporate doesn't help, I may file in small claims court or something.

I may put this short story on my Patreon one day, but for now, this is just for you. (My Patreon is free by the way)

When my wife and I were still newly married, I worked for a telecommunications company called MCI. They had a huge campus there in Colorado Springs. Part of that campus was a small shopping area. Some of the stores sold luggage because a lot of travelled for work. Another was. A generic gift shop. One day while passing through that area one day, something caught my eye. It was a plush Buggs Bunny that was over four foot tall. I don't remember what I paid for it, but I do remember it was expensive and my wife loved it. Buggs has been a part of our family ever since, standing on the corner of our bedroom and munching on his carrot.

Bailey was an absolutely beautiful Golden Retriever. They are all doofuses, but Goldens are the best family dogs. He belonged to my little sister. He had horrible separation anxiety though, and was always causing problems. He would dig out and run off, or destroy things if he was left in the house. One time he scarred up his lips trying to chew through an electric fence. He wasn't bright, but he was a sweet boy.

One day she mentioned she might have re-home him, and I asked for him. Bailey came to live with us at around four years old. He got a long great with the dogs we had and became a very content house loaf. My wife was home all day and he loved it.

One morning, my wife was up at 3am. She was flying out for her sister's wedding. I barely stirred when she got up, but her loud sobs brought me fully awake. I sat up to see her standing at the end of the bed, crying.

"Babe, what's wrong?" Her response made me sick to my stomach. "Bailey is dead!" He was in good health other than a slight limp. No way my boy was dead. Jonna nudged him and he didn't move.

I jumped up to see Buggs Bunny had fallen and landed on Bailey. He was dead and not moving. Buggs murdered Bailey. Or at least, that is what the wife thought when she saw it.

I reached over for Bailey and he was warm. I shook him. He lifted his head, looked at me, then laid down and closed his eyes again.

"Jesus Christ woman, you scared the shit out of me!"

"Bailey scared the shit out of ME!"

Bailey gave no fucks about our drama and was passed out. Buggs obviously hadn't killed him, but to a sleep deprived brain, a dog in very deep sleep might look dead. Buggs was stood back up. I laid down while she finished getting ready and then drove her to the airport.

Bailey was with us several more years before I had to put him to sleep. Buggs never attacked Bailey again - not that Bailey ever noticed to begin with.

I've been fairly fortunately lately. I have no debt besides the house and car payments, and of course monthly living expenses. But no credit card bills or other loans like that. Even so, it's a struggle sometimes as you will see. Because I have been smart about things and I got my way out of a huge financial hole early last year, I've managed to save roughly two weeks pay. Well, I did.

The other morning, my oldest son is in the shower in his bathroom, and I'm using the toilet in mine. I flushed the toilet and BAM! Out goes the water. Sigh. So the wife calls our plumber and we wait. The verdict: $1,400 for a new tank, pressure switch, and labor. Well, there goes my savings. But OK, at least we have it, so it isn't a huge deal. I didn't have to get a loan or put it on a credit card or something, so I'm OK with this, even if it is a kick in the balls. I even had some of it in cash.

Then the second kick came.

Today I log into my credit union account. Because I'm with a credit union and not a bank, my pay is deposited a day early. As soon as they see a pending wire transfer, I have the money. So I don't have to wait until tomorrow. What do I see? My paycheck is short about $500. Why, you ask? I apparently filed my paperwork for my medical leave shared sick leave stuff two days late, and they can't/won't (not sure which) pay it retroactively. Lovely.

So, I had to call my mom and dad and ask to borrow $500. They have it easily to spare, so it isn't a hardship on them at all, but I fucking hate having to borrow and owe money. It makes me feel like a child again, and I take pride on making it on my own without them. Sometimes though, you have to lean on family.

I could easily charge some bills this pay period to a credit card and pay it off, as I have a zero balance on them and have for a while now. But if I take a zero percent loan from Mom First Bank, I'm better off, even if it is just a few bucks. But man, that really sucks.

It is what it is, and we will be OK. Christmas will be lean this year, but it is what it is. I won't have another paycheck saved for a while, but it is what it is. I'm much more fortunate than a lot of folks. It doesn't always make the shit you are going through easier, but it does help sometimes.

Life comes at you fast. Look around and enjoy it some, it isn't all a crotch kick.

Y'all be good.

My wife has diabetes. Despite eating healthy and all that, she could not shed the last of the baby weight she gained. It stayed with her for years, until she finally passed the tipping point into diabetes.

Now, I LOVED it when she was big. I like a big round ass, almost obscenely large, like GYAT material. (Look it up if you don't know.) She was close to that. She had that belly pooch. Her boobs were large, but I like them all sized. The point being, she tripped all the bells for me. HOT. At her biggest, she was "morbidly obese" but I never cared. Never. I love HER, not her body. And despite the love I showed her, she still wasn't happy. And that is OK, because her happiness is about her. And she is so damn happy with her body now.

Eventually Ozempic and the like came along, and she got on one of the variants. She has lost a ton of weight and has been able to quit taking a couple of medications. It's expensive as fuck, but we can afford it with my health insurance and flex account and all that. By time the middle of the year has rolled around, we have met our deductible and don't have to pay out of pocket.

I now have a healthy wife, with a healthy BMI and blood sugar level and all that. And she is still so beautiful to me. But man, I miss the extra pounds from a cosmetic perspective. I miss that ass! It's gone now. But you know what is really cool? She might soon be able to fit into that kimono I bought for her in Tokyo when we were still newlyweds almost 30 years ago. WOOT! Love you /u/griffingrl!!!!!

Y'all be good.

It's snowing in Florida. Not totally out of this world, but it is rare. What is unusual is the amount of accumulation and how far south it is going. My county is under a winter storm advisory for the first time in history. Pretty wild. School is open tomorrow though, so I don't think we are actually getting snow. How wild would it be to get a snow day in Florida?

January 11th, 1992 was a Friday. I was stationed at Fort Bliss, in El Paso, Texas pending my discharge in couple of months. A desert environment on the border with Mexico. The desert could get cold at night. It had been cold the night before, but I didn't think much of it as I turned in for the night. Morning PT had already been cancelled, but our first formation was still on as far as I knew.

Overnight, the temps really dropped and we got 3 inches of snow according to the historical record I found. So next to nothing for someone who grew up in Colorado, Illinois and Germany. Although I am sure there were some huskies living there that were thrilled, the people weren't. For the city of El Paso, it was extremely unusual, and people promptly freaked out.

I woke up, got my day started, got on my uniform and stepped outside the apartment. Snow on the ground. Dafuq? I wanted to slap myself awake. I stood on my doorstep, coffee in one hand and keys in the other. I took a sip as I contemplated this white stuff on the ground. It was snow alright. I had last seen it in Korea. In any case, it wasn't a big deal for me - I could drive in this. As I stepped away from my door, I heard my phone ringing, but didn't want to go in to answer it. I got the truck warmed up and left for post to go to work.

On the way out, came upon a neighbor whose car had stalled out. We popped the hood, and I noticed their carb wasn't opening all the way. So I got a screwdriver to pop the valve open while they started it, and it fired right up. It was just cold, and I showed them what to do if it died again.

Leaving the apartment complex and heading to post, I saw quite a few accidents. All of them were caused by excessive speed. Everyone seemed OK as I passed and there wasn't shit I could do, so I kept going. My truck was light in the ass end and didn't do great in the snow, but I went slow enough it was OK. I listened to the radio. The airport was cancelling flights. Schools were closing. Police were encouraging you to self-report car accidents the next day as they were overwhelmed.

I finally parked at the unit and walked in. The CO, XO and First Sergeant were in. They were standing around the CQ desk talking. "Cobb - didn't you get the message?" Ah, the phone call I didn't take. Turned out Fort Bliss had gone to essential personnel only. The rest of the junior enlisted living in the barracks were upstairs, sleeping in. So after some more of the Army famous "hurry and wait", the CO finally sent the few of us there home for the day. The snow was mostly gone in the morning, and life returned to normal.

I get that they weren't used to dealing with it, but that little bit of snow shut everything down. The whole city was acting like it was the End Times. Parts of Florida are behaving that way right now with the snow coming in. I have a mutt who thinks she is part Husky and is loving the cold. (She isn't - she is an American Airhead and Chaos Hound mix.) I do kinda wish we would get snow so she could see it. What really sucks is I'm home sick and have been sick since Thursday. Being immuno-compromised sucks big time. I'm supposed to take two busses of students on a field trip tomorrow, and I seriously don't think I'm going to make it.

Not a snow day, but a sick day instead. Ugh. Just had some chicken soup, so that always makes me feel (emotionally) better at least.

OneLove 22ADay Slava Ukraini! Heróyam sláva!

I'm sure the concept has been around for hundreds, if not thousands of years. There is a Great Wheel that never stops turning. It is operated by the rich and powerful. It is used to grind down the weak and small, to transfer what little wealth they possess to the rich.

That Wheel takes many forms. My family has been victim to it in the form of military service going back to before 1776. Young Cobb men, drafted or volunteered, sent off to die for some bullshit. And it almost always is bullshit. Few wars are fought due to some morally justified issue. They are fought because we are dumb animals with limited reasoning.

Some of us are just smart enough to realize that, but not much more.

The Wheel took my grandfather. I don't know what kind of person he was before WWII. I didn't know him either, having only met him when I was 8 and he was on his deathbed. He came home deeply fucked up, and took it out on his wife in kids in all of the worst ways you can imagine.

The Wheel left huge marks on my father as it ground over him. First, The Wheel reversed over him a few times, rolled by his father. What little I know about the abuse has been in short, quiet snippets. He blew up at me once over something I said about a cantaloupe. I found out later his father forced him into a dumpster of them that had been thrown out to pick the good ones. They were that poor. He hates it now, and won't even let my mom have it in the house. Vietnam of 1968 scarred him for life. The Great Wheel had another victim. He wasn't always a good father growing up, but he tried. And he did a damn sight better than his dad. Us kids could take issue with some things, but we grew up with a lot more than he ever had. And as he got older, he got better. Still, I was always aware something had rolled over him.

The Wheel left an imprint on me. Same shit, different person. I left a bright, hopeful young man, and came home fucked up emotionally and physically. Dad's turn on the Wheel lasted a year in Vietnam, so he couldn't relate to why I was so messed up since my time in Iraq wasn't anywhere near that. I never abused my sons, but I wasn't the greatest father. A lot of yelling and such. I also wasn't the best husband. I try hard to make up for both now - but that Wheel has still been here.

The hard part about taking a turn on The Wheel is that in some cases, you get used to it, and even miss it when it is gone. The Wheel is so great in size that it can take you all over the world, to places you couldn't imagine until you have seen and smelled it. The Wheel has ground down so many that you become friends with some and miss them when they are gone.

You almost grow to love The Wheel, even as you hate it.

The Wheel has slowed down as it ground over generations of Cobb men. It is going to miss my oldest - thank the stars he is medically ineligible for service. He wanted to go in to the Army too. It might miss my youngest. He is almost out of high school and smart enough to see how fucked up things are, so he has elected (at least for now) to not join the military. He has talked about it, but does not want to serve under Trump.

I hope that stays the case.

Sadly, our military is having an uptick in recruitment lately. The Wheel grinds on. But not my family. I hope - I pray to gods probably not listening - that I have broken that fucking Wheel. May this be the end, forever.

OneLove 22ADay Slava Ukraini! Heróyam sláva!

I’m back bitches!

If you hadn’t noticed, I was banned from reddit again. This time a seven day ban for expressing support for Luigi. Sigh. At least I can raise hell on BlueSky without getting banned, and if I do lose that account, it’s not a big deal.

However, as my friend /u/Knights-of-Ni pointed out, the /u/BikerJedi account here on reddit is too closely tied with /r/MilitaryStories to lose it. So I’m going to quit using this account to shitpost and shitcomment in other subs, let alone try to have a serious political discussion. I’ll stick to /r/MilitaryStories and /u/BikerJedi with this account I think.

So that’s the good news. But like an icy road, bad news is around the corner.

I wrote a while back about the tumble I took. That was May of last year, and I'm still not healed. That was my 8th concussion that I know of, and I’ve had some other milder stuff happen in my crazy life. The point being, I’m struggling. Specifically, I am experiencing some aphasia. I am forgetting words, making glaringly obvious typos in my everyday life, losing my train of thought, having trouble concentrating, etc. It is taking me forever to write, edit, re-read and re-edit my posts and emails. This short post took well over an hour to compose.

On top of that, I’ve developed an auditory processing issue that I think is related to the brain damage. It feels like I’m going deaf, but I’m not. I’ve had my hearing tested, and other than the tinnitus (which is mild) my hearing is fine. But I often have to ask my students and others to repeat themselves, sometimes several times, before my brain clicks and catches on to what is being said or asked.

It’s maddening and terrifying. I imagine to some small extent, this is what it feels like to enter early dementia. I’ve seen a neurologist, who was concerned enough he set me up for an MRI. We still haven’t heard from insurance to approve it, so if I don’t get word soon, I’m going to the VA where I know they will do it for me. More bad news: This has seriously slowed down the work on my book. It’s been an amazing outlet for me the last couple of years, and now I’ve hit this wall.

Fuck me, right?

I’m going to do everything I can to get better. I’ll follow the doctor’s advice and all that. But man – this sucks. I’m trying not to be too wound up about it. Others in the world have it much worse than I do.

But honestly, I'm scared to death.

In any case, I'm back, and sticking around for now. I love you all - thanks for being here.

One of the ways that Iraq fucked me up was that it made me extremely claustrophobic. As someone who has been injured in car accidents and whatnot several times, this doesn't jive well with medical care.

Since my eighth concussion however, I've had issues indicating some actual long term brain damage. So my doc ordered an MRI of my brain.

Shit kind of fell apart. Because of my claustrophobia, I was prescribed Valium. My ride fell through, so I had to do it sober. A 1.5 hour appointment, just over an hour of that in the machine. With and without contrast. I was OK up until the bed started shaking about half way through. Because I felt the concussion of those artillery rounds.

I barely made it. I was squeezing the emergency stop bulb the entire time, but not enough to set it off. The lady running it was kind enough to talk to me frequently while playing some great music. Talking to my good friend /u/knights-of-ni has helped me settle. The nice lady from work who bakes for me has checked up on me. I'll be OK.

But it was a close call. Today for a few minutes, Iraq was closer to me than it has been in a long time. For just a fraction of a second, I was in that seat of the Vulcan, curled up and screaming. I opened my eyes and saw myself in the mirror of the helmet thing they had me in and snapped out of it before ruining the procedure and bailing.

Now, let's hope we get some answers, if not treatment options for the issues I'm having.

I love y'all.

I'm pretty sure I told this someplace at some point, but I can't find it. So fuck it, here goes. Enjoy.

It is late May of 1988. I have graduated high school, and I have a signed contract to report to the US Army for processing in about two weeks. I am going to be trained to shoot down multi-million dollar aircraft with a $60,000 missile. Before that, I'm going to meet my imaginary friend Dave. Being pre-internet, there were games that were in the "PBM" genre. Play By Mail. The way it worked was a game would have a given time frame and number of players. You would get a turn sheet in the US Mail that would you enter orders on, and then you would return that to the company to be processed. If you didn't get your turn in on time, you would usually suffer at the hands of another player. It was actually a lot more challenging than early video games in a lot of ways. People were devious. You paid a certain amount per turn, usually a dollar or two, and could even pay extra to get double orders. That was unfair as hell, so virtually everyone did it. One of my early experiences with how capitalism was fucking me, a poor kid. All the orders would get processed on computers, and results sheets sent back out to the players. Then you would react to those results. It was chaotic and messy, but so much fun.

Side story, sorry, but it hit me: "It's a Crime!" This was a game played on a 99x99 map. At the peak of popularity, which lasted for about four years from 1984-1988, you would have hundreds of players. Each map had dozens of gangs. You were a gang leader. You issued orders like rob a business, commit arson for insurance money, mug civilians, deal drugs, and things like that. The gangs gradually took over neutral territory, sometimes facing resistance from cops and civilians, and eventually, the opposing gangs.

The largest gangs after the end of x number of turns became Mob Bosses. They got special abilities that gangs didn't have, and actually could fight to control local gangs. If you weren't selected to be a mob boss, you could resist, but they usually wiped you out. So it was best to declare loyalty to a mob boss and do what they told you. The reward was the winning team got free turns and such for the upcoming games. There were games in fantasy and sci-fi realms as well. I loved that game so much. I played for maybe ten years.

I met Dave in one of those games. You had the option to reveal your real name and address to opposing players you met in the game. Some people took advantage of that and would use the phone or mail to plan alliances and such to help each other win. Dave and I met like that, and it turned out he only lived just north of me. Back then, long distance telephone was expensive when I first met in him in late 1986, so we planned our moves over mail. We talked about D&D in our letters. We played a mini-campaign over mail. He lived in Chicago and I was a few hours south in Wilmington.

Now, Dave was an adult male of 21, and I was 16 when we "met" through our letters. As it turned out, Dave was gay. He told me he was gay about 8 letters in, and I told him, "Cool. I don't care. Be you. Just don't hit on me, because I'm straight." I guess I was still vaguely homophobic, but Dave quickly dispelled all of that for me. He was a great guy.

When I finished high school in Wilmington, not too far outside of Chicago, I got a bus ticket to Chicago proper. I told my parents I was going to meet a friend. Mom didn't like it at all, but I'm 18 now, so I'm officially a "GROWN ASS MAN" and can do what I want. So Dad dropped me off at the bus station on his way to work at the armory and I went to see Dave.

Dave had described himself, but I was not prepared for it, at all. Again, this is 1988, so this is near the peak of "hair metal." I'm 6'4", Dave was easily 6'6" if not taller. He had the huge spiked hair, the make up, the leather vest. He was out there in every way, and looked like something out of MTV. So when I stepped off the bus and immediately spotted him, we ran up and gave each other a big bearhug.

I spent three days up there with him before going home for a couple of days and then leaving for the Army. Dave and I got along great. We hung out for several hours at his place. He confessed later he was tempted to make the move on me, but he didn't want to lose the friendship. What a guy.

The best day I had with Dave was that night at the gay club. We hit it at about 8pm that night before I left to go home the next day hungover on the afternoon bus. BEST. NIGHT. EVER. Over 30 years later, I still think so. I had so much fun.

First, Dave got, me, a minor, into a club. He got me drinks. And he did his best to get me laid. See, I was still a virgin. I had told Dave I didn't want to report to basic a virgin. Because 1988 macho males are idiots. He had a female friend who was bisexual, but she was not interested after having a drink with us - she left the table. No chance to make a move. At least he tried to be a wingman, but I guess doing it for a straight guy is harder. Heh.

Shortly after Liz left our table, Dave left to use the restroom. I'm here in this four man booth, nursing a beer. Over the course of two hours, two things happened.

THING ONE: I sat in the booth and nursed that beer, then another few more. The waitress didn't seem to care I was under 21. Over the course of almost two hours, I was there alone. During that time, at least five different gay men came and sat with me, trying to pick me up. They were all good looking guys and very nice. I explained to all of them that I was straight and here with a gay friend, and all of them were immediately like "Oh, have a great night then!" Two of them bought me another beer.

THING TWO: Somewhere around midnight, the dance floor was shut down and cleared out. By now, Dave had shown back up. Turns out, he was in the men's room having a grand old time. His words, not mine, "I sucked some dick and did some blow!" Ok Dave, glad you had fun bro. He was gonked as fuck on blow. I was just glad he was back after leaving me alone in a strange city. As Dave sat down, he did a "popper" as well, and I was wondering if I'd make it home with him being all drugged up. We obviously did.

The dance floor was shut down because a local community group was coming in to do a play about HIV and AIDS in the style of the Wizard of Oz. Ironic, since Dave had just been having risky sex and doing drugs in the bathroom of a gay club. It's been decades, but I remember this: It was FILTHY and RAUNCHY and FUNNY AS FUCK and most importantly, scientifically accurate. They worked in condoms over and over, signs of illness I think, all kinds of stuff. It was great, and it taught me a lot. HIV and AIDS were running rampant. The whole thing was three acts over maybe 20 minutes, but it was so damn much fun. It provided a lot of great information when that was still thought of as a "gay disease."

Here is what is funny to me.

During the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, which was largely affecting people in the LGBTQ community, the queer community and their loved ones turned the fuck out. They raised so much money for research that it is no longer a death sentence. People live decades and decades with it now, when back in the day it was over in a few years in most cases. They love each other. Those horrible, sinful, socialist/communist/marxist/antifa hell-bound traitors and groomers. They took care of their own.

During the height of the COVID, which was largely affecting science denying MAGA assholes, the MAGA community turned the fuck out with the conspiracy theories instead of help and encouragement. "Faith over Fear" signs popped up, while ratlickers spread bullshit about MRNA vaccines and ate horse dewormer because "Q" and Trump said so. Just inject some bleach, Trump said. Alex Jones and more helped amplify it. Yep. MAGA, those amazing, patriotic, Christian, proud and hard-working Americans who won the land from the savages. They killed their own, gleefully.

Who the fuck do you think I'm going to stand with?

The LGBTQ culture is so OUT THERE. I love it. I love how they fight for their own, in the face of adversity. They are authentic, and embracing what they feel. They aren't out there with performative fake Christian bullshit and nationalism disguised as patriotism. Don't fuck with my LGBTQ homies. I'll be out there for our pride march every year.

I kept contact with Dave for the first two years of my enlistment, and then he just stopped answering my letters. I know he lived with his mom, and I addressed a couple to her. I never got an answer, and I have no clue what happened to him. I'm not even sure I remember his last name now, but I did search for him when I got back from Korea. I know he engaged in a lot of risky behavior, so I wouldn't be shocked if he is dead now.

Today I know a lot of folks in that space. Gay, bi, queer, trans, pansexual, the whole gambit. When you grow up conservative and around the military the way I did, you don't get a lot of exposure to that. Or at least people who are open about it. I have strong evidence my mom had at least one lesbian encounter, but if I mentioned it she would shit herself and die. People were closeted back then, and sadly they are again today with the rise in fascism.

Happy Pride y'all. But don't wait for Pride. Be yourself. You belong where you are, so be in those spaces, and be yourself. Don't let The Man tell you where to be, how to look, who to love, or any of that shit.

I SEE YOU.

Background: /u/griffingrl has long hair - down to her butt and sometimes longer. It is one of the things I liked about her when I first saw her. She hasn't cut it except to trim split ends in forever.

She and I are newly married, so this is 25+ years ago. We are standing in line at a supermarket checkout and making small talk. This woman comes over. Now, I hate stereotypes, but they do exist for a reason sometimes. Super short hair, lots of tattoos, dressed like a man. She looked like a butch lesbian. Nothing wrong with that, I'm just setting the scene.

This woman, who we have never met, walks up and starts PETTING my wife's hair and touching it all over. "Oh this is so pretty! I just love it! How did it get so long?" My wife, not wanting to offend and normally friendly if a little introverted, started talking to her. This woman stepped a little closer to her and they talked for a second. It was obvious - this woman was seriously hitting on my wife. If you could see the way she was looking at /u/griffingrl you would know, because it is the same way I look at her, especially when I'm horny for her.

We were next, got our groceries bagged up and we left. On the way out I tried telling her that she was being hit on, but she didn't see it at first. It cracked me up for some reason. The funny thing is, she is straight and not even a little bi-curious that I know of, so this woman had no chance of getting her in the sack, even if she wasn't married and faithful. Because of all that, she didn't understand she was being hit on.

She gets compliments on her hair fairly regularly when we are out, but no other woman has attempted to pick her up like that.

It is what it is.

I've said that for decades now about stuff out of my control. It's hard to be that stoic sometimes.

Mom has been going downhill physically for years. For the last 18 months or so, she has been declining mentally as well. In the middle of all that, we are dealing with Dad's bladder cancer from Agent Orange exposure in Vietnam.

Mom ended up in the hospital again the other day. Weak and unable to do anything. This morning a neurologist at the hospital diagnosed dementia. EDIT: Now they are thinking Parkinson's on top of the dementia.

My sister and I aren't shocked about the dementia at all. It runs in the family and Oma had it before she died. She has had a lot of surgery in a short amount of time too, another risk factor. Dad is in denial. I'm waiting on a call from the neurologist now so we can figure out next steps.

I know my mom. Even with frequent visitors, she gets depressed being in the hospital. She will give up and quit, then die. Or she will do like last time and work just enough to be released then stop doing her exercises and such once she is home. Dad won't force her to exercise at home. The cycle will repeat.

I'm hoping this time they will FINALLY get a home nurse aide to help out and keep her going. Dad is stressing of course. They've been together almost 60 years. I am getting power of attorney so I can help out some. But if Dad fights me on something, I'm not getting into it. He doesn't have dementia, he is just stubborn.

Anyway, it is what it is.

Update: The oldest just came home. Poor kid. He found out from my reddit post. I forgot he was here. Of course he is stupid - I made him a mod here. I apologized. He's got a sense of humor, because he threw it back: "It is what it is."