Banal Hemorrhage

  Today, my wife and I have been married for 5 years. What connected a liberal girl from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and a weird guy from Venezuela? Hell if we know. But it works. While the relationship is fantastic and easy, the cohabitation has been a journey. This whole blog has been a way for me to process the changes I've had to go through to become a passable adult. My tenth comic (good luck deciphering it) was all about this being my biggest challenge in adulthood. I had to learn to leave the sponge out of the sink  and apologize correctly. I had to learn that socks in the floor were in no way cute.  Our wedding changed my life for the better, full stop.  Change doesn't always feel like a good thing, but I love the man I am today more than the man I was 5 years ago. I just wish I could keep marrying her every 5 years to jolt even more change in my life! My wife's love language is behavior (usually with a sponge and broom), my love language is actual language.

I’ve talked in the past about this. For whatever reason I was raised to try and fix things first and my wife to understand and empathize first. Is it a gender role thing?  I certainly don’t feel this is because of our genetics, my wife could take me down wrestling easily. I don't want her to discover a sleeper hold though, I'm afraid she would overuse it. She’s been working out since I met her and she has a major gunshow. Why would genes limit her from using hammers and stuff? These expectations, these roles we play, are endemic and in my case, crossed geopolitical boundaries. One of my coworkers, a millennial, told me once that “a man needs to always have a project and tools.” It was the first time I was like ‘dang it perhaps I should’ve been a woman then.’ I have noticed these expectations glacially disintegrating, and I’m for it. I wish there was a way to accelerate this the way we have accelerated the destruction of our known world. But why am I so prone to fixing things ev

I have an unsurprising confession to make. I am a nuisance. Sometimes I get into a movie so much that nothing can break my interest. Other times, I am a talker. I talk to my wife during movies. You’re free to unsubscribe from my feed now that you know. Sometimes, when a movie is too tense, awkward or tedious, I cut the stress with a well placed fart, or even worse, an attempt at a witticism. I’m no Mystery Science Theater, either, so these comments are not gold. Sometimes I just want to know more. Right then and there, for some reason. My wife is not always at the same frequency I am, so sometimes, my dialogues or rhetorical questions are not welcomed. She finds subtle ways to hint that she needs to be all-in, sans interruptions. A gentle shush, a cold shoulder, served divorce papers; all little nudges to make me conform. Most of the time I pick up on these little trifles, because marriage is growth. Extra panel: Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have Roxanne get curious abou

I'm not what most humans between the age of 18-75 would call "handy." Sure, I've fixed my dishwasher and my laundry washer a few times; but only because I really, really need those things to work. And I muttered ‘righty, tighty lefty, loosy’ the whole time. And there's always extra pieces when I'm done, which I contribute to the special drawer we all have but don't talk about. I have severe drill anxiety (Freud just raised a very judgmental spectral eyebrow). I mean, if you somehow screw up the location of your drilling, those holes aren't going to un-drill themselves are they? And what do you fill those holes with if you mess it up? Elmer's glue? Coconut Oil? Nobody taught me these things. My dad taught me how to program in Basic and my Mom taught me unconditional love. None of those things prepared me for this whole growing up scam.  I do have to give it up for YouTube though. I'd have negative handiness if it weren't for those how-to vid

Greetings, readers! It is 2021. We have evicted the worst tenant of the White House, we are vaccinating millions of people a week and everything is getting better! Except me. I’m still a lousy husband.  I’ve been a bit worse, since I’ve been working on a vaccination clinic in my town. It’s the hardest, most stressful task I’ve ever done. And I can’t have enough of it. Unlike many of my previous roles, what I am accomplishing is immediately observable: Shots in Arms. It’s way better than my typical reward of “someone may eventually use this knowledge to on occasion do something potentially useful.”  This makes me understand doctors and nurses a bit more. It’s hard to not be a workaholic when what you do is help people stay healthy. It also makes me understand burnout more. I’ve worked 3 weeks with two and a half days off. And I’m itching to go back tomorrow. This is unsustainable, and it will change soon, but I can see why it’s hard to stop. As for my marriage, it will be fine. We are l

I have often been scolded for recycling sweet nothings on others. And yet, I have the slimmest of hopes that I’m not alone here. A hope that maybe there’s other male idiots (even female idiots!) out there who make this vapid generalization error. And we can laugh together. Otherwise this comic will simply hammer down the fact that I’m a subhuman absent-minded foolboy. Of course there is only one true love in my life! But there’s so many cute things things around me that it’s hard to reserve terms. All I can say is that my wife is the only cute Roxanne that I have in my periphery, so I’ll never use her sweet nothings on another Roxanne! This I can almost swear. Rox: I love you mi bebecita linda! Extra Panel: So, the elephant in the room is a PS5 (get it? because it’s large). The reason I haven’t been drawing as frequently as before is not anxiety. It’s not increased booze intake. Sure, both of those things are around, but the main culprit is that I am loving my time with my PS5. I playe

One of the biggest issues that I brought into this marriage was a broken belief system. It went something like this: “She married me with all my flaws and issues, so therefore I am all good to go as long as death do us part.” I even made sure she knew exactly how flawed I was before getting married. She survived the gauntlet that I crafted for her, mostly me just being a little too much me.  No one was as surprised as me that she went through with the wedding. My wife adopts a growth mindset to marriage. She sees marriage as an opportunity to change and improve each other. And you know what? Like with everything, except in the pronunciation of “jewelry” and “realtor,” she is absolutely right.  No other force in this planet has made me want to change as much as this pale yooper*. Back in Venezuela I was known to finish every argument with “I am what I am.” Long gone are those times. Since being graced by her companionship, I’ve volunteered, learned to draw, exercised, reached out to pe

Every relationship is fake and I don’t know why, because the truth is funnier. Even I, lover of vulnerability and all things taboo, don’t post about our weekend-destroying arguments about sponges. Oh wait, perhaps I do sometimes. Am I being a cynical doo-doo head? Yes, of course. But I’m also speaking from experience. Walk back a divorce in modern times. Go back through the public postings and you'll find yourself going from "That wretched witch took all my money" to "Enjoying the sunset with my booboo" in a few swipes. Where’s the in between? How did it get from point A to point B so quickly? String Theory? More like creative editing. I find this a bit peculiar, but it actually makes things more understandable to me. That family you see always dancing in perfection, whereas it be in movies, books or your social feed... it’s about as real as farmed salmon is pink . Like a red herring, its image is set to distract. In the same way a jellyfish is not a real fish,

I have never been able to mainline reality. For me it always has to be cut with absurdity and humor. Whether that is a flaw of reality or of myself, it’s the way it has always been. If you’re able to ingest the stuff with no additives or enhancers, kudos to you.  It always fascinates me how inseparable depression and humor are. The great podcast  “The Hilarious World of Depression” laid that bare for me. Why is it that these go together so frequently? The causal path is probably that depression causes humor, as a way to escape or provide layers between yourself and reality. This is only conjecture on my part, don’t make the mistake many people have done and take me too seriously. As COVID rages on in this year of our lord twentytwenty, I can only hope that you are doing ok. Our mindscapes are being toyed with 24/7 through the double threat of a nature based killer and a human based circus of  mendacity and conflict. If we didn’t have Sarah Cooper or any of the other creative things b

This post is a guest post by my wonderful wife, Roxanne, about her mother, Mary. We both love and respect Mary very, very much.  “My mom did not fit the mold of our small rural town in WAY up north Michigan. She painted her fingernails different colors (sometimes just the pinkies) and wore silver rings all up and down her fingers. She walked long distances all over town, before it became a fitness craze, and while she walked, wore a big old camo jacket she got at an Army surplus store. She also had a fashionable and sophisticated wardrobe that was the envy of even her young high school students. She drank whiskey and water out of a plastic tupperware cup, and she swore like a sailor, all while constantly correcting our grammar. She spoke French and loved to turn up the hi fi and sing out loud to Neil Diamond while we danced. She is a yooper transplant that can help my dad butcher a deer one day, and go model for her local artist’s life drawing class the next.  All the things t

The whole mask situation has been a little confusing. The CDC told you not to wear them at the onset of this pandemic and others have urged you to do the opposite. So what gives?  Dr. Price , with his sexy oval face (like yours truly), mentions what I believe is the main benefit of getting a mask:  It will train you not to touch your face. That's the main way he believes we are getting this disease in the community. How many of us just now realized how often we touch our stupid faces? Having a mask will bring awareness to that behavior, and prevent skin to skin contact. I work in healthcare so I understand why the CDC recommended not using them at the outset. We are in a PPE crisis. There are not enough masks to protect the people who really need them, the front line caregivers. Urging everyone to wear masks at the beginning of this pandemic would have further disrupted that flow. If we couldn't get our toilet paper hoarding under control, just imagine the far more pre

Generations before us had widespread worldly wars, warm and cold.  Today feels like the anxious times we were told we were fortunate not to have. And there is some beauty to it. My friends and family are losing their jobs. My job has become incredibly stressful and demanding (I work in healthcare).  Our parents and grandparents are at risk. This is some scary stuff. So it feels bad to make light of this situation. I am going to, but only because I am an idiot who doesn’t know how to cope with things. There is something about this current ambiance that I am responding well to. There’s something to knowing everyone is going through anxiety together that I find comfortable. I always feel guilty for feeling anxious with such a privileged life. I have met the love of my life, I’ve achieved some economic success, and I get to do the things I enjoy. Guilt about anxiety, begets anxiety, begets guilt, begets anxiety. Today, though, I can feel that we are all vibing similarly. And we are h

It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that my ear bones constrict systematically during a conversation. Medical experts have often been baffled by this phenomena, a first in its kind. They may call this condition Banal Ear in my honor. It’s true, trust me, I’m a guy on the internet. My lack of attention is arguably a more famous aspect of my personality than my penchant for providing impromptu and improper sound effects to mundane things. Arguably. Every teacher I had gave me the spiel about how much better I’d do if… by that time my attention had ran its course so I never got to hear the “if”.  It’s probably no picnic to my chosen one, Roxanne. It likely comes off as selfish. It likely IS selfish.  Material possessions are not my goal, it has been replaced by becoming a better me until the day I die. I have oceans to cross, but this is one of my most important journeys. How do I become a better listener to my wife and loved ones? That’s the question I will answer as the

I like fake violence. I can't stand real violence. To me it's Fake Violence >>> Dr. Pimple Popper >>>>>> Real Violence. In fact, when fake violence looks too real, it loses it's appeal. There's something to the artistry of fake blood and guts that has always appealed to me, probably since my dad traumatized me by showing me Carrie at 6 years of age. That desensitized me to gallons of movie blood real quick. Thanks, dad. As I see it, I'm living proof that video games don't cause violence. My brain, and I expect most others, can flip the switch of 'real' vs. 'not real'. Mortal Kombat on the Genesis was my babysitter for a while and never have I ever wanted to rip someone's spine from their body. Or see it happen in real life. My wife was switching channels and landed on Dr. Pimple Popper once, and it was one of those times when I can spot a huge rift between us. While it definitely grossed her out, I cou

I am squalor blind. Last week I was on kitchen duty. We had just etched out our 3.2 version of the kitchen checklist. I had to load the dishes, clean the counter, make smoothies and clear the traps on the sink. I would have rated myself a 10/10. In the morning, I got to see how wrong I was. There were entire kernels of corn in the traps. Somehow they are invisible to me, like oh so many vegetables and stop signs. This makes me really think about the reality of the space that we are occupying and co-occupying. My physical reality is different than the physical reality of the person closest to me. Can you imagine how different it is from that of a Trump aficionado?  If positivism in sociology and the sciences was based on believing in one truth, an objective truth, palpable by our ever increasing utilization of the scientific method; today seems to be marked by the realization that there is not one truth to be experienced but as many as there are people around. And I am becoming

I don’t believe my mom set to destroy the patriarchy, I think the patriarchy was just an inconvenient hurdle on the way to her goals. But destroy the patriarchy she did. Over and over again. One of the first women petroleum engineers, the first to work on oil rigs, one of the first to not change her last name, the first to many, many things. I imagine the amount of paperwork that had to be changed because of her mere existence and it always makes me flash a wicked smile. The most amazing thing about her is how humble she is about all of this. Throngs of women have looked up to her for generations and all she’ll ever admit to is being a hard worker. There’s more to her, though. She’s always a steady snowball that simply knows how to move forward. I wish that certitude of hers had splashed down to me through her DNA strands. Alas, the only thing I’m certain of is that she has always and will always be my hero. My she-ro. Most people that meet her, remember her. And not just bec

Nobody tells you about the skeletons. In a first date, how often did you divulge your deepest secrets? Not often, I’m going to wager. You didn’t tell them about your childhood crush on Gadget from Chip And Dale Rescue Rangers;  and you definitely didn’t mention your psychological issues in crushing detail. Those come later. Finding someone who you can eventually open up to is great. Having someone who can dance with your defects is divine. I’m a lucky bastard, as I’ve mentioned before. More and more, the weirdos are those who never fall down. The ones who make a career or get their jollies by showing you a constant image of perfection. Those are the ones that I don’t get. They’d be more believable and more approachable if they’d at the very least tell you their fart story. We have all let a fart go in the most awkward moment. It’s just that some of us are broken enough to write a blog post about it. My runaway gas was in my office just before a performance review in m

I wouldn’t give anyone a bj in an alley for access to a smartphone. Using this slim, utilitarian and utterly disrespectful definition of addiction, I am not addicted to my smartphone. In almost all other definitions, I probably am (scratches neck). These days I’m frequently using twitter for political news, instagram for art and facebook for friends and family. For my wife’s birthday I left my smartphone delights behind as we travelled up to Michigan’s north (not north north, but north enough for a weekend trip). We had a great time consuming and sight-seeing all this beautiful state has to offer. We touched alpacas, drank some wine, got soaked in a pier and I was able to show her the part where Johnny Depp gets sucked by a bed in Nightmare on Elm Street. A win in every conceivable way. I am definitely a technofile and a techno-apologist, I believe my life in particular has been enhanced and improved exponentially due to consumer electronics. I enjoy nature somewhat, but

Nobody tells you about the hair. I have been bald or balding for over twenty years. My drains have never clogged. Since moving in with the love of my life about one year ago, I’ve collected enough strands of hair from my bathroom drain to refurbish a couch. I don’t mind using the slithery yellow bathroom snakes, they make me feel useful. It’s one of the few things in cohabitating life that is simple. You push that thing in, you wiggle it in and out and you solve a problem. It’s no mistake that it sounds coital, you do this every once in a while and you achieve harmony. I wish I could snake my psyche the way I can snake some hair from my drain. I would snake those repressed high school memories and flush them down the toilet. Those awkward memories that make you flinch when they light your hippocampus? Wiggle them out. I would write a pseudopsychology book called “Snake the Brain” and make millions. This comic is evidence that I have no editing room. A thought pops in my brai

My wife truly is as close to perfect for me as I can even imagine. That’s why I relish on the few, beautiful flaws she has. The way she says “Jewlery” instead of “Jewelry”, her creative pronunciation of “Realtor”, her terrible choice in a husband; all this makes her even more magnificent to me. I never liked Superman. Not even Alan Moore, one of my favorite writers, could make this boyscout interesting. After a lifetime of mistakes, I discovered the reason why. He’s too dang perfect. I like my fictional heroes to have huge gaping flaws. Perhaps this says more about me than a real critique towards the god archetype. At work, one of the things I fight against the most is perfectionism . We are often so worried about getting a mythical perfect product that often times we drop improvements. “Don’t let perfect get in the way of better” ranks right up there with “make it a double” and “Sorry, I’m foreign” among my most uttered phrases. So that’s my bias against perfection. If I waite