In the Green

As I am disappointed to have to write, you will be disappointed to have to read that I have not yet heard back from my brother. I’m okay with it; realistically not much time has passed, and these amends aren’t all about me by nature anyhow. This process is about repairing past damages, not rekindling old relationships, although that is the hope with this one. Who knows what the future holds.

And I digress. I do have some exciting news. If you remember not too long ago, I wrote about my experience with Credit Karma. I was a little peeved at first with the quantity of junk mail—both paper and electronic—that I received, but almost immediately that ceased and I’ve not seen any in a couple weeks. The app showed me two scores: one from TransUnion at 574, and one from Equifax at 667. Now, neither one was what you would bring to the bank loan table, or the poker table for that matter, but it was a place to start, and Credit Karma gave me the option to look through a few credit card choices for bringing those scores up. It didn’t take long before I found one that was willing to extend to me an unsecured credit line of $300. Clearly that isn’t much, but it was a form of trust, and I took them up on it. When it arrived, I made a small purchase with it, and when the bill came, I paid it off. Simple.

Yesterday I received an email from Credit Karma informing me that there had been a change to my credit scores, and when I looked I was shocked. My TransUnion score jumped up 87 points to 654, and Equifax went up to 722, which is considered a good credit score. Those are substantial jumps, and credit means a lot these days.

As John Oliver attests in this 20-minute clip from his H.B.O. show, Last Week Tonight, your credit score can affect everything from interest rates on an auto loan or mortgage, to the application process for an apartment, or even a job. These three little digits can literally make or break you, so it’s important to keep them in check.

It is very important that the information found in you report is accurate. 5% of all credit reports contain information that is not just incorrect, but damaging. Sure, that’s only one in twenty, but when you’re looking at the population of our country, that’s 10,000,000 reports that show improper info.

The best way to keep track of your reports that won’t cost you anything or have a negative impact on your score is by going to http://www.annualcreditreport.com. All three bureaus are required to give you a full comprehensive report once per calendar year, and this site is where to get that all done in one shot. Now, I tried this a few months back and was denied because I didn’t answer their tricky questions correctly, so I’m grateful for Credit karma and their easy registration process. I would imagine that most people would have an easier time than I did, because my credit has a rather violent, and erratic history involving dozens of addresses and accounts in bad standing. Well, formerly in bad standing. Give it a shot, you might be surprised at what you find.

Building credit is a process, and I’ve only just begun. My history of accounts in good standing is only one-month old so it would be very easy to revert to a sub-par score with one missed payment, so I simply must pay attention to what I’m doing, just like everywhere else in life. Eventually, I will be able to use this foundation of trust to do something significant like buy a new car or home, something I never thought about for my future until a month ago. That’s right, until I saw my scores I assumed that my credit was so bad that there wasn’t even the possibility of turning it around. And here we are, one month later, in the green. Sometimes we just need to put in a minimal amount of work and amazing things can happen.

Sibling 2

After publishing a rather emotional and vitally important post about my brother and making amends for my mistakes, I decided that this morning would be a good time to take action. I had previously sent him an email to an address we communicated through many years back. That was about a month ago, and I never heard back. It would be easy to leave it at that and say I tried, but then the pain is still inside, capable of coming out in ways detriment to recovery. I needed to take further action today.

 

The easiest way to find people these days seems to be Facebook, so that’s where I started and stopped. It wasn’t a simple task to find him, as he does not have a picture of him as his cover photo. But I did some digging in profiles under his name, and after some time, I saw his face. I saw his face, that of his wife’s, and even two beautiful children; a niece and nephew I have never met. I just sat and stared for a bit. My eyes began to sting as the years of loss began to form in small droplets at the corner of my eyes. I knew this was real.

 

I looked for the usual icon which would allow me to send him a friend request, but was content to see that option not available on his profile. The only option was to send a message via messenger, so I did. Here is what I wrote: So, obviously I didn’t leave things on very good terms. I gave (sic (stupid auto-correct)) done a lot of stupid things in my life, the last decade being riddled with them. I’ve been back on track for a couple years now and would like the chance to set things straight. At the very least I would like to pay you back. Let me know what you think.

 

Simple, but it hopefully got the message to him that I wanted to fix what has been broken. At that point I grabbed my computer and headed to Nina’s Coffee Café to write this post. About half way here, I felt a vibration in my pocket that made my whole body tense up, and a lump formed in my throat. This could be it. I was nervous because I might see something like, “Fuck off.” But really I was excited to hear from him. Doing the dangerous thing, I reached for my phone while operating a motor vehicle—a stick, no less—and pushed the button to activate the screen. What I saw surprised me, and really set the tone for my future. It was a message from Miranda@jiup.onmicrosoft with an important e-mail regarding options for my current credit card debt. Awesome! I don’t have any credit card debt so this process should be super easy. Needless to say, it was a big let-down.

 

I’ve been anxiously awaiting a reply as I sit here writing these words, but I need to let that part go as it is out of my hands. I will give it a few days and then try again if I don’t hear anything. I am not giving up on this one.  It feels good to have actually gotten the ball rolling finally, instead of just kicking it around in my head for all these years. I don’t know what the final result will be, but I can say with confidence that it will be better than the way things were yesterday, and for years before that. As soon as I have an update or have made any progress, I will write about it, of course. Until then, I have many more amends to make, and I will be focusing on that, so don’t be surprised if you get a call from me soon, asking to go out for lunch.

Sibling

I wrote this post a while back. The intent was to include it as bonus material in the e-book, but I really needed to get it out because there's an amend that I need to make that I feel I will be encouraged to do now that this is public. This one is pretty important, folks.

First off, this post is out of place. I waited and waited for the appropriate time to write it but it never came. I’ve decided to do it now even though it can’t include all relevant information because I wanted there to be some new material for this e-book, and because it’s time. There was a traumatic, life-changing event that occurred in our lives when I was at a very impressionable age. It happened shortly after Dr. Wonderful exited stage left for the final time. It’s not my place to tell that story, so I won’t.

We were sitting at Chili’s, or maybe Flinger’s, at the Mall of America (As it turns out, it was at the Northtown Mall. I found out after I wrote this post and decided not to edit.) patiently waiting for a familiar face. I wondered if I would recognize him.  The year was roughly 2003, and I was going to meet my brother for the first time. It wasn’t a random event; this had been a work in progress of years. I had nothing to do with setting up the meeting; my mother had done all of the work as far as I remember. I wish I knew more of the specifics but I don’t so I won’t write about them.

What I do know is that when he walked through the door, there wasn’t any doubt; this guy was my brother. I mean, he looked exactly like me except he had blonde hair and blue eyes. He locked on our table immediately, and walked our way. I wasn’t nervous, but my blood was pumping a little faster than normal. I can’t imagine what must have been going through my mother’s mind at that very moment. I don’t recall her crying or making a scene, so she must not have. I bet it was tough seeing a child you had given birth to, then let go. Never knowing where he had gone, if he was safe, if he was loved. I think any tears would have been of happiness that day once it was clear that he had turned out ok.

We greeted each other with a handshake and we sat down at the table. I was in the middle of a substantial period of sobriety so there was no drinking, in fact, I don’t remember eating or drinking at all. I don’t recall any of the conversation, how long we sat together, or any other pertinent information from that evening.

What sticks in my mind after all of these years is what happened after that meeting. Thomas and I began a routine of conversation as we had a lot to learn about each other. Back then, people communicated with their voices over “telephones” and asked and answered questions to learn things. Facebook takes all of that away now, but it used to be all the rage. We met on occasion, and even maintained contact when I moved to Rochester. I would visit him at his home some 45 minutes north of the cities when I came up for holidays and whatnot, and we would exchange e-mails and phone calls on occasion. It was really cool to have a brother after over two decades of being an only child. And it seemed to mean as much to him as it did to me. We had so much in common, with completely different paths travelled. He had had his troubles with alcohol, and we talked extensively about my troubled past, and it seemed to grasp him. He understood everything I had gone through, and just…… We really connected.

Years passed, and he met the woman who would become his wife and the mother of his children. I met the woman who would eventually tell me that she thought I could handle a drink or two with dinner, and that was all I needed to hear. I knew I could handle the first drink or two; it was always the consequent 17-40 that really got to me. When I started hitting the meth pipe, I quickly found financial trouble, and my brother was speedy to help. Now, $200 may not sound like a lot of money to a lot of people, but for me it was the difference between safety and a severe beating by a Mexican drug dealer, and for him it was probably all he had at the time. That was just the beginning of my woes, but it was the end of everything that we had built. I wouldn’t respond to calls, texts, or e-mails from his wife; I just bailed. That was over a decade ago.

 My brother and I the first time we had ever seen each other.

When I talk about making amends, this is as high up on the list as it gets. It’s the damage I’m most afraid to repair because the whole thing makes me feel like a piece of shit, and I don’t like accessing that particular part of my life which means I need to do it as quickly as possible. I’m already willing to make the amend, I just need to act, and sometimes action takes courage. Grow up, Vince. It’s time to move on.

 So there it is in black and white. And for some reason, orange. I hope that doesn't transfer over to the actual published post. If it doesn't, you won't have a clue what this is in reference to. Back on track, I'm happy that I decided to move forward with this chapter. I hope you enjoyed this: one of the few remaining pieces of me yet unknown.

A Tenth Dig

  Saturday was my favorite day. I went to the Science Museum, Sticks Restaurant, and Acme Comedy Company. You might be saying to yourself, “Gosh Vince, you sure are cool, and that sounds great, but you should have told me so I could have gone with.” You are right, I am so cool. Thank you. But there was no space available on this adventure, this was a date; a date with a human female. I went on a date!

 

I haven’t been on a date for years. I mean that shit, years. I was nervous as I always am before I do anything that I haven’t done 100 times before, so I calmed myself by getting ready for a period of several  hours during which I showered, got a haircut, trimmed my beard, showered, changed a multitude of times, settled on an outfit, went to my mom’s condo, paced around and around, watched an hour of John Oliver on YouTube while being careful not to get any dog hair on my black dress pants, and pondered another quick shower but decided against it.

 

I’ll skip a few parts to keep the storyline moving, so we arrived separately at the Science Museum a little late to see A Beautiful Planet, but in time to see another show: Complete Fucking Madness with Every Child in Minnesota. Yeah, the place was flooded with children, so we made our way down to the cafeteria where we had some dessert and coffee, and planned our trip through the museum. The museum hardly changes, save for a few things, so after we checked out the dinosaurs and saw the mummy, we entered  the race exhibit where we both determined that we were not racist and decided to make our way back through the swarm to the exit.

 

We made it out alive and made the wise choice to indulge in another cup of coffee before the actual date portion of the night. Yes, the museum was just a warm-up; a chance to see how the date might go, and it went well.

 

Onward we drove into the uncharted waters of Minneapolis. I don’t understand how the city works with all of its flashing lights and numerically ordered streets, so I had to give up the surprise location in order to have a competent navigator. Fortunately for me, she knew her way around the city as I’m sure most people do.

 

We arrived at Acme, checked in, and were seated for dinner. I haven’t been to Sticks in years, but from what I remember, the food has really gone downhill. I can’t say everything was bad, but they got off to a rough start with an appetizer made of Styrofoam, floating on a puddle of grease. I can’t help but pick food apart and demonstrate how similar it is to a rubber bouncy ball whenever possible, but I tried to remain calm and focus on the woman in front of me. She asked me to tell her a story, so I went with one of my favorites, The Bike Job. It’s been a while since I told a story without looking down at keyboard, and I liked it. We talked and talked, and laughed and smiled. My normal anxiety was kept at bay by the stunning beauty in front of me that, for whatever reason, seemed to be enjoying my company. Aside from the food, dinner was perfect.

 

After dinner we were escorted to our seats close to the stage for the comedy show which had us rolling for two straight hours. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to get to a comedy store, but I can see myself (hopefully with herself) going back routinely. For not having planned and implemented a date for about a decade, I think I did alright. There's a lot I left out, and that was by design as a lot of these events will remain only in our heads as memories. If you’re wondering what A Tenth Dig, the title of this post, is in reference to, it’s simply an anagram of Date Night. I just didn’t want to give anything away in the title which originally was A Tight End, but that just didn’t seem very classy.

 

You’re probably wondering if I will ever go on another date with this woman. And the answer is very simply, yes.

The Vacationist

Over the course of the next six weeks, I’m taking some vacations. Yes, more than one. This will be the first time I’m allowed to cross the borders of Minnesota, and I’m rather excited about it. I can’t say that I get into planning like my mom, but it’s definitely been on my mind.

 

For Thanksgiving, my mother and I will be intersecting the state-line with Wisconsin, and moving east to St. Croix Falls, to feast with the cousins, most of whom I haven’t seen in a decade or more. This will be an adventure for certain, but only a precursor to the big trip over Christmas to the lovely city of San Diego. Both of these trips, by design, are a mixture of simply getting the fuck out of this place for a bit, and visiting my family to celebrate life, love, and hopefully copious amounts of cuisine.

 

Wisconsin, however close for most of you, has been out of my reach for years. The last time I crossed over was just before I went to prison, and all I did was a drug deal. LaCrosse was always a favorite destination of mine on the endless road trips that were my life before sobriety.  The risk was great; they do not take kindly to any amount of any drug over there, so the price was high for meth, and with the deals I got in Rochester I was making plenty of money for the one-hour drive. Sweaty and nervous I crossed the bridge on I-90 dozens of times without incident, sometimes in stolen vehicles, sometimes not, but always with felonious quantities of money and drugs.

 

This time my mind will be at ease, and my mom will be by my side as we travel. She will not, however, be with me when I fly to California for Christmas. I don’t believe I’ve been there since 1990, when I was in attendance at the Oakland Coliseum for game four of the World Series between the A’s and the Cincinnati Reds. At the time I was an Oakland fan because my mother’s boyfriend was, and he had flown me out to see the game in hopes of seeing them clinch the series. The A’s did not win a game at all that World Series and I got to see the Reds win the whole thing right there in the flesh. Even though it was the opposing team, it was pretty cool to see that live, something I will never forget.

 

I’ve been to Cali about five times, but I was young, so I have never been high or drunk there, and this time will be no different. It is likely that I will attend my first West Coast A.A. meeting, which I am looking forward to because of the autonomy of meetings, which is the reason they can differ in format from place to place. Really, I’m just looking forward to spending the holiday with my family, and enjoying a little break from the cold weather if it ever does come along.

 

Both of these trips have already been approved by my parole officer, pending some specifications like exact times and dates, but as soon as I wrap it all up, I’ll be good to go. After that, I would like to start planning something else. But where would I go? There are so many states I haven’t explored. So many foods I need to try properly in their natural environment. If I could afford such a thing, I would take a month away from work and explore the root of Southern BBQ. I could eat and write my way across the bottom half of the country, and come home with a pot belly that I earned proper and ideas for my new restaurant. We can dream. We can all dream.    

 

This next six weeks might unleash the travel bug within me, handed down genetically by my mother. And maybe both of our blogs will have a similar theme someday, and maybe not. The sky is the limit, so they say.

This Morning

I woke up at 7am, and was immediately irritated that it was only 20 minutes before my alarm was set to go off. The first thing I thought was that I couldn't breathe through my nose because of a standard issue cold, so grabbed a few sheets of Kleenex, and headed to the kitchen to brew some coffee. I halted before I reached in the cupboard to get the fresh beans, and put the tissue to my face. I gave a hard blow that shattered my thoughts with a vibration that seemed unnecessary. I pulled the goopy mess away from my face to see that nearly everything that came out was blood, or bloody mucus. I was about to have a nosebleed.



For those of you unaware, my body has the superpower of bleeding heavily through my nose through the dry, winter months, and this would be the first of many such ordeals that I would have to deal with. For me, they frequently last 15 or more minutes, and can recur for days or weeks before I get a break. Today was the beginning.



I was in the kitchen so I reached for where the paper towels should be. Gone. I couldn’t breathe through my nose, so when I felt a drip of warm blood trickle down to my lips, I was forced to react quickly with a desperate gasp through my mouth. The rush of air brought in a mist of blood that was immediately escorted back through the front entrance by a violent cough which I tried to project upwards as to not get any droplets on my mother’s nice white rug. A firework spray of gore erupted from my throat and the fine particles danced in the prisms of light from the chandelier in the kitchen.



Looking up, I tried to dash my way through the dining room by memory to the living room where I had a box of Kleenex on the floor. I hit the sharpest part of the table with the softest part of my hip and let out a yelp at the same time as my dog who had found his way under my feet. “Fuck!” I yelled at nothing but the situation. Keeping my head held high, I marched on, and I felt bare floor which was a great sign that I had made substantial progress toward my goal. Just then I felt a tug on my pajama pants that set off a trip-wire I had laid out for myself. The dish on top of the ottoman that serves as a table next to the couch which is my temporary bed crashed to the floor seconds before my phone. The charger cord became dislodged from the wall and wrapped around my leg like a lasso, and I was forced to look down. A stream of plasma-rich lifeblood touched both the floor and the tip of my nose at the same time, completing the circle of life.



I grabbed frantically at the absorbent tissues and put equal amounts on my face and the floor. I knew I could clean my face later, but the floor need attention now, so with one hand covering the mess accumulating around my face, I blotted the floor clean with the other. I felt some relief for the first time since I woke up 45 seconds earlier.



I then laid myself out on the couch in a way that I could tilt my head back, pinch my nose in that middle spot, and soak up any remaining blood. Essentially, my head was hanging over the armrest. My phone started chirping, indicating that I was very important, and I felt around on the floor until I could grab it, which I did. And that’s when I realized that this was just the first of many catastrophic events which would unfold in our country. That’s when I found out that somehow, people had elected Donald Trump for president. Do I blame Donald for my bloody nose? Yes. Yes I do. Thanks a lot, ‘Merica.



The preceding story is true except for some areas where I took certain liberties normally reserved for fictional writing. Basically, I lied just a little to make the story better.

Election Day

I started writing a post about the election today, but I really don't care about politics. I care enough to cut and paste a few things I like onto my FB page, but I won't chime-in when people argue over anything I have posted. But just to be clear, I posted a picture of a floating pig from a Roger Waters concert with some anti-Trump verbiage on it, not because of my political agenda, but because as a person, I believe Donald Trump is a racist, sexist pig.

That's as political as I get, and although I don't care too much about others opinions about politics, it will be nice to start following people on Facebook again that seemed to cut and paste all day long their views on one candidate or the other. 

This is Roger Waters, one of my musical heroes. I'm going to see him in July which will be the second time in my life that I have seen the legend probably best known for his work with Pink Floyd. He, unlike me, is very political and outspoken when it comes to government. And that's all I know about politics. 

I'm here at the laminating factory after a three-day weekend, and I couldn't be happier. Ha ha ha ha ha. That was a joke. I am actually suffering from a moderate to severe cold, and I would rather be on the couch, but I can't afford to take days off for no reason.

Since the last time I worked, last Friday, two people have quit. Now, for a company that has roughly eight full-time employees, that's quite a hit. One of them found a new job driving semi-trucks and left after being stuck here for over five years. The other had just recently started and was berated in front of everybody yesterday when I wasn't here. He was told by one of the owners that he needed to grow up, that this job was more important than any other, and that he would be replaced as soon as possible. The employee left for lunch and never came back.


If I haven't mentioned it before, this particular boss is a massive douche bag. He's voting for Trump because he agrees with the whole wall thing, and doesn't like minorities, for any reason. After the employee walked out, the boss promptly told everybody that he wad a sex- offender and would never amount to anything. So that's great.

If it didn't pay so well, I wouldn't be here. To be fair, the employee in reference was late every day, and left early regularly to be on time for his other job. He also didn't seem to do any work, and I personally didn't care for his work ethic. But that doesn't mean he deserves to be called out in front of everybody.

I have to get back to work, so I will conclude with this funny picture.