Things I Don’t Hate

It’s another November day in Pittsburgh, the kind of day I’d have never left my bed and just had my drugs delivered.

I’m sitting in Kaz’s Acura, and even pre-owned, the car has to be worth at least $50k. Of course, the luxuary vehicle was a gift from his guilt-ridden father.

The interior smells of leather, Armour-All, imported wood, and the cigarettes I keep giving to Kaz, so he won’t make us go ‘home’.

“Don’t you think this would be easier if you stopped being so biiter?,” he asks.

You seriously hate everyone and everything…,” he says, as he pulls the gift-Acura through the McDonald’s drive-thru.

Give it five more years my friend…you’ll be just as hateful“.

I pay for the meal with one of the credit cards I’ve been living off of the past month. Capitalism is the greatest !!. I put the card back in my wallet and look around the neighborhood that I now call home.

This is not my life…this is not my beautiful life. Luckily, I’ve always been good with denial.

I don’t hate you,” I mumble.

Which is true…I’ve grown fond of chilling with Kaz and causing mischief around town. Even though he’s been brainwashed by Men’s Health, AA, and the hard part in his hair is mostly unforgivable.

So today, in honor of Kaz, here are some of the things I don’t hate…

Running on the beach at night.

I like to pretend I’m the last man on earth, and the shore is my new kingdom. My friend Andrea calls this a delusion, but I just call it fun.

Coming back from a cigarette to find your meals have already been delivered to the table.

Restaurants are boring, and I get antsy. I never know what to do with my hands, so I inevitably excuse myself to go outside and fill my veins with sweet nicotine. Usually, I’ll get at least one pissy stare when I return, reeking of tobacco and the Burberry cologne I kept hidden in my coat – that is unless the food has arrived in my absence.

This is true serendipity, and it’s one of the few times I believe in God.

Getting my federal tax return.

True, its gone in a couple of weeks and depending on my state of mind the outcomes can vary. (Depressed = narcotics and bar tabs, Manic = clothes and furniture. Still, there’s nothing quite as magical as getting money back from the government.

English bulldogs.

If I see an English Bulldog being walked on the street, I will chase it down and even in nice clothes, let it slobber all over me. I fucking love bulldogs. They are like little people – such personality.

My family always had two when I was growing up. When I started dating my first millionaire at age 20, I made him buy me one of my own. He now lives at the family compound in Pittsburgh, and he is the last surviving bulldog. He just turned eight, and he is more beautiful than the day I picked him out of that plastic swimming pool.

Clean sweeps.

My heterosexual life partner Melissa coined this phrase because she’s a beautiful genius. It’s when you take a nice long poop, and when you wipe there’s barely any residue.

My parents.

They’ve put up with me for 29 long years….

Here’s to 29 more!

Friends and Girilfriend

See above.


Some of you may say, “that list wasn’t very long Nick…

Fuck you, I’m working on it.

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