So, here I am. After years of using corny tools like MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, etc., I've succumbed to finally writing my own blog. This will be the mindless ramblings of a low self esteemed, drunken, narcissist. I know it sounds ridiculous, but you'll get it sooner or later.
My name is Ryan Sampson. I was born and raised in the mediocre suburbs of Boise, Idaho. I've had a continuous love affair with my pipe dream of eventually becoming a rock star. Even at almost 32 years old (hey, don't judge me. Huey fucking Lewis did it at 35). I've had a lot of successes, and a lot of failures.
I have a 2 year old son. He generally keeps me on my toes...along with his mother. His mother and I are no longer together, yet, generally get along like peas and carrots, and I'm sure we'll have some good stories in the future about that. Long story.
So let's get the fucker going, huh?
Up until the last 2 weeks or so, I had been single for 3 years. This isn't shocking for most of you, I know. I guess the reasoning for it is that I tend to look at women as the utmost, top of the line, work of the devil. Not in the "The Clitoris: What Does it Mean?" way, but just in the overall outlook. I'm not one of the emo douche-bags that cuts himself over the fact that his girlfriend fucked the drummer for Creedence Clearwater Revisited. I do this to myself.
I've always gone for the same type of woman. None of them really looked the same, but down inside, they have the exact same issues. Some were pretty little princesses, wearing their Abercrombie jeans, sandals, and tank tops. Some were loudmouthed, punk rock assholes. Regardless, the appeal of the "Daddy Never Hugged Me Enough", "Daddy Wasn't There", or "I Was in the Bottom of a Well at My Uncle Touchy's Basement at Age 9" females were deemed worthy applicants.
Sooner more than later, they became fodder for my music.
Now, call me a jaded, bitter dick, but I have a theory on why the commonplace relationship of yesteryear doesn't work anymore. I always say I'm proud that I have 2 parents that have been together for 40 years, and I actually strive to be able to have something fulfilling, relationship-wise, like that, but I don't think it's feasible. No offense to the lovely young lady on my arm.
Relationships have fully taken a nosedive, in my opinion, with the worldwide access to the internet. Yes, the same internet that you may, or may not, be reading this blog, jerking off to tranny porn on, or stalking that one boyfriend you had in high school with the Tony Hawk wave hairdo, who fingered you after the basketball game in the JB's parking lot. Yes, that internet.
After the internet became that accessible, cell phones came right after that. The mere combination of these 2 items formed more trees to be cut down for divorce papers. Wait, I;m sure they email those at this point. At this time in our fucked up generation, we are able to take what minimal money we make at our "I got a degree for this?" job, and we have the capability of having everything at our fingertips. You want dinner? Open up the laptop, get the number, call on your cell phone. You need a massage? Ditto. Everything you could possibly fucking need is in these little purchased boxes. Need to get laid? A warm body to wake up next to for one day? Craigslist. Facebook. The codependency of human beings is damn near null and void at this point. Trust me. I went on many a tirade with many a victim.
Now, don't get me wrong. When a a true blue, legit relationship fell into my lap. I was full steam ahead, but the temptations of the touring world, let alone the temptations of other suitors for the ladies I was with while on tour led these relationships into full blown destruction. However, I still went for it.
Last week, I went to Hailey, Idaho to see a dear friend who was diagnosed with a very rare, and aggressive, form of MS a year and a half ago. In two weeks time, he went from playing shows, to being a full blown, blind quadriplegic. Since that time, he has progressed to full use of his right arm, small usage of his left arm, the ability to talk, and the ability to see again. He's not the same guy I knew back then, but he's still in there.
Prior to this trip, I had begun seeing a young lady here in the 1A. She was sweet, gorgeous, smart as a whip. Usual outline for the types that I had dated previously. She was taking her mother's car to Hailey, where she was raised. I saw this as a perfect moment to finally see my friend for the first time since he was sick. Plus, it's a 2 hour drive. Good way to get to know someone...really fucking quick.
A dear friend of mine, who is a self proclaimed "Hopeless Romantic Man Whore" type (yes, they do exist, and I am friends with quite a few), sat with me at my work, and we discussed the trip. He explained to me that this was going to be one of the hardest experiences I was ever going to go through, seeing as though this was a very different form of my best friend that I was about to visit. His advice to me will forever be locked in my head, as a simple test of emotion that can be used to gauge anyone you are trying to become close to, friend or significant other.
"Ryan, you're gonna walk into that house with your head held high, and you are gonna walk out a mucus and tear filled fucking nightmare...and she's going to see it. She will see you in a position that not even your best friends have seen. Complete vulnerability. Heart on your sleeve, using your sleeve as a Kleenex, trainwreck. She's going to have 1 of 2 reactions. Either she will look at her cell phone, checking for text messages, in an awkward haze, or she's going to be your shoulder, telling you that shit's gonna be solid. I tell you what, man. If she does the good decision, you fucking run with it because you aren't gonna find anyone like that anymore. EVER."
Locked. Loaded. Headed to Hailey.
I walked into the house, head held high, and laid eyes on the man that I had shared so many memories with. He opened his eyes from his nap, and with a smile, said "Oh, hey, Ryan. How are you?". Holy fucking heavy. Bound to a wheelchair, he still laughed, smiled, and was, in his own words, "doing perfect everyday, Sampson". We played Wii Bowling, ate copious amounts of Red Vines, watched videos of our old band, and, while forcing the tears back into my eyes, I laughed with him. Life seemed pretty fucking small at that point. While I sit at home, hanging out with my friends, drinking, and bitching about ol' Whatshername, and who she's blowing now, he wakes up everyday, frustrated that he can't play his guitar, hoping that he'll be walking again soon. All with a big goddamn smile on his face. Put that in your Jager Bomb and smoke it.
After a few hours, it was time to leave.
I hopped in the lady's car. "How was it?", she asked. I remained quiet for about 2 blocks, and it happened. Niagara Falls, Frankie fucking Angel. I was mad. Pissed. The fact that this happened to such a sweet, loving friend was completely unfair. I was hitting the window. I wanted to punch a fucking Evangelical Christian in the baby maker. I hated everything about it. I wanted to grab every fucking doctor I could find, and MAKE them figure out the cure. The lady drove to a remote park, where I could light a smoke, and feel better. Life meant so insignificant before that meeting. I got my sobbing ass out of the car, and stood, in the snow, with my head in my hands.
Here comes the moment of truth.
She got out of the car, immediately wrapping her arms around me, and expressed how amazing it was that I finally got enough sack to do that. No cell Phone. No text messages. No social media. Good old fashioned person to person contact.
So, all in all, maybe there is hope somewhere for relationships. For fuck's sake, I'm talking about this on the very technology that raped relationships in the first place.
By the way, it's nice to have met you, Blogosphere. See you again soon.
RPS
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