As a follow up to the previous story. On our way to the water park, Charissa and I passed two little boys in the hall. They had just left their hotel room and were urging their Dad to hurry up and come to the water park. One of these boys had a swimsuit on. The other was BUCK NAKED! That's right, this small child was so excited to go swimming that he just decided that the old "cash and prizes" didn't need to be tucked away in any itchy swimsuit netting. They were half way to the park when we saw the Dad emerge from his room and realize that his son's wiener was pointing the tourists in the wrong direction.
Later after spending about an hour at the park we passed the same Dad and the clothed boy in the hall. After recognizing us he looks up and say, "yeah, I still haven't got clothes on that other one."
Classic.
A Christmas Story
On the topic of life saving devices...
Seriously, when did the hot tub become the kiddie pool. I can understand that you might make the mistake from a distance. A hot tub is similar in shape and size to a kiddie pool. But some of the tell-tale signs that this is, in fact, NOT the designated children's swimming area are...
1. The jets that churn up the water which come standard in hot tubs, and well... aren't in kiddie pools.
2. All of the men wearing gold chains with dark manes of back hair drinking Bud Light.
3. The fact that the water temperature is 104 degrees Fahrenheit.
4. And of course, the GIANT signage stating the rules for the hot tub.
But if one were to go to the indoor water park at the hotel I stayed at during Christmas break, you would not find the hot tub so easy to spot. You would see the kids play area of the water park, the body slide, tube slide, lazy river, pool basketball area, and .... wait where are all the kids... oh yeah... they are all jumping into the two 5x7 hot tubs.
Now, I'm not going to go as far as to say that these kids have bad parents. I'm just going to say they have stupid parents. For years doctors have been urging parents to keep kids out of the hot tubs because they are too hot, the chlorine levels are off the charts, it's not safe, etc. The hotels post signs that say no one under the age of 16 are allowed in the jacuzzi without direct supervision. But lets face it... Bill over here wants to sit in a jacuzzi and drink one or two or five Bud Lights, outline the hot tub in beer bottles, hit on the nearest two piece or his friend's wife (which was clear in a few occasions) and he can't do that while being a good parent, so lets just bring the kids with. I saw a child wearing a life vest, that couldn't be older than two, float around in the tub while mom and dad drink beer under the sign that states the ages for the hot tub and the warning about consuming alcohol and using "the spa."
And the parents shouldn't take the full blame. One hot tub had a life-guard sitting at it. I watched a group of four girl that were most likely in the second grade enter the hot tub. The life-guard's reaction was to twirl her gum in a counter-clockwise motion... this did not solve the problem.
The only thing I can credit this too is selfishness on the part of the adults. They didn't care about the other people who don't really sit in the jacuzzi to be splashed or supervise other people's kids. These parents just did what they wanted to do rather than play with their own children in the water park, or God forbid, be sober during the family vacation.
As Charissa and I played with my niece in the lazy river and the kid portion of the water park we vowed not to be those parents. But only time will tell.
Make The Call
Does your job bleed over into your personal life?
Wait, maybe I mean: Does other peoples' personal lives bleed over into your job? I don't mean on a relational level, because that is inevitable. I mean like people bring you their mundane tasks because somehow they feel that you can run their life better than they can.
Now, I am not a network administrator and I am not employed by Best Buy on the Geek Squad, but I did live in a men's dorm in college. And if you lived in a men's dorm in college you played video games, and if you had any friends you played video games over a network. So unless you wanted to be the whiny guy, you learned a small small small small bit of information about setting up a network to play video games. Plus, because I like computers I have put a lot of time in learning the software that I use. So then this is what happens...
A lady I know just switched over to ComCast internet. And because I can click "next" on the windows network setup wizard at my work, my boss says, "oh, you should talk to Luc he is great with computers. I'm SURE that he wouldn't mind coming out to your house and fixing that." How did I just become tech support for ComCast? They employ people at ComCast to come out to your house and fix things. Dell, BestBuy, everyone has people to do that. Or God forbid you might take a class and learn a little bit about that $2,000 appliance you just bought just to check your e-mail.
Now I'm going to go and try to fix it, because I happen to care about this woman, but I just don't get this practice. I watch people who, rather than make one phone call for an appointment, try to corner doctors, dentists, physical therapists, computer techs, and other professionals during their time off to ask them questions or show them where it hurts. As if a dentist is going to say, "Oh yeah I can just come over to your house later and pull that tooth with some string and a doorknob." And I know the thought is to save some money, but do they realize that the money they are saving is coming out of the pocket of the person they are trying to ask for help?
And in cases like mine, people would rather ask someone they know (who is unqualified) than ask a stranger who is a specialist. In this case, she wouldn't even have to pay for tech support.
Does this happen to you or are you lucky enough to have a job where this doesn't come up? I just think of my friend who is studying ancient Greek. When does that come up?
What's The Experation Date On That...?
Ever since I can remember I regarded my appearance neither strikingly handsome nor gruesomely ugly. In fact, my features are not memorable at all. I was born to the average and have been quite content with it. The only thing ever really remarked about my appearance consistently is that I was always told I had a "young face" with "old eyes." Supposedly this is why I always carded at rated "R" movies when I was 23, but why people sought me out for counsel when I was 16.
Just recently I shaved a beard that I have been sporting for a few months now. I'm not really sure what I expected to find underneath it, but when I set down the razor and wiped the steamy fog off the mirror, I felt like I stared at a stranger in the mirror. An adult, who was beginning to show the signs of age. Lines in the face, dark circles under the eyes, and even though the whiskers were gone the skin was still slightly rough. My nose and mouth seemed strange and misplaced without their outline to keep them in position, and the eyes... the eyes that looked back at me were tired. They looked like they really should belong to an old man of eighty who was still keen eyed, but had clearly seen enough for his liking. Is this really me?
Like I said, I don't know what I expected to find under the half inch of hair that had come to be somewhat of a staple in my appearance, or why I haven't noticed the state of my appearance before... to a certain extent I feel on the edge of something other than my razor.
When I was a small boy, I grew up hearing all the time my father saying that Jesus would return soon. I believed it so much that I didn't expect to live past the age of sixteen. I'm not sure why I picked this particular year, but I believed it whole-heartedly. And because of this belief much of my early behavior was shaped. Not necessarily accepting your death, but to see an end frees you in ways most people only dream. By the time I hit sixteen I had acquired a reckless taste for life and so this did nothing to dissuade me from thinking my time on this earth would be short lived.
Now I sit at almost twenty-seven. Eleven years past my deadline, if you will forgive the pun. I feel like I have lived enough for three lifetimes. Or maybe I feel like I have lived three times as much as people my age, because there are so many experiences I have left that could not be partaken at any earlier age. Some experiences are not for young men and to rush them is foolishness itself. I have never been married, or made love, or had children. There is a section of my life yet to live that I have never really considered a possibility. Honestly, they always seemed abstract ideas that I would never participate in before my life ended. My freedom has always derived from having nothing, to very little to lose. And now that I have relationships and responsibilities I'm having a hard time figuring out how to hold loosely to that which is most dear to me. I know why the apostle Paul calls to men in the ministry to stay single, and forsake worldly possessions that tie you down, but on the other hand I believe I'm beginning to understand the love that God likens to the devotion, passion, and anticipation of the bridegroom and the approaching wedding feast.
And so here I am on the edge of something. I find people, many people my own age inept at life. They run and run in a panic at one thing or another and I am frustrated that they cannot see the solution that easily presents itself. Even more so I am frustrate that my cousel which sometimes is the very heart of wisdom that I have prayed to God for falls on the deaf ears of those older than me simple because they regaurd me to young to see things clearly, when they haven't so much as bowed a knee. I see people with hollow lives, mundane existences, and people my age and sometimes older that (in my estimation) are not wise and have not lived as much as I have. I don't know if this is true or it is my own vanity. After all, I'm a not even a big duck in a small pond, but a tadpole in a sea of experiences. I guess I just feel like other people my age are talking about all the things they want to do, and I don't feel that way. I am content with the things already done, but I know that if I feel like I have lived three times over at twenty five... how many more adventures await me?
Christ have mercy on a small man... make my beard grow back in fast.
On the Grid
Back in a time when Yahoo was still a better search engine than Google, people just used the Google search engine to "Google" other people or themselves. This is how most people heard about Google. You would be sitting in your coffee shop of choice sipping your double shot cafe' latte' and your hip and trendy friend would sit down next to you and say "I Googled myself last night and this is what came up..." Or some psychopaths would Google the person they were dating as the ultimate act of checking up on them.
If you have never done it, just go to Google and type "your name" (make sure you use the quotes) and search. The scary thing is, I haven't done that in about four years. A fellow blogger just mentioned it so I wanted to see what has changed. So I ran a search and my results brought up this site.
http://find.allfolks.com/
This site allows you to track someone through legal documents like address changes at the post office, criminal records, traffic tickects, court records, etc. For fifty dollars you can find out everywhere I've lived for the past fifteen years at what ages I lived there, all my relatives and their addresses, lawsuits brought against me, and so on. Just think for the low price of 49.95 you can download someone elses entire life.
Scary.
This Sucks like a Hoover
Oh My Word!!! It's worse than nails on a chalkboard!!!
Usually it happens on Friday, which makes the situation worse because I'm the only one here. But this week they decided to make it Monday. I'm trying to do my job which mainly consists of utilizing music, media, reading, and the creative process in general. I CAN'T DO THAT WHILE THEY VACUUM OUTSIDE MY DOOR WITH THE LOUDEST VACUUM CLEANER MADE IN 1976!!!
Visions from my childhood flash before my eyes of my crazy mother who used to open our doors at 9:00 AM on Saturdays and vacuum our rooms while we tried to sleep. It wasn't really that our rooms needed to be vacuumed it was a battle of wills. We thought we should get to sleep in on Saturdays. She felt that there was some kind of magic barrier that prevented the house from being cleaned past noon. She wanted us to get up at 8 AM and help her clean the house. My brother and I didn't mind doing house work or yard work. We just wanted to do it well rested.
When I moved to a ground floor apartment in Hannibal I was fortunate enough to live below a woman who worked the night shift. I thought this was awesome. If I threw a party, she was at work and wouldn't complain and stomp on the floor to tell us to "pipe down." I thought I had it made until the first time she vacuumed her floor (my bedroom ceiling) at 6 AM on Saturday morning when she got home from work. She did this every Saturday like clockwork.
And so here I sit in my office barely able to concentrate enough to write this as our sweet old janitors vacuum the hallway outside my office. I tried closing my door on Fridays and they act like they are offended. Like my being annoyed by the vacuum is really me being annoyed by them. But at least today the whole staff gets to enjoy this. Usually on Fridays its just me. I just sit here thinking "There is no way vacuuming the hall takes this long!" I keep expecting to walk out of my office and just see four or five vacuum cleaners sitting outside my door turned on.
I don't know what it is but THAT SOUND makes me climb the walls.
If All Else Fails...
I spend a lot of time at the drive-thru at Taco Bell. I'm not sure if this is more a reflection of the frequency of my visits or more a reflection of the service. This particular evening I found myself at a Taco Bell that was clearly having issues inside. I feel I can safely assume this because it took the woman in front of me ten minutes to order one taco. It was one of those visits when you wait for so long you just put the car in park. I finally get up to the window and this poor frazzled man asks me if I want any taco sauce. No. I can tell that he is more than a little stressed as he hands me my drink. Then doesn't remember which drink he gave me and asks me to "test" it to see if it is, in fact, Pepsi. After I confirm the drink he asks me what kind of taco sauce I said that I wanted. Nothing. He hands me the three items I ordered all bagged separately in there very own sacks. "I'm sorry, did you want any taco sauce, " he sighs. No. No Taco Sauce. He then seems to move on to the next thing and is puzzled as to why I'm still there. As he slid the window open I handed him my money and he says, "oh yeah, right." Then of course, as he hands me my change he says, "Did you want any sauce?"
As I drove away I had to wonder about that man. He was clearly 55 or older, and it didn't seem like he had been doing that job very long. I had to wonder what life choices bring you to Taco Bell at the age of 55. Has he never really moved past that in his life? Has he been flipping burgers for 40 years? Or did he have a job that got replaced by a machine? Should he have gone to Computer Based Learning Center to adapt to the job market? Was he just laid off early so the company could screw him out of retirement? Did he loose his job because of Alzheimer's?
On the one hand, I want to admire him for having the humility to get what ever job he could to make ends meet for his family... On the other hand I pity him for working fast food his whole life and not planning ahead...
My reaction... I eat my taco. With no sauce.
I guess I always struggle with my idea of success. I bump into people I went to high school with and they are working at a gas station, or delivering pizzas and I don't want to think I'm better than they are, but at the same time I can't help but feel sorry for them that they aren't doing something... more.
May become itchy and irritated...
I think I might give up on talking on the phone for a while. I feel like I would get more done and be less irritated. Honestly, how many five minute phone calls do you get during the day that are four minutes too long. Sometimes I get 30 minute phone calls at work that are 29 minutes too long. I go through this all the time (mostly with women). You just end up on the phone talking about NOTHING. And not in the cool, fun way like when you talk to the person you love about nothing for hours... really I'm on the phone with people and nothing is really being discussed.
Example: Someone will call me at work to inform me of some information that has changed about an event. They call me so I can change the announcements. This should take 30 seconds. "Hey, I was just calling to say that the event will be 4PM instead of 3:59PM." "Okay, I will make the change." click.
But what really happens is they take me on the 15 minute journey of why they made that decision. "Well I woke up and after talking it over with Becky... oh by the way Becky had this really funny joke... oh I can't remember it... we laughed really hard... anyway, so we were thinking about the time the event started and... oh I almost remembered what she said... Oh, it was right there... oh well... so" At this point I am flipping a coin to decide if I should hang myself with the phone chord or simply bang my head against the desk until I blackout.
Today, I pull up to the gym I go to and my mom calls on the phone. "Hey are you at work?" "No, I'm at the gym." "Oh, I'm trying to get a hold of Patti (my secretary)... she isn't with you?" "No mom, Patti didn't come with me to the gym (sigh)." "Oh right... well I was just going to get a pedicure and I thought that if Patti was a work..." I cut her off "Mom, I'm AT THE GYM. Are you going to tell me a narration of your thoughts on why you want to get a hold of my secretary of whom I have no idea of her whereabouts and your line up for the rest of your night?" "(laugh) yes" "I love you mom, but" click.
I find myself on the phone almost all day screaming inside "i don't care. I don't care. I DON"T care. I DON'T CARE! GET TO THE POINT!"
So I think if I just decide that I don't take phone calls I can stop this. People can just leave a message with the information, no story needed. It's funny, I don't have this reaction when people are there in the flesh, just on the phone.
On being kissable...
I had a bad experience when I was sixteen and again when I was nineteen. I probably should have known better the second time around. But I really don't understand why it still goes on probably millions of times a day around the world.
Just two days ago, my roommate and I were in the gym and I see this guy working out, and this guy is flipping huge, but he had this weird look on his face. I kept pretending to watch the TV on the wall and sneaking glances (because you can get killed for staring at another guy at the gym). Finally I saw the spit cub on the ground. I put two and two together. Sour look + lip bulge + spit cup = Chewing Tobacco. When I figured it out I was really surprised. Do people really still do that? In the suburbs of Chicago? In a gym?
Sure enough, on my way to work I stopped at the BP and went inside to pay because I know the lady that works there. Three out of four of the people in front of me in line bought either chew or cigarettes (at like $6 a pack no less). I really don't get it! It makes me so confused that I'm angry about it.
For just about as long as the tobacco and alcohol industry has been in business they lean on the fact that 1. Their product is addictive. 2. Sex appeal. Every cigarette and beer add is aimed at telling people that being drunk and dragging a cigarette will make you look sophisticated and sexy. This has not been my experience. How is putting tobacco in your lip and spitting out what looks like mud into a cup every 30 seconds sexy? How is making your clothes and my clothes and your hair smell bad sexy? When I lived in MO, the first time I saw a girl spit tobacco juice out of her mouth, a shiver ran down my spine and I vomited in my mouth a little.
See when I was 16 I kissed a girl that was smoking. Don't judge me. I was at a dance club. I didn't know her, I didn't expect it. It was not hot. I almost threw up in her mouth. Again, when I was 19 the date I was with smoked a cigarette two hours ago, chewed gum, and put on perfume. When I kissed her all I could taste and smell was cigarette.
So I don't understand. In the Chicagoland area they are making it illegal to smoke in restaurants, city parks, your car, and get this... bars. Tobacco prices are through the roof. You get cancer from chew and cigarettes (or fags as the British call them). They make girls smell and taste like campfire ashes.
WHY IS THIS STILL GOING ON?
Things are more awkward when they are closer.
I made a post September 21st entitled "Wash, Rinse, Repeat." It was given 8 out of 10 stars on the "is this post gay" meter but it is true none the less. I was saying how I went to Hair Cuttery to get a cheaper hair cut and I felt like I was cheating on my "stylist" Joy. The girl that cut my hair's name was Laura. (Not the same girl from the post about Taco Bell)
This is going somewhere I promise.
So yesterday I went back to Hair Cuttery for a quick clip and some lady I don't know says "Sure I can take a walk-in. Come on back. Do you care who does your hair?" "No" I reply as she sits me down in a chair next to a small boy getting his hair cut by Laura. So not only did I cheat on my stylist with Laura, I'm now getting my hair cut by yet another lady sitting right next to Laura.
I try to convince myself that she doesn't recognize me. But then the lady cutting my hair starts asking me questions. Do you live around here? What do you do for a living? Well, there goes that plan. So I'm giving these one word answers and trying to time my responses with Laura leaving to go get things from the back.
After it was all said and done, I had to wonder "What the *&^) is going on in my head!"
Maybe I'm destined to be weird. Maybe I'm destined to be at odds with girls named Laura.
You could always work in advertising...
I just saw a commercial for birth control pills.
The background song playing was "We're not going to take it."
I think it's time to fire someone.
Adventures with the Next Blog button
The problem with blogging on a regular basis is... well, frankly... that no one else does. I don't mean no one, just very few. Many people today would rather post a picture with a caption, or a link that says "check this out."
For a while I stopped blogging and then it was just once a month. I was chided for my neglect, and so I have resumed. But now I log in with expectations to read comments and check out updates on other blogs, only to find less and less each month. I've tried to cheer myself up by making smiley faces with the ":" and ")" keys. After about twelve pages of that, I decided to seek out new opportunities. I pressed the "Next Blog" button located at the top of the page.
Here are my observations.
- Many people don't blog in English. I wonder if this adds to the experience. I also wonder what Swedish people call their literature/grammar class. "Yeah, have fun in gym I'll see you in Swedish."
- The porn industry has blogs. I guess they have feelings to share... it gets boring after awhile. Everyone just keeps talking about how good everything feels.
- Pictures posted without captions are more mysterious.
- Many people are boring.
- Most boring people believe themselves to be interesting.
- If you are boring, you should post pictures with no captions... or don't post.
- There is a whole subculture of bloggers that are posting pictures of their children in sports team apparel and discussing which team they are going to force them to like. Many of these blogs are written by women. I want to visit these blogs repeatedly to see how quickly the child rebels and joins the school musical.
- Most good blogs go unappreciated, unnoticed, and are few and far between. Only 1 out of every 31 blogs is good. I can assume this because after pushing the button thirty times I have yet to find one worth reading. I will keep the hope alive though.
- People who devote their blog to creating discussion about politics have no need for comment sections. No one will.
So in closing, push at your own risk.
Way to die and ruin MY day...
Is this your life?
After I battled two construction zones, one stripped road, and traffic being rerouted because of an arrest I finally made it to Lew St. This time of year Lew St. is a breath of fresh air. There is no construction, no heavy traffic. It is about a quarter mile stretch of road that gently curves and becomes Rock Creek Rd. This is the last two minutes of my drive to work. It is quiet and pretty as the leaves are changing. Sometimes they litter the road and it is like being in a leaf tunnel with the trees stretching above and the fallen leaves covering the road below making it more reminiscent of a forest floor than a paved road.
Yesterday morning as I was turning the corner, smoothly transitioning in the limbo somewhere between Lee and Rock Creek I spotted a squirrel in the road. He obviously wass running about trying to store up nuts for the coming winter. And by some will of fate, his travels brought him to stand on the dotted yellow line in the middle of Rock Creek Rd. Although his tail was a bit mangy, he was slightly cute the way all animals that wiggle there noses rapidly are, so I veered right and give him a wide berth.
I'm not quite sure what happened next. Even though there were no other cars, even though I was steering the car away from him, even though he was facing away from my side of the street... when my car came within five feet of the squirrel, he turned suddenly and ran in front of my car. He started to dart across the road and then stopped. I swerved to try and angle the car so it would pass under the middle and not under a tire. Just before he left my line of sight over my hood, I see him turn and leap. I felt the bump. I heard the thud. I looked in my rear view mirror to see his body twitching on the road.
I did everything I could. He had every opportunity not to be in that situation. I don't get it.
Home Sweet Home
Just when you think your town is actually becoming somewhat sophisticated... you drive into town and are greeted by a sign that says,
Oktoberfest
September 28-29
Located on Main Street
Wash, Rinse, Repeat
Do you have a "stylist"? That's what hair dressers call themselves. Much like stewardesses prefer to be called "flight attendants". It makes being a waitress on an airplane seem more important.
Well I have a stylist, and let me tell you sometimes it feels like a bigger commitment than I signed up for. I mean... I already have a girlfriend. However, every time I see Joy (my stylist) at the gym or at Jewel she is like, "Hey, I haven't seen you in a while. You haven't stopped by or called me." And the whole time she isn't looking me in the eye, she is looking at my hair to make sure it is the accurate length for the lapse in time I have been to see her. I just keep praying my hat is covering enough and that she doesn't notice the proverbial lipstick on my collar. That's right. I cheat on my stylist. And everyday of my life I try not to get caught.
It's a dangerous thing. When I go to see Joy, it is at a very nice "day spa"/"salon". You know, where everyone wears black and all the girls that cut hair wouldn't know their natural hair color if they saw it on a color chart. She knows my life story and I feel comfortable asking her opinion on my hair style. It's an all around good experience. But then I go to pay and it costs about thirty dollars once you put in the tip. So I don't feel I can sustain this relationship all the time. So I go slumming.
It feels so cheap when I do it. I go to the Hair Cuttery, and I don't care what girl I get. They all tell me to come back and give me their card, but I throw it away. They give me a ten dollar hair cut, and mostly I just want a trim. They try and make chit chat... "So what do you do for a living? Have you lived here long?" Yes! Yes! I've lived here all my life, just cut my hair and please, please don't tell anyone that I was here. Don't tell my stylist... I'll do anything.
And then when I go back to Joy there is awkwardness...
"So where have you been."
"Nowhere."
"Wow your neck line looks really good, did you do this yourself?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
She has to know. I don't know why she continues to see me. It's probably just for my money.
I got the weirdest girl yesterday at Hair Cuttery. I sat down and she asks, "Have you been swimming a lot this summer?" "No, not really." I reply. She says, "Oh, cause I can smell it in your hair." I didn't say anything. I didn't tell her I thought it was weird that her mutant power was to tell where a person has been by smelling their hair. I didn't tell her it was weird that she smelled my hair. I didn't tell her I was offended because I shampoo and condition everyday. And I didn't tell here that I hadn't showered yet that day. I just got my cheap cut, paid the lady and went on my way.
I have to break the cycle.
Multicultural
I never knew what mulicultural really meant until now. But sitting in my living room with Omar (a 31 year old man from Peru) watching him play along to the Pink Floyd DVD and chat in spanich online... I understand.
No I don't. This is kind of unnerving. We have very little to talk about.
Blues Not Like Jazz
This past weekend was the Chicago Jazz feastival. So my girlfriend wanted to go into the city because there was a certain big band she wanted to hear play. And I think to myself... that's awesome I love Jazz. Turns out I just forgot that I don't.
The word "Jazz" has been thrown around alot to discribe a lot of music that might be better described as "Jazzy". About ten minutes into the feastivus for the rest of us, I realized that what I meant to say is "I like Blues music." Blues music is the first steps to rock and roll. Jazz is people taking turns soloing. I forgot that Jazz music is kind of like what you hear when you go to a church that speaks in tongues. One person starts a prayer and then there are random people shouting jibberish really fast and sometimes they bleed over into someone elses jibberish.
Or maybe a better word picture would be when my friends and I used to go dancing in college. We would go to a bar called "Rocky's" for "Bad Music Thursdays". Since the music was funny 80's and early 90's music my friend's Adam, Matt, and I would stand in a triangle and we would all start out doing the same non-commital head bob dance that is popular with all white guys who can't dance. Then out of nowhere Adam would do the running man, then point to Matt who would do the sprinkler, then point to me who would do the shopping cart, then point to Adam who would do the worm, then point to Matt who would do the robot, then point to me who would pull my shirt over my head and run around the bar screaming.... actually I take it back. That is not a good picture at all.
And once the madness stopped you would hear a deep voice coming from the general direction of a bowling shirt saying, "That was our hit single Transgender cosmic pink constilation sandwich... Thank You."
Christmas In August
Last week we left our hero in staff meeting. This week...
Staff meeting was a little rough as we were evaluating my ministry. Everyone was down to business until flames came out of Stan's butt. Patti thought it was because he was naked from the waist down behind his desk. I knew it was the drugs.
The Living Christmas Tree... I mean Barn
We are starting rehearsals for this year's "Living Christmas Tree" which is not really that anymore. It is a Broadway style musical that requires us to build a barn inside our auditorium. I've been listening to the same Christmas CD for eight hours. I would be really excited about it (it is a fantastic musical) but I have a billion things to do. I be excited later.
Renew Your Prescription Every Two Years
If you read my archives in February of 2007 you will find a story of Laura, who works at Taco Bell. To recap, this girl has no eyebrows, looks like a Muppet cause her skin and lips are the same color, is tanned beyond all recognition, and has a look on her face that makes her look like she could star in a movie called "safety scissors." So Eric and I went to Taco Bell to get a... well.. a taco. And of course, I went inside because I will never go through the drive-up since Laura must be writing a book on screwing up my order and the psychological effects. And so when I get in line, sure enough, she is working the drive-up window. We exchange a look that I'm sure Lex Luther and Superman exchange when they see each other at a distance when they show up at the same parties. I whisper to Eric, "That's that girl that I blogged about. The one that hasn't got my order right since January!" Eric replies to me, "Wow, she is hot!"
I slapped him in the face.
I used to blog once a week
For all you long time bloggers out there:
Some time when you are bored (i.e. the server is down for 2 days) look over your archives. They are pretty interesting. Or you can look at my archives... they are spectacular.
Preaching to the choir:
If you can read this, I assume you are at least still interested in the blogging world. I was visiting my friends' links and noticed some bloggers haven't posted in many moons. If you do not respond to this post within thirty seconds of reading it, your link will be deleted, and your crush will never know that you really love them. Your lucky numbers are 56889, and 2.
These People Are Crazy:
Those of you that haven't listened to the podcast "These People Are Crazy" need to get a clue. If you don't have a clue, you could asks Blue for one. We haven't posted a podcast in forever. If you would like to hear more please leave comments on Tyler and Nick's blogs pestering them to podcast. Our goal is 50 comments on each blog. Not necessarily 50 people, but 50 comments, so feel free to leave 49 comments per blog. Ready Go!
My Pledge to You:
I pledge that I will at least think about blogging once a week. That is all.
How Long Can This Go On?
Writing this has been on my list of thing that I "Cannot Do" for awhile now for a number of reasons. But I'm just so sick of it.
I miss her.
I don't mean that this is a recent development. I mean I do miss her, and I have missed her the whole time. I have days that I barely think about it and days like today where I feel like I lost a huge piece of myself. I can feel my heart ache in my chest. How long can this go on?
I just feel like if I pretend long enough that it doesn't bother me that eventually it won't. Maybe she'd date someone else. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. But I pretend it doesn't bother me, cause I don't want to doubt my decision. It was the right decsion. Neither one of us was willing to budge... where can you go like that? So, if I'm not okay and confindent then that leaves room for doubt... and I would rather pretend than allow that. It would be easier if she would just learn to hate me. It's easier to deal with when you are angry. Blame me for giving up. Call me and tell me I'm a bastard. She called and wanted to keep trying, but if she couldn't fully trust me before, how could she now? If she kept one foot out cause she was afraid to get hurt before, how could she be fully in the relationship after this?
I talk about dating other people like it would be fun, but really it's just cheap fun to kill and bury hurt. It's not fun. I don't like being "out there". I'm angry cause she was so damn stubborn! But I could have given in. I was just sick of it. Why was I the one who always had to budge? Why couldn't I just continue and chalk it off to love. "Well, if you love someone, that's it... you just keep working." Is that true? Then why did we both need reasons? Why couldn't we both just do things for eachother because we asked? What was she so afraid of? I was afraid of being my mother: bitter toward my dad cause he never budged, so scared of something that he never expressed love like she did, scared cause he didn't know what he wanted. So, instead of bitter, I'm heart broken. And I have no one to blame but me. I stopped it. Why can't I stop this?
Can I say that? Can I feel like this? Can I believe in my decision and hurt this much? It must be possible, cause here I am. I told myself that someone else wouldn't take me for granted. That someone else would be easier. Together I was so frustrated and hurt that I felt like she kept a piece of herself from me and hid it. But now I have none. Which is better? I'm not sure.
All I know is that I'm not okay.
Surprise, Surprise
Some surprises are great.
"Oh, you didn't know... that's 70% off sir."
Some surprises are less than spectacular.
"Wait a minute... what's in this casserole?"
I just left the McDonald's drive-thru under the impression that I was leaving with a three dollar value meal featuring a double cheese burger, small fries, and medium coke. As I stuck my hand in the bad to eat the fries (those poor fries rarely make the journey home) I felt a packet of sauce. I retrieved the ticket and what was in my possession was a six dollar value meal built around a ten piece nugget and large everything. Great surprise? The only sauce was BBQ.
Any Dick, Jane, or Sally can tell you the only proper sauce to dip McNuggets in is Sweet and Sour sauce. Chicken Selects... sure... get the BBQ sauce or the gourmet honey mustard. But McNuggets are barely chicken and then should only be paired with S&S sauce.
The quality of this surprise is still under speculation.
BTW : There have been some conserns raised about my new template. Is anyone else having problems reading it besides people with Mac's or IBM's made in 1994? It should be a photo on the left and the text should be over black space on the right.
Vacation Days
What should I spend my vacation days on? Lately, I've been trying to get down to Hannibal to visit a family I know there. Every time I bring it up my Dad/Boss says stuff like, "Well, if you work this day you can take 'compensation time' and you don't have to waste your vacation days." When, lets be honest, if I actually took all my 'comp' time nothing would get done.
My vacation days are pretty consistent. Out 14 days (only two can be Sundays) I take 5 to visit my friend Jeff and go snow boarding on the East Coast. I take 2 at Christmas time to go to a hotel with my family.... and that's it. So I have 1 Sunday and 6 days. I would love to go sit on a beach somewhere, but that's not so "awesome" alone. And any snowboarding I do is usually in January - March or I just do with my normal days off during the week. So I still have a week to blow this year. I thought about just going to where ever Southwest Airlines was running a special.
Any suggestions?
Why Not Having Friends Is Expensive
I was taking my parents to the airport this morning at 6AM!!!! and I saw a taxi at the airport that was advertising Aurora to O'Hare $100. I thought that it was almost worth the $100 as I was falling asleep at the wheel. Just think about it. Sometimes having friends is emotionally taxing. Especially when they "bring the drama." But you might consider the financial aspect.
Rides to the airport.
Do you want to hire a taxi or a limo to go to and from the airport in Chicago traffic?
One word: Trucks
Let's face it, if you own a truck, any truck, you are the number one friend of anyone who needs furniture moved. No one wants to pay for a budget truck.
Pizza.
Yes I would like to split a pizza cause after college pizza costs $20 for a small.
Strippers
....
Rent
Living by yourself is expensive.
Also, none of the above things and many others are fun by yourself. Everyone should have a friend that isn't a narc.
Are you a narc?
Not That Anyone Reads My Blog Anymore Anyways
For the love of all that is holy, people!!! Let's talk about your myspace shall we?
One: I might (in the slightest way) be interested in the results of maybe one of the thousands of internet personality tests that tell you what kind of Coke you are, what Lord of the Rings character you are most likely to have a one night stand with, or what kind of kisser you are. However, there is ABSOLUTELY NO REASON to post ALL of the results on your page, complete with graphics. After, I stop the bleeding from my eyes and nose, I realize that I will never look at all the information on your page and I leave, only returning when I feel like slapping my self in the face. I don't care what flavor of icey pops you are, and if I want to find out what kind of kisser you are I wouldn't find out on the internet. Have some class.
Two: Picture on Picture crime is starting to be a problem. Stick to the rules of one and not two. As in, have one flash album, one video, one song, and one background photo (usually better if it is unobtrusive). I can just as easily visit your "pics" on your profile. In fact, Tom in all his wisdom has given you separate sections for your pictures and video. I don't need them animated in four different flash programs on your home page. Also, in the "About Me" section... you can just write the names of your favorite TV shows... I trust you that it is a real show... you don't have to prove it with seven pictures.
Threeve: What the H#$% is with your pictures? You look like you are constantly eating extremely sour candy. Smile. That's what people do in pictures. But if that is your "sexy" face... we need to talk. I'd even take a funny face over your myspace face. Or at least change it up. And if you are going to take a picture of yourself, it's okay to do it at an angle that isn't just showing me the top of your head and your one eye. Unless you only have one eye... then, good job... your hair covers the socket nicely. I can only deduce that you are, in fact, four feet tall and have one eye and you are showing me a picture so I will recognize you when I tower over you and look down while we are in the bathroom, next to the mirror.
Four: Stop using heart as a verb. That is all.
Things I was going to blog about but never did.
"Apples to Apples" and "Boxers or Briefs"
You might recognize these titles from the last "20 something" party you went to. They're not really board games, but only because there is no board. I cannot guarantee there will not be any bored. But seriously people, how the games work is that one person either draws a question or just a card with one word on it. Your job as a participant is pick one of the seven cards in your hand that you think matches the question or the one word in the center. Now here is the crazy part... there is no criteria for who then wins. The person who put the question/word in the center just picks which one he/she likes the best. It could be the most accurate, the closest synonym, or the funnest random card. And so here in lies the problem with these games.
These games could and would be the funniest addition to any party of pretend friends and stuffed animals. The problem is that people play these games. And by people I mean people with no taste. And by no taste, I mean no sense of humor. And by people with no taste or sense of humor I mean, my family. Let me expound...
Example: The card was "The greatest invention of the 20th century."
My answer: The electric chair (clearly the funniest answer and pure genius in the timing and that my sister-in-law's 70 year old mother read it)
The winning answer: Cars
This kind of thing went on for hours. With me executing moves like "pudding" "Danny DeVito" "Walks like a girl" and "is clearly drunk" with no winning tokens to show for it. But I persisted, amusing myself and sometimes the other cynics in the room. And by other cynics I mean my mother.... who is crazier than all-get-out.
(sigh) Nobody gets me.
Goldbond, helping men wear leather pants since 1945
Playing electric guitar while wearing kakki pants is like kissing your sister.
Playing electric guitar while wearing leather pants is like slipping the tongue on the first kiss.
I had one of these experiences on Sunday morning. Can you guess which?
Such A Tool
I don't really consider myself the "Mr. Fix-it, tough guy, grease monkey, tool totin'" type of guy. I consider my construction and tool usage knowledge to be... minimal if at all worth noting. I don't own or wear a wife beater. My hands are not calloused. I don't have a goatee. I'm not sporting a barbed wire or loony toons tattoo. And the hair on my arms does not appear darker because of the oil and dirt soaked into it. If I could say it this way; you're more likely to find me getting my nails done, than hammering nails.
However...
in the past five years, I've started to think that my knowledge (while remedial) may be better than I first thought.
Example:
While visiting a house rented by four girls I fixed a door. They were having people over and they have one of those doors that slide back into the wall. It was off the track and stuck half way. While other guys struggled with it, I simply walked outside to my Foreign import car (not my Chevy truck) and got my tool box pulled out my claw hammer and took down the door. The room was silent and the only reply was, "...you mean, you carry tools in your car? You just have them all the time? That is so cool!"
At this house I have also: Assembled furniture, fix light fixtures, repaired trim, and changed tires.
In these past years I have ripped out walls, hung drywall, plastered and painted, replaced a water pump, and changed numerous other car parts.
I'm starting to wonder if mechanical, construction and carpentry skills are just inherent in the male gene? Anyone need an addition put on their house?
Customer Service?
This is my story... this is my song. So one of the lamps went out in the video projectors at work and I had to call Sharp Electronics to get a new one. This was over three weeks ago. And in calling for a new projector lamp I started a series of events that were to change my life forever. The days are a little hazy and being as I am turning 40 on the 28th of this month (26 rounded up to 30 which might as well be 40) my memory is not what it used to be, but let me go back.
I remember talking to a guy that assured me that the bulb he was ordering for me was the correct bulb and that I was mistaken about the model number... it was the wrong bulb... I had to return it.
I remember then receiving the correct model of bulb, but it wasn't working... I had to return it. (each of these bulbs cost over $500)
I remember (literally every time) calling Sharp Direct then being transferred to Sharp Tech Support and then being transferred back to Sharp Direct with the Tech Support person wondering why you were transferred to them in the first place.
I remember talking to a woman for ten minutes trying to explain the problem and her trying to convince me that they didn't even carry "that product" only to hear her finally say, " ohhh, I thought you were talking about a microwave... you know they have bulbs...but we don't carry them."
I remember interactions like this "Yes sir, it looks like you called here yesterday." "Yes I did. I called four times yesterday, three times the day before that, and five times last week." "Wow! Sir you are really patient, that is such a blessing in itself, you are so blessed." "..."
I remember my neck getting rapped in the chord right before I blacked out and then waking up without feeling in my left ear.
So now I have placed one more order. Maybe it will be right, maybe not. Maybe they will send me a working projector lamp, or maybe that nice lady will send me a new microwave. I am so patient, I am so blessed.
STFU
Just a heads up. If you ever use the word "heart" as a verb, we can't be friends. Just so we're clear... this is the case where some Jr. High prepubescent girl says, "oh... I heart those shoes." So if you are above the age of 13 and you use "heart" in this manner, we can't be friends. This also goes for actually saying out loud any kind of IM/Internet speak. In fact, if you ever look at me after I tell a joke and say "lol man" I will slap you.... I'm not kidding. I won't punch you, because only grown men should be punched. And if you say "lol" you must be a girl or a robot..
Are you a robot?
Clearly, this is "Nacho" (Not your) day
Right now I am so furious that you know what I am going to do?!? NOTHING!!
I stopped by Taco Bell on my way home. We have one of the those KFC, Taco Bell Hybrids. And by hybrid I mean that it has an incomplete menu from both restaurants and everything tastes like fried chicken. The past three times I have gone to this Taco Bell my order has never been right. And it is always the same girl... Laura. She is evil.
She is this girl that looks like she is about sixteen. She is tanned beyond all recognition. And for some unknown reason her lips are the same color as her skin and it looks freakish. She walks around with this dull look on her face like she is too bored with life or she has been smoking pot.
The past three times I have gone through the drive-up she has been there. Like a super villain ready to thwart me. For a month now I have been trying to eat a "steak grilled stuffed burrito combo." This particular combo pairs a steak grilled stuffed burrito with a regular order of nachos and is accented by a large drink of your choice. The three times I have ordered it the results were:
1. A CHICKEN taco supreme and nacho supreme with medium drink.
2. A BEEF grilled stuffed burrito and nachos with a large drink.
(I even double checked it at the window because I knew the price was too cheap. "Are you SURE that it is steak?" "oh yeah, it is."
3. And finally today I received a regular crunchy steak taco, and a BEAN burrito supreme with no nachos!!!! The REALLY STUPID thing is that I looked at the receipt and it says Supreme steak taco and they gave me a regular one. THEY SCREWED UP THE ORDER THAT WAS WRONG!!! And right there at the top of the receipt is the name "Laura."
I was so dumbfounded, I thought of going inside, but was afraid of what they would do next. So I took my food home and bit into the bean burrito and it was COLD ON THE INSIDE.
I'M BEING TAUNTED BY THE SPAWN OF SATAN... LAURA!!!!!!
I will never again visit the drive-thru of this Taco Bell. Because I know that given these past experiences, Laura will be working at Taco Bell for the rest of her life, or until she tans herself to death. Therefore, never again will my order be safe at this establishment.
Lent
The experiment has failed, but I count it a success. I had decided that I was going to give up red meat and pop (soda) for lent. So I started by going Monday and just having one can of pop. Then Tuesday I had half a can. Yesterday and today, I had none. Let me share with you some things I have learned.
1. I drank a lot of green tea (with citrus) as a substitute beverage. No one told me it was a diuretic. Today I suddenly (and I'm sure you know what I mean) had to poop. In one swift bowel movement I cleansed my system. I can't tell you what it feels like to be alarmed at the size and amount of the bowel moment you just had.
2. I am not fun without chemical stimulation. I feel like "fun Bobby" on friends. Who wasn't fun unless he was drinking. After the caffeine was out of my system I became lethargic and unfocused.
3. Today, I entered a state of chemical withdrawal. Which combined with stress at work and other crappy things this week, has launched me into a state of melancholy, and mild depression.
4. I went to bed early and got up late.
5. During the brief periods that I was lucid, I felt very healthy. I believe I have flushed a lot of crap out of my system.
I am drinking a McDonald's Coke right now.
I am done with this experiment. It was short lived, but effective. I am cutting back my pop (soda) intake permanently.
Man you got to really want it
I am just overwhelmed sometimes with the effort it takes to be apart of the blogging community. Just yesterday I tried to comment on a friend's blog and couldn't do it. With added security to screen for the random visitor or the spammer, to comment I have to log-in (now blogger requires your whole e-mail), enter my password, and try to decipher the security "word". And let's be honest. It is never really a word. It is always a random assortment of letters that is pure gibberish and is in a font so weird that you can't tell the difference between I's and L's or V's and U's or g's and q's. So yesterday I tried to comment three times and I couldn't decipher the security word. I just gave up. And the comments remained zero.
I would like you all to take a quick look at my comments. They are haloscan comments and not blogger comments. I have no spam, no log-in, no security word. It is easy as pie to comment on my blog and I never get unwanted comments. Or if I do, I just delete them.
If you would like to live footloose and fancy free, go to www.haloscan.com and follow the instructions. Five minutes of your life will save me more time than you could imagine. And then I won't have to kill you.
Just to clarify my sanity
I just want to put this out there.
Under the Category:
THINGS THAT DON'T REALLY MATTER
Who is the next American Idol going to be?
- do you really care about who the fifth person off the bench is?
Who won a Grammy?
- like this has anything to do with talent...
Who won an Academy Award?
- it doesn't matter you've never seen the movie that wins.
- nor is it any good.
Under the Category:
VALENTINES DAY
No Sprint, I'm quite certain the most romantic thing you can do is NOT getting your girlfriend a red razor and locking her into a 2 year joint cell phone plan... nothing says "I love you" like a short leash.
Under the Category:
ANNA NICHOLE SMITH
How did she die?
-Really? You don't know how a drug abusing alcoholic, who advertises for a diet pill company just collapses and dies? I wonder what the cause was?
Who will get her daughter?
- Maybe if you payed more attention to what is happening to your kid, than what is happening to Anna's there would be less drug abusing alcoholics, who suddenly die.
Under the Category:
TIM HARDAWAY
- When did freedom of speech begin to mean that you can say anything you want as long as it is what everyone else wants to hear?
- I don't hate gay people, but I can't stand the preaching of tolerance by the homosexual community when they have no intention of tolerating anyone who disagrees with them.
Pope Pious Maximus Timothy XIX
Despite the fact that I am not catholic,
I am thinking of giving up meat for lent.
Discuss.
Jumping, Jumping, Jumping
So now that it has dropped below 10 degrees I feel like I can finally blog about some winter things.
Jumping
I don't wear pajamas. My bedroom is above the unheated garage. My room is 40 degrees. Well, not really, but at 7:30 AM doesn't every room feel like it is 40 degrees. Well my room actually is... no that really happened. Every morning I snap awake in a panic. I wake up fifteen minutes before my alarm goes off (my body has trained itself to do this because my alarm clock is so loud it gives me a heart attack, so my body over compensates by giving me a heart attack before my alarm goes off) and I wake up in such a panic that my first thoughts are, "I'm panicking. I must have over slept." But even in the presence of that misinformation, I am reluctant to leave my bed. Not that I'm tired, but my nearly naked body will have to jump from my warm bed through the icy tundra of my room to the warmth of my shower, then jump from my shower across the freezing tile floor to get my towel, jumping back into the steam residue of the shower to dry off, jumping back through my room fast enough to grab some clothes so I can get dressed in the hall where my wet body won't drop into hypothermia, so I can jump into my cold car and come to work.
There are too many temperature changes for me in the morning. I don't even want to start my day, because of the giant degree swings that await me.
Jumping
I went snowboarding with my Dad on Tuesday. It took awhile to get used to my new board. It is faster and longer. But by the end of the day I was trying out jumps and grinding rails. To all those who don't know: longer board = harder to control. I fell on a six foot long, one foot wide metal bar.
Man I love this sport.
Jumping
I wish I had a clapper.
Call me crazy, but I feel like the world is backwards. The town home I currently reside in has a whole lot of switches in it... not light switches, but switches nonetheless. When I first moved in I noticed there was a switch on the wall of my bedroom just to the right when you enter the door. Exactly where a light switch should be in a bedroom. But you could flip this switch all day long and nothing would happen, because it isn't connected to a light, it is connected to an outlet. In fact, there are many switches in my house that are not connected to lights, they are connected to outlets. This is more annoying than having a scratch on the roof of your mouth.
I know the theory behind it. No permanent light fixtures means more versatility, but for goodness sake the outlet switch is so annoying. The switch always seems to go to an outlet that is in the middle of a wall, somewhere you would not put a light, a lamp, or anything that you could turn on with a switch. Instead, it ends up being where you need to plug in a clock, which of course you are not going to, because every time you enter the room you flip the switch out of habit resetting your clock.
In my bedroom, I have three lamps THREE IN ONE BEDROOM. It is still the most poorly lit room in the whole house. If I had just one light fixture in the middle of the ceiling I could light the whole room. And all my lamps just so happen to be in the best places to put lamps in that room, but as fate would have it, none of those outlets are controlled by the switch on the wall. So the switch on the wall becomes nothing more than a memorial to a more functional age, when houses actually were lit and a simpler time when I didn't have to walk across a dark room to manually turn on a lamp, when there is actually wiring in the wall for a light switch.
I'm saying, if you want to go the route of the outlet switch, there should be a control panel that has small buttons that correspond with each outlet in the room. Now that would be something. Then every outlet is a possibility for light, or have one switch that you could just unscrew the top panel and have a dial that allows you to choose which outlet you want to control. It just seems to me futile to use a switch for outlets instead of fixtures in the name of versatility, when in reality it not only limits you to ground lamp lighting, but only in certain places in the room, and limits the controllable outlets to not being fully functional. And there are subdivisions full of these fixtureless houses.
If I bought a house, or built my own house it would be really important to me that the light switches made sense not only in placement, but I can't stand when there is a double switch and one is up and the other down... and there is no way to make them the same. I feel like that is just poor construction.
One of These Things Is Not Like The Other (Some random Thoughts)
I was pondering this...
Recently there have been some high profile deaths. Gerald Ford, , Peter Boyle, Saddam Hussein, and James Brown. (Although I would like to take this time to voice my conspiracy theory that Saddam is still alive.) However, I am certain that James Brown is dead. In light of Martin Luther King Jr. Day and the approaching Black History month... I am curious... as James brown is or was an icon of soul music and the black community, how do you go about respectfully observing a remembrance of a soul singer, especially one as... uh... charismatic as James Brown? Will someday the banks close to remember the passing of Justin Timberlake in rememberance of the man who single handedly brought sexy back?
Listen Up...
New Podcast on Itunes soon.
Did you know...
... that it is National Fig Newton Day. Have one in celebration.