November 30, 2005
As soon as I have all my facts sorted out I’ll share the fun with all of you, I promise. Until then I’ll just leave you with this teaser, when promoting someone it should be based on ability, drive and a proven willingness to do better. When telling someone they didn’t get the position they should not tell them stuff like, “You are limiting yourself because you are working too hard.”
Thanks to that kind of feedback I just lost one of my best producing minions. She now feels that she is being punished because she is a hard worker.
Did I ever mention my peers are farking dumb arses?!
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There is always a flip side to everything. I will yell at cars that are going too slow, arenÂ’t paying attention to the lights/traffic around them or being jerks in general. There is nothing I hate more then being stuck behind some jag off doing 35 in a 45 or they aren't paying attention to when the light changes and sits there blocking traffic. IÂ’ve been known to spout of quite a rant when this happens.
So it should be no surprise to me that my youngest, Clone, has picked up this habit. Last night on the way home from picking the boys up we were stopped at a light. As soon as the light turned green, I hear from the back seat, “Dude, go! Go dude go!” (Yes, I still say dude, shut up!) Boopie is in the front seat with me laughing; I’m laughing and trying to keep my foot on the break. I didn’t feel like running the COP CAR in front of me over.
To make matters even worse, since the cop was there, I was stuck doing the speed limit. Clone, not used to actually traveling at 30 MPH, felt we weren’t going fast enough and started yelling, “DUDE, GO! GO! GO! GO, DUDE, GO!” He repeated himself numerous times. I tried to explain to him “The dude is going.” That wasn’t good enough for him, it wasn’t until the cop turned off and I was able to speed up to 45 that Clone became satisfied with our speed.
This isnÂ’t the first time heÂ’s done this, he started doing it a couple of weeks ago. It is the first time he got so mad that his little blonde head became bright red in anger. He looked like a tomato with white hair!
The older he gets, the more of my traits I see in him. My poor wife is doomed.
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November 29, 2005
Over the weekend, I took some time to play with Clone. He had a bunch of little plastic Cowboys and Indians spread out across the floor. (Think little green army men.) It started with him picking up an Indian with a bow and saying, “My Guy”. So I picked up a cowboy that looked like he was about to gut shoot someone and said, “Mine!” Grinning, Clone picks up another Indian, this time he has a spear with feathers. My next choice was another cowboy aiming/shooting a pistol. Looking over the pile, Clone picks up an Indian with a tomahawk. I look at the pile and see an Indian with a rifle; I pick him for my team.
Clone tells me, “No, dada. You pick cowboy.”
Me, “What? No, this is Squatchmo. He’s a traitor to his people and works a guide/tracker for my cowboys. We bought him off with firewater and a rifle. Now he takes us around to where all the Indians hide.”
Clone looks at me nods his head and picks up a cowboy, “Dada, Traitor bring Indian rifle.”
I laughed so hard I almost passed out. Ktreva comes running in to see what all the ruckus is. When I tell her what happens she advised me IÂ’m not allowed to give Clone history lessons while IÂ’ve been drinking Jack Daniels.
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Let me establish the fact that Christmas has to be one of my LEAST favorite holidays. The only thing in recent years that has made it at all enjoyable for me is watching the boyÂ’s excitement at it. Personally, I could live with out another Christmas, Kwanza, Hanukah, winter solstice celebration or whatever people celebrate this time of year. IÂ’d say IÂ’m the mix between Scrooge and the GrinchÂ… but that is still too much of a Christmas reference for me. I guess that is why my childhood home at Christmas really grated on my nerves.
My mother had a huge selection of Christmas decorations. Our house had no less then two full sized trees and a third 2-3 footer. Every room had multiple decorations, (except my room, I’d put them away or sneak them into other rooms if they invaded into my territory.) Our main bathroom had a Santa shower curtain, Christmas toilet seat, various Christmas towels, washcloths, soaps, mirror decorations, even window dressings and rugs. A friend of mine, I believe LittleJoe, once described it as a “gay snowman threw up in the bathroom.” From Christmas china, silverware, serving ware, glassware and table dressings to comforters, sheets and even bathrobes the interior of our house was a Christmas nightmare. Red, green, gold and white was the theme from Black Friday to the 2nd of January. My mother had a very strict schedule on when decorations went up and came down. My mother would spend a week baking Christmas cookies. She would make at least 35 different types of Christmas cookies and candies and at least six dozen of each type. That wasn’t even near the worst part of it. Nope, that would be my Father.
Everyone jokes about how their house looks like the GriswoldÂ’s from Christmas Vacation. I hate to break this to you, but my house was the model for that! My father had in excess of 30 figurines, including a full manger scene complete with angels and animals. He built a five-foot tall steel star and hung it on the top of our flagpole, then ran lights down to the manger to show it shining light on it. There were two, yes two, Santas. One climbing down the chimney and one in a sleigh with his 12 reindeer. A four-foot snow man, a choir, 6 toy soldiers, 6 candy canes and two candles finished off his figurine display. Every bush and tree was covered in lights. That was 5 trees and 26 bushes. Each tree/bush had at least one string of 50 lights on it, the trees got up to five strings of 100 lights. The house was covered in lights. Around every window and along every edge, the house was completely lined in lights. Even our mailbox on the street had lights on it.
They were all multi-color lights as my father hated plain white bulbs, the thought they were too bland. He felt color was more eye catching. More eye catching. Just how eye catching did he want? At night, the neighbors with in three houses of us didn’t need to turn on yard lights as our spot-house would day glow the neighborhood. Whenever giving directions to my house I would just tell people head to this major intersection and head for the glowing house. They would laugh until they arrived, and then I would get. “You’re not kidding.”
My father would start the Friday after Thanksgiving putting up the outside decorations. If the weather cooperated, he would finish in 9 days. He would spend all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday of Thanksgiving from 7 AM to 10 PM just putting up lights and decorations. During the week he would rush home after work and continue putting up decorations until well after 10:00 PM. The following Saturday and Sunday, he would finish up. Of course, When I was around eight I had to start helping him put up the decorations. For those of you that have met me in person, this is where I learned my colorful vocabulary. As things would go wrong, my fatherÂ’s language would get harsher. The older I got, the harsher it would get. When I was 17, I had this conversation with my father:
Dad: “The G*D DAMN lights aren’t working. What the Fvck is going on. Hand me the damn pliers”
Me: “Which pliers?”
Dad: “The pliers right there in front of yo… SHITE!”
Me: “What?”
Dad: “That whole string went out. I hate these types of lights, one bulb goes out, the whole damn line goes out. I don’t have time for this shite! Go check all the bulbs on this string.”
Me: “Son of a beotch…”
Dad: “Hey, don’t let your mother hear you use language like that!”
My father just loved most of the attention that he received after the lights where up. He made it in the news all the time and even once won an award for best decorated house in North America… or something like that. He was in newspapers and even a local magazine once. What he didn’t like was the miscreant attention he would get. Inevitably, with in a week of getting any type of media attention some numb nut would vandalize the house. They would steal or break figurines. Once time they took wire cutters to some of the strings of lights and cut them up… which caused a fuse to blow. Every time this would happen, my father would replace the missing or damaged decorations. I always felt bad for him when this would happen as I could see the hurt in his eyes. He spent all that time and energy just to “brighten up” the holidays and some jerk would ruin his display.
However, there were some other funny parts. My father installed timers and a separate circuit box just for the lights. He had to set the timers so that the lights would come on in three phases over 15 minutes. If he didnÂ’t do this, it would actually brown out part of the neighborhood or trip a circuit breaker. Our neighbors joked they could tell when it was dark out from the way the lights would flicker in their house between 4:30 and 5:00 every evening. Commonwealth Edison, the electric company, loved my parents. We used to get a Christmas card from them every year. Now before you say they send one to everybodyÂ… no, they donÂ’t. Our neighbors never received one and to this day, IÂ’ve never received one from them. Friends of mine didnÂ’t believe me about this, until the came over and I would show it to them, hanging on a door with all the other Christmas cards my parents received.
About 6 years ago, my father stopped putting up as many lights as he had been. He suffered his first heart attack and one of the things he had to cut out was the strenuous activities. His cardiologist advised that he could not spend the amount of time out in the cold putting up lights like he used to. My father got rid of all the figurines, and at least 80% of the lights. He also got rid of the star, the one that he spent a Saturday making himself, out of metal. The one he was so proud of because no one else had one like it. It was one of the few times I saw my father upset over any material possession.
Thinking back to all those Christmases, I remember the star. I took the star. I donÂ’t have a flagpole, or any place really to hang it. So it sits along the wall on my back porch lighting it up. ItÂ’s mine now, and some day itÂ’ll be CloneÂ’s. That makes my father happy.
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November 28, 2005
Anyway, back on topic. I decided IÂ’m making a list of whom I want to be there that I have not had a chance to meet yet. I fully expect each of these individuals to drop what ever they are doing and drive, fly, take a bus up here for this event. IÂ’ll even offer my superb chauffeuring service for those that wonÂ’t have a vehicle. Lets get this list started, and in absolutely no particular order, here we go.
Bouddica of BouddicaÂ’s voice. Even though she is a neglectful blog mother, I still am dying to meet her in person.
Machelle of Quality Weenie. Even though she gives me more crap then I feel I deserve.
Sally and Alex of Whimsy Capricious and Alex in Wonderland. Maybe theyÂ’ll finally bring me my haggis. Even though Sally says she's giving up blogging. I think she's just being a tease.
VW of One Happy Dog Speaks. One of my Blog Niesters (Niece/Sister) IÂ’d like to see if my mental image of her is close to accurate.
Sissy of And What Next. My other blog Niester. I actually had a chance to meet her last June, but I decided to do a re-enactment instead. Silly me.
CalTechGirl of Not Exactly Rocket Science. Read her all the time. IÂ’m curious if she has the same personality as so does in the blogosphere. Plus she drove within 2 minutes of my house on her way out west and didnÂ’t have the nerve to even stop and say hello.
Blake of Laughing Wolf. Really I just want to hit him up for pelts. JOKING, ThatÂ’s a joke. HoweverÂ… 
Ogre of OgreÂ’s Politics and Views. I owe him some beer anyways and this would be a good opportunity for him to collect. Plus since IÂ’m still currently his thrall, I should actually meet him.
Oddybobo of Bobo Blogger. After all of the memeÂ’s sheÂ’s put me through, I just want to dot her eye! Actually again I want to see if she fits my mental image of her. (No Harvey that is not nekked smothered in Chocolate pudding)
Eric of Straight White Guy. IÂ’ve heard so many stories about, er involving, er regarding him I would like to actually meet this living legend.
Johnny-OH of Closet Extremist. He just seems to be a kindred spirit.
ArmyWifeToddlerMom of Army Wife Toddler Mom. She just seems like a nice well-reserved lady. (I expect the payment by the end of the week)
Michelle of Letters from NYC. Yet another person that I have would like to put a face to.
Sarah of ThatÂ’s Not Very Nice. I just want to see if she actually talks like my relatives from up der in Minnesota. Because when I read her blog that is the accent I give to her.
Omnibus Driver of LeslieÂ’s Omnibus. She actually lives in the Northern Illinois region and shouldnÂ’t have an excuse not to go!
Spurs of Pull My Finger. HeÂ’s in a couple of my football games IÂ’m running and seems to be a nice enough guy. He can even bring Napster withÂ… if he wantsÂ… itÂ’s up to himÂ… but strip clubs are more fun with out the wife.
Official notice has been served. If you fail to comply with this official notice I will be forced to... do something. I don't know, leave drunk/harsh comments on your blog or something. So start making plans... NOW!
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We get to the mall about 9:00 AM; I drop the family off at the door and spend the next 20 minutes searching for a parking space. I got lucky and found someone who was leaving, so I parking lot sharked them. The photos were relatively painless. We did two outfits, the boys in blue and the girls in pink (My wifeÂ’s and sisterÂ’s idea*GAG*.) The other was everyone wearing Green Bay Packer gear with various props. My dad originally wanted this years ago, before Clone was born. Now that we have Clone I decided we needed to do an updated version with him in it. ThatÂ’s right people, cheese wedges and all!
The pictures would be ready in an hour, so instead of leaving we decided to hang out in the mall. OH YAY! JOY O’ JOYS! What are we going to do for an hour? Me, “Since we are here, we can take Clone to see Santa and get the damn thing over with.” My mother, “Don’t be that way about Santa!” Contagion the Scrooge, “Why? Clone didn’t hear me, he’s riding up and down the escalator with grandpa, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been on Santa’s Naughty list since a certain incident in ‘88, if not there was that one in ‘97 that pretty much sealed it.”
We get Clones picture with Santa. For some reason he just will not smile with Santa. But at least this year he wasn’t screaming. While waiting in line Boopie comes up to me, “Dad, I found the perfect Christmas gift for mom!” My wife, his mother, is standing right next to me. After the photo, I go look at what he found. I will give the boy credit; it is a gift from the heart. He did his beast to get something he knew his mother likes. Since he was dead set on getting this, I bought and we took it to get wrapped. What made me most proud was when the lady rang it up and told us the price; he looked at me and said, “Dad, I forgot my money at home. I’ll pay you back.” The little goofball was going to buy his mother’s Christmas gift with his saved up money. Nah, not that day, I paid for it and told him he didn’t have to pay me back. My boy is growing up.
After we picked up the photos we went out to lunch with my parents and sister and then went and did some Christmas shopping at a local Irish store we hit every year on Black Friday. It’s our tradition. What was funny is that Phyllis, the owner, said as soon as we walked in, “It’s now officially Christmas, (Contagion) and (Ktreva) are here.” We picked up an item for those hard to buy relatives and headed home.
Saturday Ktreva started putting up the inside Christmas decorations. I’m waiting to do the outside until we get a tree. That way I only have to go through the lights once. It keeps me from going mad. (Post for tomorrow) Around 4:30 I decide to call my good buddy Graumagus whom seems to have forgotten to check his e-mail in the last week. He’ll tell you he’s busy working 9-10 hours a day, dealing with the kids, rubbing skin off the top of his feet. The Frizzen Spouse ™ answers the phone and tells me he’s working. For some reason I got it in my head it was a holiday weekend and except restaurants and retail, businesses shut down. BAH! Foiled again. I was trying to see if Grau was going to accompany me to Anger Management class and if he needed more anti-depressants (Blatantly and boldly stolen from Graumagus.) AKA going to the shooting range and does he need ammo.
Well I figured maybe heÂ’d check his email when he got home for work, so I shot him off a third e-mail this week about going shooting. By 11:00AM Sunday and no response I figured he was NOT going to respond anytime in the near future. Then I thought to myself, do I dare call and possibly wake him up? I mean he is sleep deprived and all, and maybe he was actually sleeping. Then I remembered heÂ’d kick me in the dick if I went shooting and didnÂ’t at least ask him. So I calledÂ… woke his ass up, and after what sounded like some mumbled mushh about driving an Allen wrench through someoneÂ’s head, he advised me he couldnÂ’t go. And since no one else had answered my e-mails about going, I decided to head off on my own with my new gun.
It took me an hour and a half to get to the range. Where I spend the next 40 (including a 10 minute shooting break) minutes burning through 200 rounds of ammo. ThatÂ’s right. 200 rounds in 40 minutes, any one that says you canÂ’t hand speed load a revolver is lying to you. In my shooting I discovered a couple of things about my new handgun. A) The sites are off, itÂ’s shooting low. 2) The grip on it rocks D) I am much more accurate with the .357 round then the .38 special load. 4) I bought the right hand gun. I loved shooting it. It fit my hand perfectly, I loved the feel of it, and I had a good clustering, about 2 inches below the bullÂ’s-eye at 25 yards.
I did scare the piss out of some kids at the range with it however. They where there shooting .22’s, air rifles, and .40 semi-auto. Even the .40 was relatively quite compared to when I was pushing .357s through my pistol. I was also showering the stations around me with powder as the revolver kicked out sparks along the cylinder. The kids ( I say kids, but I swear they were all 18 to 25 years of age) where awestruck by my revolver. During the shooting break one of them was asking me questions about it and I was answering him. Then he made the comment, “I just don’t like revolver’s because you only get six shots.” I point to the cylinder on mine (It was resting on the table in the “Secured” zone during a cease-fire. You can’t touch a firearm during that time.) and tell him, “Mines a seven shot.” He looks at it and counts all seven chambers, then tells his friends, “This dude has a 7 shot .357 revolver.” I felt like a weapons stud… but I know I’m not… but it still felt good.
After shooting I head back home, and decide to get a sixer and stop in and see olÂ’ Grau since I was in his neck of the woods, which is back water northern Illinois. We talk about shooting and I show him my pistol. He hadnÂ’t had a chance to see it since I picked it up. He also asked me if it was normal for a callous to scratch his foot, I thought he just meant like to use it to scratch an itch. Nope, he showed me the top of his foot where it looked like someone use a wood rasp on it. It was much nastier up close then what he has shown in the picture. Then we watched the PackerÂ’s lose to the Eagles. He also asked me if it was normal for a callous to scratch his foot, I thought he just meant like to use it to scratch an itch. Nope, he showed me the top of his foot where it looked like someone use a wood rasp on it. It was much nastier up close then what he has shown in the picture. ItÂ’s such a glorious year for my team.
That is how my weekend went.
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We spent Thanksgiving Day at my parent’s house with my sister. Mom also invited many of my aunts, uncles and cousins. This has been their tradition for many years. Notice I say “their”. Why is it their? Growing up my mother would either invite her whole family over to our house or we would go to one of my aunts. They traded off every other year. Not all of my mother’s brothers/sisters would show up being as they were married and would spend it at their in-laws. My father’s family lives way up in Minnesota and upper
Wisconsin and they never wanted to travel north this time of year, thus we were always there.
Now that IÂ’m older I do not want to spend time with my aunts, uncles and cousins on the holidays, I want to spend it with my family. My wife and kids in our house. Maybe we visit my parents, maybe we visit my sister, but I donÂ’t want to spend it with my motherÂ’s family. I just do NOT like them. They are the touchy, feely, gossipy, prime and proper type of people. Where I take most if not all of my traits from my Father and his side of the family. We are distant, loud, obnoxious, tell you how it is kind of people. We just donÂ’t mix.
Since I told my mother I would go, we had to go. Everything was going okay, at first. I tried to keep my mouth shut and not get irritated by some of the hippy “save the environment” BS that was thrown my way. Of course I had enough so I spouted off, “My view on the environment is ignore it, it’ll go away.” And “If I cared about the effects of cars on the environment I wouldn’t have bought a 10mpg beast just to drive around town.” Hey, I said I tried. I didn’t say I succeeded. Apparently my mother’s side of the family has some very hippy tendencies. The funny part is that all stemmed from me throwing away a beer can!
Dinner is served and we all sit down to eat. Clone is up to his usual, “There’s new people around, and how much can I get away with.” He didn’t eat his dinner. We’ve been having a problem with this. He only wants candy and desert. When he said he was done after only a couple of bites, I told him, “If you don’t finish your lunch there will be NO candy, cookies, pie, cake, anything. Am I understood?” He gave me a chipper “yes” and bounced on his merry way to go gamble. (My father has a slot machine; the boy loves to play with it. Sadly enough he’s won more then he’s lost) That is the standard rule in our house, no meal, no dessert/snacks.
After a couple of hours it’s announced that they are cutting the pies. Yes pieS, French silk, pumpkin, banana cream, key-lime, etc. My mom’s side of the family does food in huge and grandiose style. No one ever wants for anything. Clone decides he wants pie. NO! You did not eat your lunch, no pie. He’s only upset for a moment then goes back to trying to get three sevens. While getting my piece I’m asked if I’m getting one for Clone. I advise everyone in the kitchen (most of the family) “He did not eat his lunch, he gets no dessert.” For the first time I hear. “But he’s been eating carrots all afternoon.” Apparently he’s been running up to the veggie tray and snagging carrots. That doesn’t bother me, as it’s not candy/cookies/pie/etc. It is the holiday so even though he shouldn’t be snacking on it, I let it go. “Fine, I don’t care if he has carrots, but no pie.”
When I go back downstairs after getting my own piece I see my father feeding Clone pie. “Dad, he didn’t eat his lunch. He gets no pie.” My dad looks at me and says, “Sorry, I didn’t know.” Okay… fine. Sitting down to eat my pie Clone comes up wanting a bite. “Nope,” I announce, “You did not eat your lunch. NO desert!” Everyone in the basement heard me.
A lot of my relatives have heard this declaration three times now. After watching the Lions get manhandled for a while, I go upstairs and what do I see? One of my cousins feeding Clone pie with a couple of my aunts. Again, for the third time I announce. “NO, he did NOT eat his lunch. He gets NOTHING sweet.” I get the excuse back, “But he’s been eating carrots all afternoon.” To which I respond, “I don’t care, no pie.”
I have to move my truck so an uncle of mine can run home for a moment. When I come back into the house, sitting at the kitchen table what do I see? Clone sitting there eating a huge piece of French Silk pie, with my sister watching him. Walking through the kitchen exasperated I say, “He’s not supposed to be eating pie, he didn’t eat his lunch.” This is an excerpt of the following conversation:
Sister: “He’s been eating carrots all day, what is it going to hurt if he has pie? You need to lighten up.” (This finally breaks my patience)
Me angrily, “I’m his parent, if I say no, that means no. If you are going to undermine my authority as his parent, I can make sure you never see him again.” I start walking down stairs.
Sister, upset. “That’s not funny, you shouldn’t say things like that!”
Me, “I’m not joking, I’m dead serious. I’m tired of having this family continually disregard what my wife and I say about raising our child. Maybe it’s time I did something about it.” There was more, but you get the idea.
My sister goes stomping off. I go back downstairs to watch Denver and Dallas. First Ktreva comes downstairs and tells me not to be such an arsehole to my sister. Apparently she was outside crying. (Side note: I made the same threat last year when my mother and mother-in-law did a similar thing to her. Last year I was a good guy, this year I was the villain.) Then one of my cousins (One that my wife and I both think is a shallow beotch) comes down to yell at me, because she was the one that gave Clone the pie. She had heard me say he didn’t get any three plus times. I told her that from my sister’s comments, she gave the impression that she gave Clone the pie. Secondly, the same still applies. If this family cannot learn to abide by my wife’s and mine decisions then they can go with out having my family around. At which point she said I was a bigger asshole then she thought I was. To which I responded, “I don’t care.” She stormed off.
Since this has happened two years in a row. IÂ’ve decided I am not going to do Thanksgiving with them next year. My family and I will do our own thing, start our own traditions, and actually enjoy the day. Not deal with a family that is so wrapped up in what it wants that it disregards everyone else.
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November 24, 2005
I read this article by Charles Robinson regarding who might pick up TO. He has the football quote of the year as far as IÂ’m concerned.
Owens will be released in the off season, and he's destined to woo someone else. He's the league's answer to Peppermint Schnapps – sweet when you meet, but a headache waiting to happen. What's worse, you know that going in, and you still end up in the same place.
***Emphasis mine
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Okay maybe not everyone will find that as amusing as I did, but maybe it’s because it brings back two memories for me. The first being the movie “The Stoned Age”, when the two guys try to go pick up these chics they show up with this gallon bottle of peppermint schnapps. (The Schnappster.. **TING**) Even the girls won’t touch the stuff. It was just hilarious.
The second stemmed from when I was in College. Now, to tell this story properly I will need to slip into story teller mode, those of you that have seen me in person tell stories know what IÂ’m talking about, those of you that havenÂ’tÂ… IÂ’m sorry you missed the show.
One night when I was in college, my friends and I went out drinking. (All my good stories start out like that, I donÂ’t know why) It was September of my sophomore year; my sophomore palls and I took a couple of freshmen that lived on our floor in the dorm to this party. We had Skippy (All he ate was Skippy peanut butter) and Spin (He looked like the lead singer of the Spin Doctors) with us. They seemed like nice enough guys, and we thought we would show them were the good parties are held.
At the second party we arrived at they had peppermint schnapps flowing freely to the ladiesÂ… and Skippy. Skippy decided he loved the schnapps. Unbeknownst to us, Skippy had never drank before in his life. He found the taste alluring and couldnÂ’t stay away from the stuff. He ended up getting pissed drunk. When I say pissed drunk, I mean he pissed himself in the middle of the party. After wetting himself he was forced to stay out of the house, now we being good friends that we wereÂ… having just met the guy in the last couple of weeksÂ… we decided to stay at the party, in the house, away from him. Now I could lie and say we had hoped he would sober up, but I was quite the asshole, and I kept sending people out to him with a shot every 30 minutesÂ… just to keep him drunk. (He was blitzed by 10:00 PM; we stayed at the party until 4:00AM).
After a while just to make sure he wouldn’t get too drunk we started giving him shots of water with a splash of Scope (To make him think it was the schnappster) between the other shots. Maybe it was all he had to drink, maybe it was the fact that toward the end of the night he spilled more down the front of his face then he got in his mouth, either way he never noticed, UNTIL we were walking home. We had to leave when Skippy took a header off of the second floor balcony into some bushes. God loves the stupid and drunks, because he walked away with out a scratch. On the way home, between trying to bounce off every car, tree and bush, he finally let the urge to ‘gurge flow. Bear hugging a tree he opened his mouth and all the water, scope and peppermint schnapps he had been drinking came out of him with enough force to tip him over onto his back.
Picture if you will, Skippy a scrawny kid no taller then 5ft 6, laying on his back spewing like a fountain. The bile pepperminty fluid splashing back down over his face and chest. None of us wanted to touch the kid; he was covered in vomit and piss. Finding a large stick, which was actually a fence post we ripped out of the ground. We prodded Skippy until he got up and was able to get back to the dorm. As we were walking away he says, “Have I been drinking Scope?” We all start busting up.
Now you would think he would learn his lesson? NopeÂ… the very next weekend he went out and did the SAME thing with peppermint schnapps. The whole semester went that way, every couple of weeks he would get blitzed off of the schnappster. In December, when he found out he was probably going to flunk out, I asked him why he kept drinking peppermint schnapps. His response was what made the above comment so funny.
“It’s like dating a girl you know is just using you. At the beginning of the night it’s great. Everything is sweet, exciting and sensual. By the end of the night you realize that for what you got, it cost you a lot, but it was so good you just can’t help going back for more.” – Skippy December, 1993.
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November 23, 2005
My so-called loving blog parents painfully neglect me.
First you have Graumagus, whom is sleep deprived, working some hellacious work hours and doesnÂ’t make regular posts on his blog anymore. I could cut the guy some slack, but heÂ’s even taken to not responding to e-mails or even checking on me. When he does come around, he does it when IÂ’m sleeping or at work just to make sure IÂ’m keeping up with things, but nary a comment.
Then there is Bouddicca, who is the Queen of Hurricanes and sick kids. She can find time to volunteer to be a den mother, treasurer for the school and visit everyone and their mother (except me). I donÂ’t even know if she stops by anymore and there hasnÂ’t been a comment from her in a coonÂ’s age! IsnÂ’t a blog-mother supposed to be nurturing and supportive? I see her at her other blog childrenÂ’s sites spouting off love, just not here. Maybe the circumstances of my blog conception where just too traumatic for her to deal with.
Finally, there is Harvey, who is the social butterfly and the patriarch of half the blogosphere it seems. If he isnÂ’t busy creating his own blog children heÂ’s kidnapping others and adopting them as his own. At least he keeps up appearances and stops by ever 3-4 days to drop off court-mandated comments, so I know heÂ’s still around. I accept IÂ’m not his favorite, but does he really have to keep trying to deny my existence?
They really are emphasizing the unwanted part of “The unwanted stump in the family tree”.
However, I would still like to show my appreciation to my blog parents for inspiring me (or in one of their cases, brow beat) into creating this blog. Seeing as tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I would like to give thanks to the three of them. Even if BCFS (Bloggers Child and Family Services) is going to come and take me away due to neglect.
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T.O.Â’s Season effectively over after arbitrator sides with Eagles.
It couldnÂ’t have happened to a nicer guy.
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GUTS....is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being assulted by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to ask:
"Are you still cleaning, or are you flying somewhere?"
BALLS.... is coming home late after a night out with the guys, smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the ass and having the balls to say, "You`re next!!!!"
It took guts for him to give me this at work.
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November 22, 2005
The upside is that because they donÂ’t understand what I do, including my manager, at review time I always do well as long as the goals are being received. They donÂ’t know how I meet them, just that I do. Or if IÂ’m not meeting them, they want to know why. When I try to explain, I can actually see their eyes glaze over. Just last week I had my manager ask me to explain to her some of the stuff that I do. After 5 minutes of just doing the basics, I could tell she was lost. The other upside is that when I do make a mistake there is a 99.99% chance that I can correct it before anyone can detect it.
The downside is that since no one knows all that I do, they tend to think I donÂ’t do anything. Thus, they think I have a lot of spare time. This is absolutely positively not the case. I can see where they get that idea. Between gathering data and assigning work it looks like IÂ’m walking around just chatting a lot. If they actually ever paid attention to what I was doing/saying they would see that yes, sometimes I do just chit-chat (like everyone else) but usually IÂ’m talking about work. IÂ’m checking on what the person is doing, what theyÂ’ve done, or trying to correct problems. Sometimes they see me sitting at my desk just reading e-mail. What they donÂ’t realize is that IÂ’m waiting for a program to finish compiling data for a report IÂ’m running. While they system is doing that, I really canÂ’t do much else until it is finished, it takes up a lot of CPU power. Hell even checking my e-mail is really slow. How slow? Think of downloading a 100k file using a 14.4 dial-up. Yea, that slow.
What inevitably happens is that when some new task needs to be done, I get volunteered to do it. Usually when I’m volunteered it’s followed up with the phrase, “He’s got the time.” That brings me to the hellacious day I had today. First there is a guy that has a related job to what I do, but they are not the same. It would be like he’s motor oil and I’m gasoline. He keeps the parts moving, but I’m making the engine run. With out the both of us the office stops functioning properly. There is a reason why corporate have two separate people doing these jobs. IT IS WAY TOO MUCH FOR ONE PERSON TO DO. Except in my office, when the other guy is gone. I have to do his job AND mine and heaven forbid something goes wrong with either. Does he have to back me up when I’m gone? Nope… he has too much work to do.
This other guy is gone this week for the holiday. The last Friday of the month is when my goals are measured, since the last Friday of this month falls on a Holiday that means I get until Wednesday. That means I loose two days of production and have lower goals. (For examples sake if I had a full 20-day work month I could only have 500 items left at the end of the month, but since I only have 18 I can only have 470. ItÂ’s hard to explain other then that with out spending three days and 5 posts.) Plus his goals are due next Wednesday and I have to do my best to meet those as well. Needless to say my life is rather frantic right now. Throw in system problems, two added assignments because I donÂ’t do anything, and covering for a supervisor, plus my regular mentoring and my week has been hell. I know IÂ’m good, but IÂ’m not that good. Something had to give today, and it did. All the sensitivity training they had sent me to went right out the window.
There was no time for me to caress, finesse, argue or even instruct people today. It was barking orders, telling people off and basically taking command of the situation. Something I do a little too well from what I’m told. When I left today some of my peers where a bit annoyed, well okay they where down rite pissed at me for undermining their authority. As I told one of them, “If you had an inkling of how to do this part of your job properly, I wouldn’t have to do it for you.” When my manager came to me to talk to me about the situation I responded with, “You have me doing my coworkers job, I have my job, I have to conduct training, make sure the employees are doing their jobs, deal with system problems, help this other department, on top of trying to meet my goals that are due by end of business tomorrow. You have effectively taken away all my resources, made it so that there is a better then likely chance I will fail and you decide NOW is a good time to chat with me about my attitude? Do me a favor, schedule a meeting about it for next Wednesday, that seems to be what this office likes to do best and that is my next free time.” Her response was, “I don’t think this is a good time.” After she walked away I mumbled, “No shit, what was you first clue? The blinking red alerts on my monitor telling me we are in trouble or the blinking red alerts in my eyes that say disgruntled?”
Luckily I had enough sense to wait until she was out of earshot to say that.
<sarcasm>
***Clapping, with a big grin on my face***
I canÂ’t wait to see what tomorrow brings!
</sarcasm>
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November 21, 2005
I am a substance abuser, and IÂ’m not talking alcohol. It started a couple of months ago, I was having a problem and a friend of mine gave me something that he said would make it go away. Sure enough as soon as I took it, my problem seemed to melt away. All was right with the world. I had never used before, and never thought that I would, but it only took that one time to get me hooked.
From that day forward, I found myself turning more and more to it. It started at once a day at home. Then I went to twice a day, once during my lunch period and once after I got home. Now IÂ’m up to 6 times a day, it doesnÂ’t matter if IÂ’m at home, work or the store. When the need arises, I drop it. That familiar feeling spreads across my head and down my body.
I became so dependant on it that I would get upset when I couldnÂ’t score the kind I liked, but I was so desperate that I would try other kinds. It always seemed that the dealer may not have my particular favored kind, but they always had others. The others worked, but not as well. They just werenÂ’t satisfying. Thus, the next chance I had, I bought a huge quantity. I think it was meant for distribution, but I didnÂ’t care. There was no way I was going to risk running out of my kind, my particular flavor.
Even after my wife found my stash, I lived in denial. “It’s not that I need it, I just enjoy it”, I screamed at her the night she found it. How I lied that night, I needed it, I desired it, and I craved it. Like a moth to the flame, I could not stay away.
Then something happened that changed all of that. Clone got his hands on some and took it. To watch his reaction at first was amusing. He was dancing and jumping yelling, “I like it, dada. I like it!” But I could tell he was lying, he was just trying to be like dad. Then the crying started, his little body could not handle the potency. It was hurting my boy, and I knew it was bad. My boy should not have to go through something like that, so I’m trying to fix myself. I’m also warning you my fellow bloggers, my readers, my friends.
No matter how bad your breath gets, stay away from the Listerine Pocketpaks, they're addicting.
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November 20, 2005
LetÂ’s get this over, shall we?
1. Do you use an alarm clock to wake up in the morning?
Only on days I want to be rudely woken up by a screeching electronic device instead of waking up naturally. Which is any day I have to go to work. On the weekend I have Clone to wake me up before the crack of 7:00 AM.
2. What time do you set it for?
I donÂ’t, my wife does. She sets it for 5:30 AM. However, like someone else I know, we keep the alarm in our bedroom set about 10 minutes faster then the other clocks in the house. Why? ItÂ’s an illusion that you are actually sleeping longer then you really are. Stop looking at me like that.
3. Do you hit the snooze button? If so how many times?
Nope. The clock is on the other side of the room from me, closer to my wife. When it goes off, she gets up and turns it off and makes sure my butt is out of bed. Then she goes back to sleep and I am her snooze alarm.
4. Have you ever abused an alarm clock?
One time when I was in high school I was given an alarm clock that was shaped like a baseball. In order to hit the snooze button you had to throw it. The theory was that after you threw it and the snooze alarm goes off again, you would have to get up and hunt for it, effectively waking you up. The theory was wrong!
Anyway, back to the story, one weekend I accidentally turned it on. It went off at way to early Saturday morning. After being rudely awoken by it, I very angrily grabbed it and threw it as hard as I could. I should have opened my eyes when I did because the next thing I heard was the breaking of glass and a splash. My blind throwing had put my bedroom window in the path of the ball. Then after demolishing the window it landed squarely in the middle of our swimming pool. That clock didnÂ’t work anymore, and for some reason my mother decided not to buy me a new one.
5. It’s time to spread some “It’s Blogcess” linky love.
This isn't a question. Does it actually count?
Rules of the game, so I have been told:First: Copy and paste #1 - #5 (Make sure to link to: “It’s Blogcess”, which is the link in #5. Because it’s always polite to link to the one who started the linky love.)
Second: Link to my site (because itÂ’s polite to link to the site that tagged you).
Third: Go and tag up to five other blogs, or more if ya like.
Fourth: Email the owner of, or post on the blogs that you have tagged, to inform them that youÂ’ve tagged them.
Oh, whom to tagÂ… Normally I donÂ’t tag people with these, but IÂ’m feeling a little saucy, er I guess that should be sauced, this morning.
1. Ragingmom of The Splatter ZoneÂ… because I had a chance to meet her last night.
2. Talulazephyr of Koolaid and Love Stains… again because I had a chance to meet her last night and her blog mom changed the name of her blog from “Love and Koolaid Stains” to “Koolaid and Love Stains”. Don’t ask, you don’t want to know. Ah hell who am I kidding?
3. T1G of Drunken Wisdom. He just has way too much free time.
4. Spurs of Pull My Finger. They guy travels so much; he has to have some good alarm clock stories.
5. Virtue of The Rantings of an Indentured Servant. She was gullible enough to babysit for me last night and this is how IÂ’m repaying her.
There we go. Now IÂ’m going to go back to trying to pickle my head.
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November 19, 2005
1. Breaking up would be a lot easier. A smack to the ass and a "Nice hustle, you'll get'em next time" would pretty much do it.
2. Birth control would come in ale or lager.
3. Valentine's Day would be moved to February 29th so it would only occur in leap years.
4. On Groundhog Day, if you saw your shadow, you'd get the day off to go drinking. Mother's Day too.
5. St. Patrick's Day, however, would remain exactly the same. But it would be celebrated every month.
6. Garbage would take itself out.
7. Regis and Kelly would be chained to a cement mixer and pushed off the Golden Gate Bridge for the most lucrative pay-per-view event in world history.
8. The only show opposite "Monday Night Football" would be "Monday Night Football from a Different Camera Angle".
9. Instead of "beer-belly", you'd get "beer-biceps".
10. Tanks would be far easier to rent.
11. Two words..."Ally McNaked".
12. When a cop gave you a ticket, every smart-aleck answer you responded with would actually reduce your fine. As in:
Cop: "You know how fast you were going?"
You: "All I know is, I was spilling my beer all over the place."
Cop: "Nice one, That's $10.00 off".
13. People would never talk about how fresh they felt.
14. Daisy Duke shorts would never go out of style again.
15. Every man would get four, real Get Out of Jail Free cards per year.
16. Telephones would cut off after 30 seconds of conversation.
17. It would perfectly legal to steal a sports car, as long as you returned it the following day with a full tank of gas.
18. Instead of a fancy, expensive engagement ring, you could present your wife-to-be with a giant foam hand that said "You're #1!".
19. When your girlfriend really needed to talk to you during the game, she'd appear in a little box in the corner of the screen during a time-out.
20. Nodding and looking at your watch would be deemed as an acceptable response to "I love you".
21. The funniest guy in the office would get to be CEO.
22. "Sorry I'm late, but I got wasted last night", would be an acceptable excuse for tardiness.
23. At the end of the workday a whistle would blow and you would jump out of your window and slide down the tail of a brontosaurus and right into your car like Fred Flintstone.
24. Lifeguards could remove citizens from beaches for violating the "public ugliness" ordinance.
25. Hallmark would make "Sorry, what was your name again?" cards.
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I think we have proof that she is actually an alien. Her face never changes! I donÂ’t know if they doctored the photos much, but it looks like they just lined them up. That is what makes this very creepy, yet highly amusing.
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In keeping with the Star Trek: The Next Generation theme. Check out this Seussicised version of an episode.
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November 18, 2005
The story is actually about a list of this year’s most “politically correct” terms. The top ten are rather musing.
1) Misguided Criminals. Leave it to the BBC and those crazy Brits not to want to offend Terrorists by calling them Terrorist. WhatÂ’s next, calling politicians Misguided Profiteers?
2) Intrinsic Aptitude. The President of Harvard University used this term to explain why females are underrepresented in engineering and science. I think most of my female readers will take exception to this. Maybe the President of Harvard had some intrinsic aptitude in his speech writing ability.
3) Thought Shower. Apparently, people with brain disorders find brainstorming to be a bad idea. Since they have BRAIN disorders, I wouldnÂ’t think they would have had time to have THOUGHT at all.
4)La Racaille. ItÂ’s French for scumÂ… and was used to describe the Muslim rioters in Paris. YeaÂ… thatÂ’s PC for you! Stupid French!
5) Out of the Mainstream. For all you political blogs, grab onto this baby. This describes political opponents that have an opposing opinion to your own. I always thought this was called a hippy.
6) Deferred Success. Again, those wacky Brits are at it. They don’t want their school kids feeling bad about themselves for failing, so now they have deferred success. I actually tried to use this term today in my quarterly review. When my manager asked me why I had failed to meet my goals, I explained, “I didn’t fail. I had deferred success.” Apparently, she feels this term will have the same deferred success as I do.
7)Womyn. They want to take the Men out of Women. IÂ’m all for that. IÂ’ve always found lesbianism to be art. However, I know quite a few ladies like the idea of men being in women. Yea, you know who you are!
C. E. (Common Era). This is going to replace A.D. (anno Domini, Year of our lord). What in gods name are they not trying to take gods name out of anymore?
9) The general de-Christianization of Christian holidays and making them gender neutral. You get stuff like “God Rest ye Merry Persons” and “Season’s Greetings”. Hey, let the Christians keep their holidays! What’s next, feeding them to lions? Wait a sec…
10) Australian’s not being allowed to use the term “Mate” to address members of parliament. What? No “G’day Mate”! No “Wanna throw some shrimp on the Barbie, mate?”! No “Do ya wanna mate, mate?”! That’s just wrong. What’s next, I can’t refer to the president as, “That Texas Dude”? I believe this one met with deferred success in Australia.
If I was easily offended, I think I might just be offended by the fact that they don’t want me to say, “Some woman teacher failed to teach my child chemistry because women just aren’t good in science. It didn’t help that she spent too much time brainstorming over how to teach about Terrorists and Muslim rioters in Paris in 2005AD. Maybe her hippy political beliefs are a result for the fact that her husband dumped in Australia on Christmas day saying, `Merry Christmas, Mate!’” It’s a good thing I don’t feel that way.
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LetÂ’s take a look at an example from last night. All names have been changed to protect me.
I’m sitting at Brian’s watching football with our buddies John, Jerry and Chuck. We are having a good time as the game involves teams none of us has a vested interest. There is a knock at the door. Brian answers it and it’s my “friend” Michael. Michael enters and starts talking bullshite about other people, about stuff I like and about anything. Brian, John, Jerry and Chuck are all going along, laughing, and playing it off. Even in my sleep, I can feel/hear my heartbeat accelerate. I’ve had enough of it, I yell at him, “Why don’t you shut the F*ck up? You’re nothing but an ignorant arsehole that only cares about what others can do for you.”
At this point, I stand up. Michael takes a swing at me connecting with my jaw. The blow was hard enough to sit me back down. From a sitting position in the chair, I lunge forward tackling Michael. We wrestle on the floor. We both are landing an equal number of punches. Remembering that I have my Boy Scout knife in my pocket, I try to get it. Dropping my protection, I reach into my pocket, pull it out and open it up with one hand. The whole time Michael is punching away at me. With the blade open, I slice Michael just below his belly button. With knife in hand, I cut into his abdomen. Blood is flowing everywhere, Michael is screaming in pain. The familiar stench of human bowel wafts up from the wound and I work my way up to his rib cage. Slicing through muscle, organ and tissue, I come to my prize. With my arm in his body almost to the shoulder, I can feel his heart beating. Finally letting go of the knife, I grab onto his beating heart and squeeze. With strength that can only come from a deep felt anger and hatred, I grip his heart in my hand.
Michael lets out a gasp and dies. Brian, John, Jerry and Chuck look on stunned. Too shocked to move, to scared to speak. I let go of Michael’s heart, grab my knife and start to pull out my hand. Just then, my “friend” Sara comes through the door. She starts spouting out mean and spiteful statements towards me. As my arm is pulling out, I grab one of Michael’s ribs and break it off. Standing, with Michaels broken rib in my hand, I walk toward Sara. In one fluid motion, like an eagle diving for a kill, I ram the rib into Sara’s left eye, through the bone and into her brain. She dies instantly. Standing there I laugh, I laugh at what I have done. My mirth is bolstered by the stunned looks on Brian, John, Jerry and Chuck’s faces.
Then I wake up, smiling. I think to myself, “That was great.” I realize it was only a dream. It didn’t actually happen. The anger and hatred flood back into me like magma through lava tube. Lying my head down I go back to sleep and have two more similar dreams; one involving the dealership and my truck, the other involving other associates of mine.
In the morning, I contemplate my mental health status. Is this normal to find that much pleasure and comfort in a situation like that? I know I wouldnÂ’t actually do anything like that, but still. The pleasure and satisfaction was overwhelming.
Â…and no, I did not feel guilty at all.
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November 17, 2005
Each day brings something new, something else that just makes my anger spill over onto those around me. I'm trying so hard to control my temper, but it's getting harder and harder. I'm affraid of what I might do or whom I might hurt with my actions. I would never physically harm someone, but I might mentally or emotionally. Some people deserve it, it's the ones that don't that I'm more worried about. What is more pathetic is that the ones that do deserve it probably think they don't.
That is the way with the world today isn't it? Nobody deserves what happens to them. Me, I believe that everything bad that happens to me, I deserve. Everything good that happend to me was due to luck. Well, I think my luck has run out. I see dark days ahead.
As I sit here, I can feel escape. I can sense it just down the street. The smokey taste of a good scotch. The charcol bitterness of Jack Daniels. The fiery burn of Jose Cuervo and Tobasco. My nostrils are filled with the familiar scent of old friends coming to carry away the problems. My fingers are shaking as I type this. Shaking from anger, shaking from sorrow, shaking from desire. Desire to drown my problems again like I used to so many years ago.
But I can't. I have to think of my boys. My boys don't need to see their daddy like that. They don't need to know daddy used to live out of the bottle. They don't need to see me doing it again. Don't get me wrong, I still drink. I just don't drink anywhere near as much as I used to drink.
My boys are the foundation for any control I have left, which to be honest with you isn't much.
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