ItÂ’s Christmas time again. Everyone is starting the annual tradition of putting up Christmas decorations. Ogre is proud of his display. Tammi, whom promised herself she wouldnÂ’t, put some up. Boudicca talks about her obsessive-compulsive disorder regarding Christmas decorating. These three are amateurs, combined they have nothing on the Christmas hell that I grew up in.

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.

Posted by: Contagion at 01:03 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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After the fiasco that was Thanksgiving, we had to go have family pictures taken on Black Friday. My parents wanted a whole family portrait with them, my sister and my family. I agreed to this a couple of months ago. Then my mother hits me a couple of weeks back that we are scheduled to do it on Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. There are two things in this world that makes me painfully uncomfortable; the mall during Christmas season is one of them. But I said I would do it, so IÂ’m not backing out now.

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.

Posted by: Contagion at 02:47 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Dreams. Some people say dreams speak of a personÂ’s inner desire. Their subconscious creates fantasies of a personÂ’s desires and hopes. Those dreams can be fun, they can be exciting, or they could be erotic. When fear overcomes you subconscious, you could even have nightmares, dreams so bad you wake up in a cold sweat. Occasionally a personÂ’s dreams turn dark, not with fear but with anger and hatred. Some may call this a nightmare or a bad dream, but what if you enjoyed this dark dream? What would you call it then?

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.

Posted by: Contagion at 12:37 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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I've got a lot of crap going on right now. Some annoying, some life changing. I think I'm hitting my overload stage. I've been mad, righteously pissed if you will, for going on 3 days straight now. From the time I wake up until... well even my dreams are filled with anger.

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.

Posted by: Contagion at 07:43 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Graumagus has been whining and complaining about not being able to go shooting for a while now. Just to shut him up our blogless buddy Jay and myself told him weÂ’d go shooting. His crying was really starting to get on my nerves. The man can be such a woman at times. It had nothing to do with the fact that both Jay and I wanted to slay paper targets, really. We hate shooting. We didnÂ’t want to go at all. We went just because we were his friends, and to here him giggle in glee when we said yes was well worth it. Really, would I lie to you? DonÂ’t answer that.

Due to the length of this post, I put the rest in the extended entry. more...

Posted by: Contagion at 01:07 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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Today was the bi-monthly blood drive at work. YEE-HA! (Seriously, I’m not a redneck… I just hang out with a bunch of them.) I love giving blood, almost to a point that it is creepy. Oh, who am I kidding… it’s just down right creepy. I get giddy and happy. I start singing stupid songs from the Monkeys and the Bee Gees. My minions at work start to get worried. To quote one, “Isn’t this a sign of the apocalypse?” What a way to start the day, all the minions are in extra paranoid mode because I’m smiling, singing happy songs and have a little skip to my step. (See I’m not a redneck!)

Then the time came to give blood. I’m sitting in the booth while they ask me questions, check my blood pressure, and make sure my blood is good. When the nurse went to stick my finger, she asked me if I had a finger I preferred. She turned her back to get something, when she turned around, I’m holding out all ten fingers. With a smirk I respond, “One of these please.” She just laughed it off and grabbed the closest finger to prick. One of the questions they ask is, “Have you ever paid or received money for sex?” Being in such a good mood my tact switch was stuck in off and I just blurted out, “No, but if you’re offering….” She almost fell out of the chair laughing. I was her first customer of the day and she told me it’s always nice to start with someone that has a sense of humor.

When she was finished with me, and I collected my $20.00, she passed me off to the next nurse. This one was going to actually take my blood. She seemed to be in bad mood… until I came along. Everyone loves Contagion! (When it’s not work related) First question she asks me is, “Any allergies to latex?” You know where this is going, if you don’t then you must be new to this blog. “Nope, I love latex… do you have preformed or the paintable kind?” The nurse looked and gave me one of those knowing/naughty smirks. Ahhh… hit the nail on the head.

I’ve always had problems when I give blood, well not me as much as the nurses do. No, it has nothing to do with my incessant harassment! It has to do with the fact I have deep rubbery veins. They have a hard time getting them the first try. I warn the nurse about this, just as a precaution. She assures me she won’t have any problems. She grabs a needle, and is getting ready to insert it. I ask her, “Do you have a bigger needle?” She looks at me with concerns and asks if I’m nervous. With my biggest mischievous grin, I respond, “No, I just always thought bigger was better.” She started laughing… which in hind site may not be a good thing as she was about to jab a needle in my arm.

She tells me it’s okay to look away. “Nope, I like to watch.” I say dripping with double entendre. I think she almost slipped while inserting the needle when I said that. One would think that I would learn my lesson… but I don’t. The needle went in on the first try. When I remarked on how well she did, she responded with, “All you have to do is hold it gently, yet pull firmly until it straightens. Once I have you where I want you, I just slide it in.” Grinning like a schoolboy, “You have a very lucky boyfriend.” She turned a very interesting shade of red while she was laughing.

We get talking and joking about some of their worst patients. Then the machine tells her I’m done, I’ve given my pint. I try to get her to take a second pint. Telling her, “Look, I’m a big guy. I have extra blood! Hell, I’ve lost more then two pints from a minor head wound and was okay… minus the concussion.” By this time all the nurses on the bus where laughing and joking with me.

As I’m getting ready to leave, they remind me to eat something and “… drink a lot all day.” Whipping around I look at them and smart off, “Oh don’t think I won’t! Especially since you gave me permission to. Might not make my manager or wife happy, but I’m just following the nurses orders. It’s easier to get drunk after giving blood!” The nurses are rolling their eyes and giggling. Apparently, I haven’t lost that old college charm… yet.

Getting back into the office, IÂ’m still smiles and laughs. IÂ’m joking with people and just having a good time. Two of my minions speculate that the reason IÂ’m happier and nicer after I give blood is that they drain away the evil.

I just like giving blood; I like the idea that with one pint I could save up to three lives. The feeling that I did something good and helped others is satisfying. Then again, maybe itÂ’s the fact that I know my blood may be out there slowly converting others into minions of mine. Seriously though, if you havenÂ’t given blood or donÂ’t, you should look into it. It takes no more then maybe an hour out of your day, it doesnÂ’t cost you anything and you are saving lives. Plus the free cookies arenÂ’t bad.

Posted by: Contagion at 12:38 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Eric of Straight White Guy is talking about cars heÂ’s owned over the span of his life. This had me thinking back to the various vehicles IÂ’ve owned in my 16 years as a driver. Originally, I was going to put a comment on his regarding them, but it was going to be so long I felt a post would be better.

1) An 83 Pontiac Phoenix, AKA The Phoeni AKA Death Trap. This was the first vehicle I owned for more then 7 days. (I had a cheap Buick I was given that had an 8 cylinder engine, but I swear only 3 worked) I owned this vehicle from September of 89 through December of 94. I put over 100,000 miles on it in that time. When I was in high school, my friends and I would hop in it and drive everywhere. It went all over Illinois and Wisconsin. It also once made a trip to Washington DC. It had its issues, hell I could dedicate a blog to stories involving this car. It was this vehicle that convinced me that Pontiac is French for “That damn ticking noise”. For some reason the vehicle always made a ticking noise… even when it wasn’t running. Every other Pontiac I’ve been around does something very similar.

One time I was driving it down a busy four-lane street when I see a tire rolling along side the road, part of the wheel assembly and all. Right as I thought to myself, “Where did that come from?” The Phoenix tips forward and I start a spin. Jumping the median, I miss an oncoming Semi by inches. After pealing my fingers off the steering wheel, I realize that was my wheel, part of axel and all. I took it to the local dealership because the service manager is a friend of my fathers. They have a mechanic fix it. When I go to pick it up the guy asks me how much I’m going to be asking for it. I had no plans on selling it; I couldn’t afford another car. When I told him that the mechanic looks at me and incredulously says, “You’re going to drive this thing?!?!?! It’s a death trap!” Hence the nick name. BTW, this happened in 1991.

Other mechanical anomalies with her include a Teflon steering gear was worn down and sometimes you could turn the wheel and the vehicle would not turn. When you straightened the wheel sometimes, it would catch and then the vehicle would turn. (This is real fun when it happens on a curvy road alongside a river such as Illinois 2) At the end of its life, it ran better with NO coolant or oil in it. If you put some in, it would sputter, loose power or stall out until it burned it all off. If youÂ’ve seen the movie Uncle Buck, his car had nothing on the smoke the Phoeni would produce when it was burning off oil/coolant.

It was dubbed the Phoeni by a friend of mine one year when he noticed that while backing into the garage I had scraped the car on the garage door breaking off the X on Phoenix. That left the marking as “Phoeni”.

I finally got rid of the vehicle when it committed suicide. On the way to an interview, it had finally decided it had led enough of a life and threw its timing chain onto the road. It was now more expensive to repair the vehicle then to replace it.

2) 1983 Ford Fairmont. This vehicle was the only one I could afford. I owned it from June of 95 until December of 96. This was the first Ford I owned and I hated it. It was a POS. The Heating/Cooling system had three settings; Off, Deep Freeze and Blast Furnace. When the AC was on, unless you kept your foot on the gas, if the vehicle was stopped it would stall out. I was watching Boopie for my wife (before we were married), and I took him through a car wash. It was the summer and very hot. While in the car wash, I turned on the AC so we wouldnÂ’t bake. At one point, I turned to check on Boopie in the back seat. He was sitting there, teeth chattering and blue lipped fascinated by the car wash. The AC was set on low.

One time Grau and I went to Menards to buy something for a project we were working on at his place. As we were driving back, the Check Engine light came on. We were out in the country and there was a gas station a couple of miles up the road. I was wondering if we could make it to the gas station, when I started to ask Grau “Do you think we could….” (BOOM!) The engine explodes… well not really, a hose on it exploded. Between the light going on until explosion, the amount of time to say, “Do you think we could…” The thermostat on it was stuck open causing the engine to over heat (There where no temp gages, just dummy lights). The pressure built so much that by the time the light came on, it caused the hose to explode.

This vehicle also committed suicide on me on the way to work in December. Again, the thermostat stuck open and caused the engine to overheat. This time however, there was no dummy light to come on, the engine just seized. There I was in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, a coworker came by and gave me a ride to and from work. The vehicle was beyond repair.

3) 1996 Ford Ranger (December 96 until April 2005) AKA Lucille. I loved this little truck. It was my first Brand New vehicle. If I were going to buy another compact truck, I would get a Ranger. In the 9 years I owned her, I never had a mechanical problem with it.

4) 1995 Ford Contour SE (April 99 to August 2003, WifeÂ’s car). This is the last Ford car I will own. Ford engineering on their cars suck and this one was supposed to be one of there best ones. On our vacation from hell, this car broke down in Merrillville, Indiana. Apparently, Ford thought a plastic fan on the water pump was a good idea. I however disagree, because when the fan breaks sending plastic chunks through the engine costing me a lot of trouble and money to get fixed, plus a stay in the ever so lovely (note sarcasm) Merrillville.

5) 1998 Chevy Venture (August 2003 to present, WifeÂ’s Vehicle). This is a rugged minivan. My wife walked away from a head on collision with out a mark on her. WeÂ’ve had no complaints about the van itselfÂ… just the dealership that canÂ’t seem to fix it properly after the accident.

6) 2005 Chevy Silverado 2500HD 4X4 (April 2005 to present) AKA Janine. Even though my Ranger was in perfect working order, I needed a second vehicle that could carry the kids. With re-enacting, I also needed a bigger vehicle to carry the equipment. This truck fits both bills. I have the club cab so the kids can ride, as well as the extended bed for extra cargo space. I love this truck. At this point, IÂ’ve had no problems with her and sheÂ’s worked better then I anticipated for our needs.

That is it, every vehicle IÂ’ve owned.

Posted by: Contagion at 12:41 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Here is a little something to ponder on a Saturday. Everyone knows at least one smoker. They are either a friend, co-worker, relative or an acquaintance. What you might not know is what kind of smoker they are or how they started smoking. Do they casually smoke; only smoke at work or are they a two pack a day chimney?

Over at College Humor they have a breakdown of the different kind of smokers. Now this is far from being a complete list, but for the four categories they have, itÂ’s pretty close to accurate. I know myself I have bounced back and forth between the Conditional Smoker and the Unconditional SmokerÂ… Except I buy my own packs of cigarettesÂ… now. Currently IÂ’m a slightly more involved Unconditional SmokerÂ… A pack will last me 3-4 days. Unless IÂ’m drinking, then a pack might last 6 hours.

IÂ’ve been known to go weeks with out smoking, only to bum one off of a friend or to buy a pack because I know IÂ’m going to end up smoking and donÂ’t want to be a mooch.

Some of you are probably thinking, “He should just quit.” All I have to say to that is: No one likes a quitter!

Posted by: Contagion at 11:18 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I saw this over at Absinth & Cookies and decided to do it, a day late.

WhatÂ’s the first Halloween Costume you remember wearing?
I was a fireman, it was a cheap costume, but I was like two or three.

What was your favorite treat in your goodie bag?
I always loved Kit Kats and Peanut Butter Cups.

WhatÂ’s your best Halloween Memory?
Running through the neighborhood when I was kid to see how much candy I could get. One year I filled a pillowcase to near over flowing.

WhatÂ’s your worst?
One year it rained so hard that none of the parents in my neighborhood would let kids go trick or treating. So I stayed home watching TV with my friends.

Have you ever bobbed for apples?
Yes, and anything else I say about this IÂ’m sure someone will turn into something sexual and wrong.

Have you ever been to a grown up Halloween Party?
Sure have, itÂ’s more fun as an adult.

If you were going to such a party, and money was no question, what would your ideal costume be?
I so would have Tom Savini come and do my make up as a zombie from Land of the Dead.

Ever been to sea, Billy? Oops, wrong quiz!
IÂ’m not BillyÂ… but no.

Ever had a paranormal experience? If yes, tell us all about it.
Yes, Yes I have. Multiple ones, but that is a post for another time, if ever.

WhatÂ’s your favorite Scary Movie?
So hard to answer, the movies that scare me aren’t considered “scary movies”. So my favorite horror movie is Night of the Living Dead.

Have you ever played a Halloween “trick” on anyone?
Multiple times, the best was a couple of years ago when I made a high school kid piss himself.

Did you carve a pumpkin this year?
I helped Clone carve his.

Do you think we had more fun at Halloween then kids do today?
Definitely, the kids today have too many restrictions. Also not as many houses hand out candy/decorate as they did when I was a kid.

What candy are you giving out tonight?
Are you ready? Here we go: Snickers, Kit Kats, ReeseÂ’s, Butter Fingers, M&Ms, Crunch w/Caramel, Mr. Goodbars and Baby Ruths.

Will you be in costume?
HELL YEA! I’ve got a sub professional grade mask of a demon, along with the gloves/hands and feet covers, flowing black robes, “satanic” medallions and a skull trident that is mounted on a hoe handle. Did I mention I like to scare people? Now I have a rule, if they look like they are under 10, I will NOT scare them. In fact, I take my mask off if they do get scared.

Decorated at all?
Are you ready? One free flowing ghost in the upper window, death moving around the back porch, hologram in the front window, cemetery in the front yard. Life sized realistic looking mummy, talking skulls, another animatronics ghost on the front porch, fog machine, realistic skeleton hanging from a real pole arm. Giant spider web across front of house. Multiple skulls, lights, bats and severed body parts strewn all over the front porch yard. A zombie rising from the groundÂ… and normally an animatronics tree, but they where calling for rain and I didnÂ’t put it out.

Posted by: Contagion at 06:39 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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