Sad but True!

I can't really write this week for reasons I'll explain later. So, I thought I'd post this image on my Facebook page, but it was too large.

I must say that this is so correct in how, as technology has advanced how we communicate, it has hurt communication to a certain degree.

The image says it all:

I'M ON A TEAR... about paper products!

Okay.... I've had it!  I'm angry!!!

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?!?!  Or, more like, PERSON!!!

Granted, there either has to be a lot of people just like you, or you are somewhat omnipotent with the ability to visit every bathroom I "visit," either public or in a business, pretty much anywhere in the world I've ever been!

No seriously... How is it that every bathroom, meeting the previously mentioned criteria of being either public or in a business, manages to have the toilet paper, loaded in the metal box of forward facing toilet paper, loaded backwards?

First off, I must explain that I AM talking about the tp dispensers that can hold two rolls that face forward, meaning the dowel holding the roll is parallel to the wall (much like a standard home tp dispenser but in a metal casing) and when one is depleted the other one simply falls into place.

I am NOT talking about those big circular ones where the rolls are sideways and you may have either 4 to 6 single rolls in the big circular casing or one giant roll made of sandpaper.

So, I am talking about the metal box, dowel parallel to wall, one drops when the other is spent tp dispensers.  Just so we're clear.

HOW THE HELL DO THEY KEEP GETTING LOADED BACKWARDS?!?!?!?!?  By backwards I mean that they are loaded into the metal casing (with the dowel parallel to the wall) in a manner that as you unroll the roll, it can actually slip from the top behind the dowel and into the case instead of rolling from the top out of the front of the metal case LIKE THEY'RE SUPPOSED TOO!  Does this make sense?  Rolling down from the front should be correct.

Let's face it, NONE OF US want to have to waste time digging for tp from the back of the metal box when you need it MOST!!!

How does this keep happening?  What idiot does this to all of us all the time?

Now, to make matters worse, I think this is the same idiot who feels that it is absolutely necessary to load as many of those paper towels into the bathroom paper towel dispenser.  Surely, you know what I'm talking about?

Once again, it's a metal casing (box) with a key hole at the top and a gap at the base for tiny brown (sometimes white) almost legal envelope sized folded sheets of paper towels to be pulled from.  No, I don't spend a lot of time in fancy shmancy bathrooms with blow driers for my hands (as well as for the crotchal region of my pants for when "the sink sprays me").  No, I spend my time in a working mans' bathrooms with overly packed paper towels.

So, some yokel feels that they need to cram two or more packages into the casing.  So, when I try to pull out one brown folded legal envelope sized paper towel, I get either chunks that I almost blistered my fingers trying to pull out, or I get anywhere from 5 to 16 of the damn things!!!!

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE PERSON WHO DOES THIS?  ARE YOU A CRAZY PERSON?  Or, is there some sort of Bathroom Paper Products Gnome?  Does he travel the world to torment us?  Does he do this to mock us and fill us with anger?  Or is he testing us to see if we are kind and patient people?

I DON'T WANT TO BE KIND OR PATIENT IN THE BATHROOM!!!!  I WANT OUT!!!!

That gnome is probably the same s.o.b. who make that thing that happens with regular paper towel rolls....  You know that thing?  You know, you grab the one paper towel you need and you do the quick little paper towel tug that we've all been unwittingly trained to do since childhood where you quickly snap your wrist and one sheet tears off of the roll.  But then... then the "thing" happens.  You know, you're in a hurry, or in a crowd and people are waiting for you to move.  You grab one paper towel and you do the wrist snap and suddenly, EVERY DAMN SHEET OF PAPER TOWEL IS NOW SHOOTING OUT AT YOU AS IF SOME DERANGED PAPER TOWEL SHEET CANNON IS GUNNING FOR YOUR SOUL!!!!!!

I....  I might.... There's a small chance that I hold some resentment for paper products.

I think I'll stop here.

Technology is soooo stupid.... When I say "WHOA TECHNOLOGY," I MEAN WHOA!!!

Sometimes I truly hate technology.

Seriously.  I remember wanting so much to have a TV in my bedroom and then when I finally got one, I suddenly stopped talking to the person I shared my bed with every night.  We just started watching TV in bed and stopped talking to each other until we fell asleep like we used to. 

That wasn't what I wanted.

I remember so much wanting a cell phone!  "MY GOD!!!  I CAN TALK TO ANYONE FROM ANYWHERE!!!"  Now, I don't want to be able to be reached at all times.

I never wanted the fax machine, and I still don't like them or trust them.  I put a piece of paper in a shelf thingy, it gets sucked into a scanner thingy, then I push a dial the phone number button, the scanner proceeds to scream at me with high pitched clicks and whinnies, it spits out my paper, then I hear some other awful high pitched noise and then, VOILA!  Maybe it went through, maybe it didn't?  Maybe the person on the other end got it, maybe some other office drone on the other end saw it and tossed it away.  Maybe they didn't have paper loaded into the thing and so Tom Cruise had just enough time to sneak his brother out of  a prison and then jump out of a window.  I DON'T TRUST FAX MACHINES!!!!

But, today's post isn't about fax machines.... no... It is about the curse of technology and computers especially.  No, I am not going to go into the grand scheme of how computers may or may not be harming humanity.  I think humanity looks for ways to harm itself all the time.  Computers are just another way of doing that.  Eventually we'll have something like "COMPUTERS ON JET SKIS" to add to the whole virtual reality excitement to physical harm ratio.

No, today's post is me ranting about why today's post is what it is and isn't what it was supposed to be!

Perhaps you'll recall this post from last week: MOO-1 (My Offensive Opinion: Group 1).  If you don't recall this one, that's because, only 8 people read it.  I thought it was good.  Yet, apparently not.  Anyway, it got to be so long that it had to be turned into a two parter.  So, on the same day I completed MOO-1, I completed MOO-2. 

I was quite proud of myself.

Now, I pretty much try to post two blogs a week as of late and as I posted MOO-1 on Tuesday, and Valentine's Day was Thursday(and truly deserved a post dedicated to such a day ) I opted to hold MOO-2 off until today! 

So, last night, I was making a few last minute revisions to MOO-2.  At the same time, I was working on a very sweet post about me getting all mushy over how much I love my kid.  I really do love her so. 

MUST. FIGHT. BACK. THE TEARS OF MUSHINESS!!!

Anyway, I had written out some text and had copied and pasted it to the post about my daughter.  Then I went back to MOO-2 and made a few changes.  Then I went back to the Daughter post.  I made a few typos and did the whole "CTRL-Z" thing to make corrections. 

I CTRL-Z'd about 8 times and was finally back to the original pasted text on my daughter post, which is where I wanted to be.  Then I hit "SAVE."  At this point, the world went in slo-mo, but I could not stop my forefinger  from clicking the mouse and saving my revisions.

Some how, I was no longer working in my daughter's post but had been transported back to my MOO-2 post but with the copied and pasted text from the mushy post about my kid.  I never CTRL-A'd (highlighted all) my MOO-2 text and I never CTRL-V'd (pasted) the mushy text into MOO-2, but there it was.  And now, my original many many many pages of text for MOO-2 were gone.

I've no idea what happened.  But alas, I currently have two matching posts about my kid and one of them is just wrong.

I got very upset and drowned my sorrow in a few rounds of Words With Friends. 

I will eventually get back to re-writing MOO-2(explaining the significance of "MOO"), but alas, right now, I just need space.

I'm going to go climb into bed and watch TV.  Maybe I'll call someone on my cell phone.  I have a house phone line right next to my bed, but, it is just too far to reach for.  Seriously, I'd have to roll onto my side to reach it and I'm just not up for that right now.  My cell phone is just too damn easy.

Screw (cut, strip, clip, file, open, thread, filet and scale) VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

What is Valentine's Day to me, you might ask?

Seriously... someone ask.

I could be negative and say the traditional things like "It's a disappointment," or "It's a reminder of how empty our lives are," and "it's a relationship day of obligation" or even the mas supremo negative comment of "it's a danged Hallmark holiday" (which it really kind of is)!

I could go all historical and be all researchy and say things like "it was some sort of Holiday regarding St. Valentine" which makes it a good day to make a martyr of oneself.  And it is also apparently a good day to wipe out your mob nemesis.  But noooo, researching and typing out actual facts just ain't* my style!

*Please note that my use of "ain't" is not typical of me.  Even though I live in the South (East) I have been able to use neither "ain't" nor "y'all" seriously in conversation.

So really, I'll just go with my opinion on the day, which is what I'm sure you all wanted to know when you started flooding me with the question "hey dude, what is Valentine's Day to you?" 

Well.... I don't know.  I haven't really thought about it that much.  You've really put me on the spot with this one.

I think, as with most "holidays," as I've grown older, it has become yet another day of reflection for me.  I guess it is a point of reference for me to look back at and see where I have been at this time each year.

But, is it really a holiday?  I am not entirely certain about that.  It's a Feast Day in the Catholic Church.  And it is also a Saints Day which apparently means that if you've given something up for Lent, you can TOTALLY HAVE IT on that particular day... So, Valentine's Day is the one day I can have a CHEESEBURGER* during Lent... that is until St. Patrick's Day... GIGGITY!!!  But I have to believe that there is more to a "Saints Day" than that.

*I am NOT going to go into detail of what I have given up for Lent.  As it turns out, I try to do more Church related stuff than I actually give up and do without during the holidays.  So.. just leave me alone.  I don't have to explain myself to you.  Just let me enjoy my Cheeseburger and be on your way!

Yes it is a day that I do think about that special someone in my life and send her something to tell her that I do in fact enjoy spending time with her and would like to spend more... so at least I covered that much, right?  But, I want her to know that EVERY DAY!  So then I feel like a mindless drone for giving her a gift on Valentine's Day as if to say "Okay, I'll make the sandwich today.  You've got the next 364 of 'em to do now?  We're good, right?"

As a kid... whoa... this day is BIG TIME!!!  Kids are stoked for a good week or two before the holiday waiting to find out just who really likes them.  These days we parents have to decorate a box to send to school with our children so they can properly collect and manage all of the assumed loot that they will (damn well better) receive.

Man, I remember Valentine's day as a kid.  I loved getting all of those awful tasting, but oh so rewarding, "Be Mine" candy hearts.  And then there's all the cards from your classmates.  WHOO HOO!!!  Of course, I would hand out a few (just a few) " I love you.  Do you love me?  Circle YES of NO" cards.  Sadly, 99.9% of the time the girls would write on the card "I love you in God's way!"  DAMMIT!!!!

But, no, we had no box to carry our pride of love cards and candies (or dismal shame of lack of loot) home safely.  I guess box technology in the 70's just wasn't what it is today.  I wrapped a HUGE box for my child to collect her loot in.  Yes, she reminded me afterwards that I had to cut a hole in it for the loot to go in.  "CUT A BIG ONE DADDY!!!"  That's m'girl!

Now, as a Father, Valentine's Day is a day to make sure my child knows how much I love her (but I try to do that EVERY DAY) and so I give her a card, some candy and a rose.  I AM TOTALLY SETTING SOME YOUNG MAN UP WHEN SHE IS OLD ENOUGH TO DATE!!!  And I am totally fine with this.

But yes, most of all, it is a great excuse to give someone you love something that says how much you love them.... right?

I have to say that, I think the best Valentine's present I ever got was this:

Just slip it in to it's leather case and... PURE SEX APPEAL!!!

Seriously, I've had this thing for going on two decades.  It has helped me move six times, build bookshelves and other things, cut tons of rope and open lots of beers and several letters and show it off to people... and open and close it a lot... and ... well... JUST LOOK AT HOW COOL THAT IS!!!!  It really is rather cool and it is the longest lasting useful gift I've ever had for any reason.

I was actually given roses once.  They could NOT cut through anything and they only lasted a few days.  Actually six of them went pretty quickly.  As it turns out, they don't open beers very well either.

But that's irrelevant.  Most of all, for me it's just another day to appreciate those people whom I cherish in my life, and for this year in particular, Valentine's Day is....

A Thursday.

MOO-1 (My Offensive Opinion: Group 1)

With this post, there is an ever so slight possibility that I am going to offend two different groups of people.  One I will offend by what I say and the other I may offend by what I have.  I must say right now, that my intention is not to offend anyone, but sometimes, it just cannot be avoided.  I am speaking solely out of my personal experience.  So, I will start off by saying to these two groups right here and right now, "I'm sorry."

With that....

I don't mean to sound racist, but (isn't that pretty much the most racist way to start any topic?)...  Well, in my experience, WHITE WOMEN JUST CAN'T CUT MY HAIR RIGHT!!!!  There... I said it.  I feel better having gotten that off my chest.

Now, please don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying that ALL white women can't cut my hair, just the one's that I have had cut my hair.  In the past, Latina women, Asian women and African-American women have almost consistently always given me a very good haircut; exactly what I am hoping for.  HELL, even white men have given me good haircuts.  However, almost all of the white women in my life seem to fall short.

I say "almost" because I have found that if I go to a high dollar salon and pay a high price, then yes, those white women have done fine by me.  But, they cost too much.  I cannot justify having a high price white woman trim my hair.

See, when it comes to my hair care, I am both ignorant and cheap.  So, I go to discount hair cutteries and I have no idea what lingo to use when I get there.  I am pretty much of the mindset when it comes to the cosmetologist cutting my hair that "you work with this hair... I just wear it!"

So, yesterday, I walked into my discount hair cuttery.  I walked in and was promptly greeted by an African-American lady with her hair cut like a Mohawk (not spiked) with a pony tail.  She looked great!  I liked the contradiction expressed by her hair versus the business suit looking outfit she had on.  This was a classic don't-judge-a-book-by-its'-cover type look.

She turned to me and said "I'll be with you in just a second" and straightened up her area.  I was thrilled.  I looked down at my phone and when I looked up, a little white woman was standing before me and asking me for my information.

"Oh please be the receptionist" I thought to myself, but I knew better.  In this place, the ladies cutting the hair handle the desk.

"Come on back with me" she said.  I followed, staring longingly at the Mohawked business suit lady.  Here's where I should have said "but... her... I want her," but I didn't want to offend the white woman and I didn't want to mess up what may be their office rotation.

I sat in the chair.  The lady about to cut my hair asked me if I still had my hair cut the way they had it registered in their system.

"Still a scissor cut?"
"Yes"
"Still like it straight above the ear?"
"Yes, but I do like the way my hair looks right now over my ears."

When I sat down, I had bangs that, when pulled straight, could reach halfway down my nose.  I had hair over my ears that maybe covered the first quarter inch of my ear tips as they sat naturally feathered back, but, again, if pulled straight would go halfway down my ears.  Also, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I could just see the hair on the back of my head growing out enough to just rest on my shirt collar and be visible under and to the sides of my ears.

I really liked my hairs length, but it was starting to become bushy and unmanageable.  I just wanted to have tips trimmed and my hair thinned out a bit.  So, I mustered up the courage and spoke:

"But, I really like the way my hair looks right now.  I just need the tips trimmed and the whole thing thinned out a bit because it's starting to become a little unmanageable."  I felt such pride in myself for having the gall to actually ask for what I wanted.

She replied "Okay, sounds good.  Please look down."

Then I heard a long drawn out "Snip" and suddenly my left ear was freezing.  She had just lopped off about an inch of hair over my left ear thus cutting a somewhat straight line in my hair over the ear.  At this point, I knew it happened again.  There was no point in stopping her.  I just need to ride it out.

By the time she was finished, I had a nice even haircut, but it wasn't what I wanted.  She cut my bangs!  I like bangs.  My bangs don't even reach the part of the nose that meets my forehead.  Is that the "bridge" of my nose, or just the top?  I'm not good with nasal references.

It isn't this bad, but this image does capture both what I think it looks like and how I feel about it.

It's not that she is bad at cutting hair.  Again, at the very least, I have a clean professional looking haircut. It's just that, I think she simply gave me the only haircut she knows.  I need her to know more!

Now, at the very least, I am quite comfortable with the belief that whatever the person cutting my hair might mess up, it will always grow back.  And right there is where I tend to offend the second group... Of course, that's only if I haven't already offended the second group.

Aaaaaaand... this is going to be a two parter... sorry.

I shall crush no more heads!

Here's a fun thing to do with one of your child's classmates that will greatly impress the friend and make your kid think you are the coolest dad around:

CRUSH THE FRIENDS HEAD!!!!

Now now now, don't get me wrong, I'm not telling you to harm the child or even make contact with the child.  No no no, I am telling you to close one eye, look at the kid with your open squinty eye and use your thumb and forefinger, from whichever hand you choose, to simulate pinching their heads off via your perspective and their distance from you.

DO NOT ACTUALLY PINCH OFF THE CHILDS' HEAD!!!

See, for those of you not in the know, there was this great bunch of Canadians out there who called themselves "The Kids in the Hall."  They had some brilliant comedy sketches back in the day.  One of them was this:

You can also thumb out their faces so you don't see them or you can put up four fingers and lock the kids in jail!  It's so much fun to do this!

So, there I was, standing in the hall at my daughter's school, waiting for lunch.  Some kid approached me in the hall.  "Kids in the Hall" I thought to myself!  "I will crush his head!"  And so, I did.

Well, he ate it up! Shortly thereafter, my child came out in the hall and the previously head crushed boy showed her what I had taught him.  She ate it up and gave me the BIGGEST HUG!  I'm sure she was totally thinking "My Dad is SOOOOOO cool what with how he makes my friends laugh by crushing their heads!"  She and I went off and had lunch and I thought nothing of it.

A few days went by and I was driving down the street in my neighborhood and there was the boy, off to the side of the road, crushing my head as I drove by!  OH IT WAS ON!!!!  I pulled over and I "thumbed out his face" and said "I CAN'T SEE YOU!!!  YOU'RE NOT THERE!!!" and then I held up four fingers and said "NOW YOU'RE IN JAIL."  Oh we laughed so and my daughter, in the back seat, was having a giggle frenzy.

Such happy, happy times!

The next week, I went back to school for lunch and the boy started crushing my head again.  And so did all of the other kids in the hall.  Oh it was a joyful head crushing onslaught of happiness!  I had given these kids the gift of head crushing!!!

This went on each and every time I visited the school.  Oh what fun!  But then, I got a dirty look from a teacher.  She said nothing, just a look.  But we all know that look.  This particular teacher is probably a good 20 years younger than me, but that look she gave me almost brought me to tears.  Instinctively I found myself thinking "Oh God, please don't make me bring a note home for my Mom to sign!!!"  It was that severe of a look.

Then it dawned on me, I only experience this every once in a while.  The teachers are seeing this every day and the head crushing movement seems to be growing. 

I have to put a stop to this.

But, it won't stop.  I can't get within 50 yards of the school without someone crushing my head through a window.  I went to mass a few weeks ago and a kid started crushing my head from one pew over.

Heck, look at this YouTube page.. IT NEVER ENDS!!!

WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?!?!?!?

The kids still love it.  They all do it like little mindless zombies.  They filter out of their classrooms on their way to lunch as if they are staring in a Pink Floyd music video about bricks.  In my peripheral, I can see them, lumbering from side to side as they alter foot to foot... with no expression on their faces... their right thumbs and forefingers poised delicately in front of a squinted eye as they all crush my head...

The teachers all just give me a tolerating look that says "I know you didn't realize what you were doing, but now do you see what you've done?  Do you?  DO YOU?!?!?!"

There's one father who has completely stopped talking to me.  I can only assume he is tired of having his head crushed at all hours of the day.

It's awful I tell you.

I did not know what power head crushing could have over the kids.  It really was an awful amount of fun... in the beginning... but now, I fear we are doomed as a race.

I'm sorry.

High Fives and Stitch Pimps!

This time last year, I had what may be considered by some to be a "minor" surgery.  Well, I'm here to tell you, that as it was my first time getting stitches for anything other than an accident (aka doing something stupid that most likely started out with me saying "Hey Dudes... Watch this!), this was MAJOR surgery.

The nurse gave me something and told me that they were NOT putting me under!  I said I did not want to remember this.  They looked at me as though I was a pansy.

I was.

They wheeled me on a gurney into the surgery room, asked me to slide onto the table and then asked me to slide off of the table and back onto the gurney.  Then they wheeled me into the recovery room. Apparently, between sliding onto the table and off of the table, someone moved all the clocks ahead 45 minutes and removed a lump from my wrist.

I remembered nothing.

I spent the next few days living on my couch while my mother and daughter tended to me.  When I was finally able to move about and start getting back into some of my normal routine I noticed two significant things, A.) the kids at my daughter's school were more cruel than I had expected and B.) the doctor who had performed my surgery just might be a deviant.

As far as the kids go, well, at least every other week I go to my daughters elementary school to have lunch with her. And at least every other week, as I wait in the hall for her class to go to lunch, every kid in her class slaps me a “High Five.” This amounts to 60+ high fives in a five minute time span (I use very much hand sanitizer after this ritual each and every time).

Most of the kids give a gentle tap, but some really put their all into it! They await that oh so important affirmative “OW NICE SLAP” that I'll yelp so that they know how cool they are and that they can totally overpower an “old man.” One day last year (still recovering) when I joined my child for lunch, there were no high fives as my arm was still wrapped in bandages and in a sling.

Seeing my arm in a sling and not getting their high five fix, most of the kids seemed nervous and uncomfortable; afraid to speak to me. After ten or so minutes passed, when we were all sitting at tables in the cafeteria, a young boy at a neighboring table turned to me and looked.

He was kneeling on his seat and leaning across his table to talk with his classmates who were positioned similarly in their seats. As if breaking from the huddle he walked up to me in a nervous and unsure approach. Addressing me as if he were the spokesperson for all first graders, he asked:

“Excuse me sir? Did... did we break your arm slapping you so hard?”

I imagined the guilt this kid and his peers must've been feeling. I worried that they may be so uncomfortable thinking that they had done this to me. As I considered the best way to explain what a cyst is and how the surgery was performed, I simply decided to myself “Awww screw it!” and I looked at the young man and said “Yup, you guys did this to me!”

As I chuckled softly with a sheepish grin, he turned to run back to his table. Before I could tell him the truth and free him from what would surely be gut wrenching guilt, I heard him say:

“YEAH WE DID IT TO HIM!!!!” followed by a round of high fives and “AWESOME”s.

Touche' kids! How could I have forgotten the joy of maiming adults?

Now, as best as I can tell, the doctor who did my surgery is a good doctor and I have been pleased with what he has done for me. So, by no means is what you are about to read a complaint; it's just a very true and very odd observation and theory. No names are being used here, you know, to protect the innocent.

Two significant points he made in my self care/ healing of the tissue, were that I must massage the incision point to stimulate healing and that I should continue to wear my ace bandage, whenever I am active, to protect my wrist.

However, he added for each point, in his very fine and strong Indian accent, “you can get the ladies to massage your wrist” and “when you wear that bandage, some girl is going to feel sorry for you and want to help you.” He said both with a very cocky grin and a mild chuckle. All that was missing, was an “awwww yeahhhhh bro.”

Then it dawned on me who this doctor may very well be. See, he's all about the ladies, he's Indian, and he obviously made enough money at some point to put himself through medical school. He may very well be that gentleman from the back alley in the 80's classic movie “Bachelor Party.” You know, the guy who supplied all of the “working girls” for the party at the hotel? I'm so proud of him for turning his life around and doing so much good with the money he made.

If only I had been able to find his assistant, “Milt,” then I would've known for sure!!! Okay... one name was used.

"Thees beeing Milt!"

Ahhhh... what a difference a year makes.   The kids at school still high five me, but I fear them just a bit.  And I still have a sexy scar on my wrist for the chicks to dig.

Nobody digs it....