Shhhhhh... Don't wake the timebomb!

It is Sunday morning once again.  I sit here with my coffee by my side as I type away on my laptop and my dog working on a bone at my feet.  We are both clacking away; I at my keyboard and the pup at her tasty bone.

Both of us live in constant fear of waking up, THE CHILD!!!  Actually, it's just me.  I'd like to think the dog is in on it with me, but she wants nothing more than to have the kid get up and play tug-of-war, or a round of belly scratch or the game loud-squeaky-toy-sound-off.  Man's Best Friend...Pffffttt!

I got lucky yesterday in that my daughter slept for a good 11 hours even though she still woke up early.  I'd kill for eleven hours of sleep but I'm at that age where too much time in bed leads to back pain, an unstoppable urge to have to go to the bathroom or just extreme boredom. Also my dog is at that age where she likes to think "why the hell should he sleep past sunrise?"  I just don't sleep very long.

It's not that the world would end if the child woke up now, it's just that the world would be a little less pleasant.  My child is a great kid.  She's a lot of fun and pretty funny.  But, like any kid, if she doesn't get enough sleep she will be a whiny mess all day. 

She will complain about any and everything.  Basically, on "lack of sleep" days, I feel like I am raising a ticking time bomb.  She might explode at any second and when she does, well, you just hope you're not in public; That's the worst.

Now, on vacation it is hard to get a lengthy night of sleep every day and so I have learned that if I "cave in" and let her get her way more often than normal during a trip, there is a lot less chance of the time bomb going off.  Letting her watch Spongebob in the hotel, or maybe letting her have that much needed milkshake for lunch is comparable to cutting the correct wire on the device which ends up adding another 24 hours to your bomb going off.  But that's the key, I'm still just postponing the inevitable.

But I think I'm getting lost on a tangent here.  All kids do this.  All kids need sleep.  All parents want quiet and peace and we have a choice to make about teaching our children responsibility or choosing to have peace each and every day.  All parents will do what they can to ensure that peace but we still have to teach our children those life morals and responsibilities. 

So as parents, if we're up to the challenge, we'll let our kids have their meltdown moment just so a.) they learn a life lesson and b.) they understand that we, the parents, are convinced that we call the shots!  However, if we're having a day where we're not up for the challenge, then we may cave and give in to the Mr. Hyde-esque qualities the kid may show, just to ensure some peace until we, the parents, are ready.

 
With that stated, I'd like her to sleep for another 2 hours this morning.  So I will continue to sip my coffee in a quiet house with the tv off.  If she wakes up in two hours, I might make muffins for breakfast.  If she wakes up sooner, I'm thinking hot fudge Sunday for breakfast.

Yes, today I am choosing peace!

Who Needs Sleep?

I don't sleep late on the weekends but I sleep later than I do during the week.  I have very dark curtains in my bedroom to aid in my sleeping later, but they fail.  As dark as they are, when it is sunny enough outside they will turn a brighter shade of brown which is just enough to wake me up.  It's still okay though, because sometimes I'll sleep as late as 7 am!

I've simply never been a late sleeper.  I guess I am a morning person and I'm not entirely certain as to why.  I wake up happy and early (sorta happy).  During the week I wake up before six am, typically, even though my alarm is set for later.

When I was a child, my parents had to give me a bed time and a wake up time.  No matter what time I woke up, I was not allowed to leave my room and start stirring around the house before 7 am.  My siblings would sleep so much later.  One would go as late as noon quite often.  Another was so thrilled to sleep that she wasn't allowed to go to bed until a certain time.  It was a reverse bed time.  While most every kid were being told by their parents that they had to go to bed at a certain time, she was being told that she could not go to bed until a certain time.  Ahhhhhh, good times.

So now I have kid and she is torn about whether or not to be a morning person.  I find it funny that during the week it is a struggle to get her to wake  up on time but on the weekend, it is a struggle to get her to sleep as late as she needs to. 

But I understand that it is not only my child who does this, so it isn't just the "curse of the child of a morning person!"  It is quite a common occurrence.  I guess they simply do not want to wake up early during the week to see what school has to offer, but maybe they want to be up early on the weekend to see what a world free of structure and education has to offer!

Kids are funny like that.

And now, as if on cue,  my precious angel has just woken up, so I am going to stop this post right now.

The BIG three ohhhhh.

Wow!  I cannot believe I've been at this 30 days now!

Seriously, this is my 30th published post of 30 days in a row.  When I first started this blog lo that many month ago I didn't think I could do 30 days straight but that was my goal. 

"Write for thirty days" I said to myself.
"You write for thirty days ya jackass, I'm busy!"  I said back.
"What" I queried?
"You heard me"  I retorted.
"But, you... errrr... you're me.. and how..."  you know what, it just gets sillier for a bit after that.  Just know that in the end I worked it out with me and we're both better off for myselves.

Right, then.

To be honest, I did skip my second or third day at this, but I posted twice the very next day!  So it evens out.  Also, I guess I have been kind of lax on holidays and weekends,  but I still put something out there on those days, even it really was just me writing about how I don't plan on writing much that day.  As it turns out, I typically still write something more significant on those days but I simply do not publish that days efforts until later in the week.

Pretty much, at any given moment I have 3 to 5 "gems" just waiting for me to be finished with them and publish!  GEMS I TELL YOU!!!

Most days, I'll have a thought in my head (just most days mind you, not every day) and so I start typing in a direction towards that thought.  And then I get lost.  LITERATURE!

I honestly don't know where it all comes from.  Although I do have a theory.   Most ex-girlfriends parting words to me have been remarkably consistent: "You know what?  You're full of CRAP!"  they all say to me.  Well, it tends to be a variation of a similar expression, but you get the point.  I now understand what they really meant to say.  "You're full of WORDS."  See, it was the word "words" that they were going for.

All I can say to you, the reader, is, Thank you!  Thank you for checking in from day to day.  Some of you I know.  Many of you, I'm guessing I don't, especially those of you in Europe and Russia and even as faaaaaar away as Sunny Canada!  I probably don't know you so well but I'm certain I've met your beers!

I know that everything I write can't be a winner, or even necessarily good.  So it's times like this, when you're reading something remarkably un-monumental that I've published, that you should relax and just let these four words get you through your day:

"I PROMISED YOU NOTHING!!!"

It really has been very freeing for me to tell you from the very beginning, and even in my own blog title, that I can neither promise you that any of this will make sense nor is it really well thought out.  There is NO WAY I can disappoint you with the humdrum thoughts in my head.  My title is my disclaimer!  BRILLIANT!

I'll be amazed at myself if I can actually keep this pace up for another 30 days, but I'll try.  I'm baby stepping my way to 30 day increments of blogs.  So far, I've managed to make one step.  Although, I am taking a vacation in a few weeks, so chances are, I won't be posting much of anything.  I'm sorry for that.  I really am.

Of course, I'm assuming a lot thinking that you might miss what I have to say.  I'm sure you have plenty of things you can say to yourself in my absence, when/ if ever that happens for an extended period of time.  It is very presumptuous of me to think that you might not be capable of carrying on without me.  It is in fact more like I could not carry on without you.  I need you.  I need you to LIKE ME.... oh pleeeeeease just keep liking me.... pleeeeeeeeease......

But seriously, thank you.

Hmmmm.... maybe my ex-girlfriends were right.

I forgot where I was going with this one.

"Well I'm riding in the car
and we're going someplace far
My dad's so funny
The sun's hot on my kneeeeee...
SHE RAN CALLING WILD FIRE
SHE RAN CALLING WI-I-I-ILD FIRE
SHE RAN CALLING WI-I-I-I-I-I-I-ILD FIRE..."

It was sometime in the 70's driving in either a big green station wagon or a big blue station wagon.  I remember looking up at my dad from the front passenger seat (with no seat belt on). His hair was so black and he had long side burns, almost mutton chops.  I just remember looking up to him and admiring him so.

I have absolutely no clue why I remember that moment.  I can even remember the shirt he was wearing and the fact that I was too small to either see out of the side window or even over the dashboard.  I of course, do not remember the words to Wildfire correctly, but I think maybe the wrong lyrics I did remember have helped me remember the moment. 

On a side note, I always thought that was such a happy song until a family member wrote the words out in an attempt to learn the song.  I think we all cried for at least a day once we figured out what the song was about.  Why the HELL would anyone write a song about a horse dying and why the HELL would it get any airplay?

On another side note, I do believe that kids should be in the backseat and everyone should have seat belts on in the car, but back then, this was not common place.  Yet, many of us still managed to live!

I wish I could come up with one more "side note" and get the hat trick!  I am not even quite certain if three side notes constitutes a hat trick in writing anyway.  Alas it is not meant to be.  Unless, of course,  you consider this particular paragraph another side note in which case HAT TRICK BABY!!!

I guess I am simply intrigued by the whole process of thought and recall.  What causes certain moments of my life to stick out more clearly than others when the others played a larger role? 

It is well known that other stimulus aid in memory, such as sight, sounds, smells, taste... but I tend to think of it emotionally.  I would guess you could write books about the subject but who has that kind of time?  Probably brain scientists or the thought police? 

I remember clearly being in Washington D.C. for the U.S. Bicentennial in July of 1976.   It was very warm and sunny.  I was very small and pretty much got dragged everywhere.  It turns out that downtown Washington D.C is the last place on Earth you should be for the U.S. Bicentennial.  It seemed like EVERYONE was there.  I had to hold my parents hands at all times.  So, I remember that whole trip with my right arm straight up in the air holding a hand and all I could see were the asses of all the people in front of me and the sandy ground of the mall.

However, a year later, I was in a pretty bad bicycle accident and ended up severing a body part.  I got a lot of stitches and had to wear a pretty serious leg cast for quite some time.  I have NO MEMORY of the accident or much thereafter regarding that injury.  I only recall it as well as I do because my family is quite open to talk about how much of an injury freak I was as a child. 

In fact, the only real memory I have around that time was the night Elvis Presley died.  I was in my living room alone with one of my Grandmothers.  I still had a portion of my cast on and I was up and walking around in only tighty whiteys  when Walter Cronkite got on tv to make the announcement.

In case you're worried, the body part was reattached and I'm fine.

I guess that would be the emotional side of my memory.  My mind will recall the trauma of a trip to D.C. in 1976, which was actually a fun time and I learned a lot.  However, it will block out the pain and suffering of a serious injury.

I don't always remember word for word what people say to me, but I tend to remember how their words made me feel.  For example, if I met you at a party and shortly after you threw your drink in my face and told me how horrible I am, you hate me and wish I was dead and that I would never be worthy of someone like you, the next time I see you my memory will stop me from talking to you again by reminding me that A.)  you make me feel bad and B.) you like to go home alone.

It's a beautiful thing that my mind seems to filter out the pain and just maintain the concept of the event. 

My memories of High School are very sketchy.  I hated High School.  There, I said it.  I can't explain to you why I hated it because I honestly don't remember.  I just know thinking about it makes me feel bad. 

I think John Hughes is to blame.  He made it look so fun.  He captured a lot of the experience of High School in the 80's, but the part where the main characters come out on top in the end... yeah, I didn't have that experience. 

Of course, I remember some of the people from high school but I have forgotten a lot of them.  It wasn't their fault I forgot them.  I think they were just around me during unhappy memories and ergo my mind filtered them out.  Thanks to social media I've been re-acquainted with many of those folks and am very grateful, but I'm honestly amazed by the people who remember me. 

College was sort of a blur.  I remember parties and playing music in bars and singing a lot.  Sometimes I think I went to class.   It was fun.  The hardest part about college, or any aspect of life on your own once you move away from your folks, is learning how to be responsible.  I knew almost immediately when I moved into my dorm that waking up on time each morning was going to be very difficult without having Dad threatening to pour water over my head if I didn't get up. 

But as much of a blur as it was, I remember so many happy experiences.  I made life long friends there.  I have know idea who I may have forgotten.  There was a lot of music and happiness for me at the time. It was almost a memory stimulus overload.  I'm sure beer helped keep all the memory and stimulus in check.  See, beer was a medical necessity at the time.

After college the memories slowed down.  Life slowed down.  But the memory filter stayed in place.  For example, a marriage happened to me.  For the most part, unless I try really hard, I have no bad memories of that whole experience, but it was apparently quite bad.  I only know this because, I am no longer married and I'm pretty sure I'm much better off for it, but I'm not always so sure as to why?   I mean, I know absolutely why, but I only remember the happier times.  Sometimes that's a curse, but it is kind of nice moving on and making new happy times with someone else...

Of course, from the marriage, there is a child.  Once you become a parent, you are full on back to MEMORY STIMULUS OVERLOAD!!!!  Not only do you have to remember your kids name each and every day, but you have remember what they like, don't like, did the day before and are doing in the next few days, and then there's all the damned birthday parties....  Of course, all the while you're parenting, you're constantly thinking "Was I this nuts at that age?  Did I do all of those insane things?  No, I ABSOLUTELY did NOT!!!" 

You totally did.  You've just filtered it out.

It wasn't until the first or maybe 700th time my child cried at bedtime that I remembered crying myself to sleep many nights.  However, as I recall, that was because my evil family would sit in the living room, which happened to be right next to my bedroom, and they would watch Three's Company right when I went to bed and they would laugh so hard!  I knew they were doing it just to let me know what I was missing!!! 

Yup, the filter got a hold of that one for me, but the kid dragged it back out. 

I guess, I am lucky (and maybe you are too but I don't know how you think) that I seem to have some sort of happy or anti-negativity filter in my brain.  I've heard mother's say something like "you forget the pain of childbirth" which convinces them that it's okay to have another child.  I liken that to my own mantra of "you forget the lines at the roller coaster" because, damn, those lines are long but the roller coaster is AWESOME!!! 

Maybe that's a common experience for all of us and our own memory filters.

The thing that worries me most about memory is that, as I recall, I have heard that smell is the strongest sense tied to memory.  With that, what if all of those people that remember me so well only remember me because I smelled bad?

What if that is the only reason dogs like me so much?

I'm NOT giving you the finger!

Does anyone else remember when some theory got out there stating that we would soon evolve to only having four fingers because our pinky was useless?  I am very pleased that this has not happened, yet, but I have given it some much do attention over the past thirty years.

Seriously, I remember this being a real conversation topic some time in the early to mid 80's.  I don't know where or why this theory came about and how it became such a common conversation piece, but it was out there.

I always wondered why the pinky would be considered "useless?"  It seems like such a useful tool in the arsenal of human anatomy.  But as I grew up and learned how to behave properly in a public setting (still working on it) I came to realize that the pinky's God given duties had been deemed "gross" by modern society.

That is simply just not fair!

Let's face it, in an attempt to be not so graphic I will try to keep this toned down and say, the pinky is a very useful tool at getting into places no other finger can get into and scratching itches, or clearing out "blockages" that might otherwise be left unattended, driving us all crazy!

Sure modern technology and pharmaceutical companies have brought us things like swabs, or tissues or medicated wipes, saline rinses or other devices to avoid the nastiness that the pinky had to endure, but this was merely a way for companies to make a buck off of us by telling us we were gross and are better than that.  They're really only punishing the pinky.  

If it's such a bad finger, then why don't we point that one at people in disgust?  Yes, I do realize its diminutive size might make that more of a humorous gesture as the middle finger is longer and makes more of a point, but, it's the principle of the thing!

TAKE THAT EVOLUTION!

The pinky certainly isn't as fickle as the "ring finger" which seems to only serve as a fashion accessory.  You can put a ring on any finger, and then you get dumped and you have to take the ring off and store it forever for no real reason!  But hey, free ring.  Stupid finger.

The middle finger, well, it's useful for making rude gestures, pointing things out to people in a very intimdating manner and for getting that last little bit of mustard out of the jar.  Still not as useful as the pinky!

However, I must admit that the pinky, as well as any other finger, pale in comparison to the thumb and forefinger.  Ah yes, Thumbkin and Pointer, we need you so, what with your pincer grasp and all....

But the pinky is still wonderful!  I find my pinky is quite useful in keeping my hands the correct distance from my keyboard.  It also is nice for doing that cute little thing you do with someone you like when you just want to hold pinkys instead of going full on and holding hands.  It also serves as a brilliant counter weight when I drink my coffee or tea.  I just stick that pinky out, sip my coffee and get picked on by strangers in public because I am sticking my pinky out.

TO HECK WITH YOU!!! I USE MY PINKY WITH PRIDE!

I am sure I could go on with the many important non-nasty uses of the pinky.  I'm almost certian I can do it... some other time.

I also feel the pinky has been represented poorly in art.  Yes, there was "Pinky Tuscadero" whom I loved so dearly.  She was a bit brash, but whaddya gonna do?  She needed to provide a tough persona when representing the Pinky versus Fonzie's thumbs.... "Ayyyyyyy!"  She was representing the pinky right?  The name clearly says it all, I think.

But then we also had Pinky and the Brain.  You know, the only reason they never achieved world domination was because of Brain's mistakes, NOT Pinky's!  Ahhhh, but Pinky... He represented the jovial side of the fingers!

And then you had.... ummm... welll... errrr... I guess Pinky Tuscadero and Pinky were it.  See, poor representation in art.  I cannot even think of any other medium to represent the pinky. 

Oh Andy, you missed your calling!

But what I wish most of all is that they simply didn't break so easily.  Seriously, I've broken one of my pinkies twice.  I wasn't doing anything gross (in public) when I broke it.

The doctor wanted to do surgery on it after the second break.  I passed out when he mentioned that. 

It was not a good day.

So there you go... thirty years of pondering on the pinky.  That's all I got.

Ahhhh Pinky... How I love thee so!

This LED is sponsored by Triple A(x).

Imagine, you're sitting behind the wheel of your car driving merrily along.  Even though you have a bunch of errands to run, you're in a great mood and you're having a great day!

You like your car a lot and it has taken care of you for a long time.  You care for it and give it it's regularly scheduled maintenance.  You two have a symbiotic relationship and it is good!

The day is filled with time in the car.  You've got to drive out to the power company and pay a bill, 10 miles  away.  After that, you need to go over to a relatives house and pick up some wood, 5 more miles.  Then you need to drop that wood off at a friends house out in the country, 26 miles away and you have to be back to pick you child up from a play date 35 miles from there all in only two hours.

"Let's get to it you and me" you say to the vehicle of mirth and merriment.  It does not answer, which is good because this means that you have not lost your mind, yet.

30 minutes later you've paid the power bill and you're off to your relatives house.  Once you arrive, you pick up the wood and you decide to have a quick glass of water and end up staying and chatting.  No worries, you still have an hour and 15 minutes to go. 

The chat is over and off you go! 

You're driving to your friends house in the middle of nowhere in the warm early afternoon.  Suddenly, in the lower portion of your vision to the right, you catch a glimpse of a glare.  Nothing is whistling.  No bells are going off.  "I'll just make this left turn and continue on my way" you say to yourself and whistle.  You did look for the glare near your right hand, but it's gone.  No Worries!

You are driving through pine trees and farmland about a mile from your friends house and you see the glare again near your right hand.  And then.... IT... HITS... YOU!!!!

"MY GAS LIGHT IS ON!!!!!  I AM GOING TO DIE!!!"  you think to yourself.

Now that I know this about you, I am thrilled that I am not the only one who goes into utter panic mode when this happens?  I've seen movies where this is how people die.  They run out of gas, pull over, flag down a passerby and BOOM. Ax Murderer!

Moving on....

"Why are ax murderers even allowed to drive, or at the very least, sold axes" your mind wanders as the reality of the situation kicks in.

"Why didn't I pay for that thingy on my dash that tells me how many miles I have left to drive?"  You doubt your past decisions.  "Am I going to die because I was cheap?"  You're pretty sure you know the answer.

"Why didn't the car tell me sooner?"  And then you remember the first glare as you turned left.  Why did the designers put the gaslight on the dash right where it could easily be blocked by your right hand when driving?  Whose idea was this? 

It must be a drive by ax murderer conspiracy.  They've infiltrated the auto unions.  Ohhhh they are a crafty bunch what with their sneaky ability to buy axes.

Of course then you look again and the light is out.  It was a fluke. You're fine.  You're okay.   Wow, you really must work on your thought process.

So you drive the last 2 miles  downhill to your friends house.  All is right in the world again.  You drop off the wood and realize that you've only got 45 minutes to go.  You sing to yourself... "On the Road Again (copyright to that insanely high corn gas guy)."

You start driving up the hill back to get your child and then it's the home stretch!

"Oh no! I am driving uphill now!  The gaslight was only off when I was driving downhill."  And you muster up the courage to look under your right hand again.  Lo and behold, you're light is back on.  The ax murderers must've known that your friend lived downhill.  They are sooooo cunning that way.

You try to calm yourself down.  "It's okay, I survived for years before this car without a gas light.  Everybody did.  I will survive this too!"  But then you out think yourself.  "Of course, back then I never let my tank get so low.  I didn't rely on any warning device.  I didn't rely on a gas light." 

You see a gas station and hear yourself say out loud, "I'm saved!  I'm going to be o... ewwww... those are really dirty trucks and scary looking people there."  And you convince yourself that it is an ax murderer gas station.

SO YOU DRIVE RIGHT PAST!!!

You see another gas station a few miles down the road and you swear the gas light is getting brighter.  Does it do that?  Does the light get brighter the less fuel you have?  Is that the bright light we see before we die?

The gas at the station is 5 cents more?  What the hell?

You pass it by and realize you've officially gone insane.  You call the friend your child is with and beg them to not sell your child to gypsies and you promise you will be there when you can be there.  It may be a week.  But you're going to make it!!!

You ask them to tell your child how much you love them, and then...

...Wow, you know, I could really go on with this for a while, but you understand what I'm talking about.  Right?

Why do those gas lights freak us out so much, you and me? 
Why do we rely on them?
Why can't it be like the old non-gaslight days?"
Why are so many auto execs ax murderers (alleged)?

Anyway, it looks like you made it a block away from your friends house before you finally ran out of gas.  Good for you!  That shows dedication.  You, my friend, were up for the challenge.  Don't abandon your car now.  Your kid will be just fine.  Any minute now Triple A will be by with some fuel.

Surely AAA doesn't hire ax murderers?

Inner league play may be the death of me.

I've shared this story with many people before, but it always makes me smile.  It comes to me as a wonderful memory every baseball season.

When the Cubs are playing and I'm cursing myself for being a member of their fan base, I am reminded that my child and I used to watch baseball on my afternoons off.  Of course, "afternoons off" now would mean "unemployment," but a few years back, I just worked really really early and had afternoons off.  That's not my story.  Be patient with me.

We were on the couch watching the Cubs playing the White Sox.  It was sunny outside and cool in the house.  The Cubs were actually winning.  I know right?

My child was two.

"Daddy, who do we like?"
"Well baby, we like the Cubs."
"The Blue team."
"Yes baby, the Blue team."
"We don't like the black team?"
"Nope. Never."

The inning ended and she and I went to the kitchen to poor her a drink during the commercial.  An ice cube  fell on the ground and before I could stop her, she put it into her juice.

"No, no.  ughhh.. no baby, I have to dump out your juice."
"Why Daddy?"
"It's filthy now, it's bad.  The ice cube was on the ground.  The juice is yucky now."
"We don't like it" She was going through a big like/ not like phase at this age.
"No baby, we hate the juice."  Sometimes I just get lost in my emotions.

I had no concept of how much my HATE for the JUICE had impacted her psyche, but I soon learned.

We sat back down to watch the game.  I'm sure the Sox had a pitcher change or something, because the Cubs were doing so well.  Yeahhhh, That's Right!  Anyway, during the change out, the broadcast showed some footage from other games going on. 

They showed the Cardinals:
"Do we like the red guys Daddy?"
"Absolutely NOT!!!"

And they showed the Pirates:
"Do we like that yellow team?"
"Nope."

The game went on and she and I were just happy and comfortable.

My mother-in-law stopped by while we were chillaxin in front of the big screen. She was so happy to see me and the child so cozy.

"Oh you two look so comfortable... watcha doing."

My little girl looked up at her so happy and proudly stated, "We're watching baseball ... Daddy doesn't like BLACK GUYS!!!!"

Black guys...  The words bounced around my head. 
Black... bounce...Guys. 
Black Guys?hmmmmmm...
BLACK.... G-

"OH SHEEYUT!!! WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?!?!? My inner monologue screamed wildly.

I was choking on my drink and trying to sit up before I could stop her from saying anymore.  I failed...

"He hates the yellow and red people too!"

OH... MY... GOD!!!! What am I teaching this child?  My MIL (Mother-In-Law; not the Brewers) just stared at me confused and on the verge of being horrified....

"She's talking about the teams... their colors..."  I choked out...  "Tell your Mimi who we like!!!"

"We like the Blue Guys!"  She spoke so eloquently with a grin beaming from ear to ear.

"Oh what a relief!"  I thought to myself.

My MIL started to chuckle and even said, "Oh thank goodness.  Well that makes more sense."

My little angel looked at me, kind of confused and not laughing at all.  She then turned back to her Mimi. 

As her mouth opened, the world slowed down for me just a bit; what. is.. she... a.... bout.....  to

"And he hates the filthy jews!" she spouted defiantly in real time.....

"JUICE!!!!   SHE MEANS JUICE!!!" was all I could get out before my jaw fell open wide.

I'm sure with time and continued sensitivity training, everything is going to be just fine....

I've got a case of the Sundays.

It is Sunday.  My biggest plan for the day is to vacuum the house today. 

It appears my dog feels she is a a gremlin and she is leaving little fur balls around the house in the hopes that they will sprout and turn into little clones of her.  I think her efforts are in vain.  First off, she did not get wet in an effort to sprout these little balls.  Secondly, she didn't eat dinner until after midnight and nothing happened.  She did not turn into a hideous scary dog even with eating so late.  She just got sleepy.

I get sleepy after eating too.

The movie Gremlins scared me when it first came out.  I don't do well with scary movies.  I was terrified to give our dog a bath at all after that point.  We had this borderline rat dog thing that I was sure could be a real gremlin.  So, getting her wet would've been catastrophic.  Luckily, as I was a child, none of us stayed up late enough to feed the dog after midnight.  So we were good there.

But my imagination ran wild and I was still scared.  That fear still resides within me.  I know that I am at least safe with my current dog.  She has yet to spawn other minions during any bath, and of course, last night was the first time she ate after midnight and nothing bad has happened, yet.

Other farily improbable scary movies scared me as well as a child.  But that fear has kept me alive!

I remember when I first saw the movie Orca I was afraid to be in a swimming pool.  I am not certain why I would think this, but I was petrified that an orca could appear in the pool with me at any second and attack me.  Sure, this isn't really rational thinking, but what orca is thinking rationally if it's willing to get into a swimming pool. 

All I know is that, I didn't swim in the pool for a while and I was not attacked by an orca.  So, my reasoning was sound and I am safe.

So, as I sit here blogging, I am watching Jaws.  Luckily, I do not have to get in any large bodies of water today.  However, after vacuuming all of these dog hair tumble weeds up I am going to need a shower.

You don't think a Great White Shark could slip in through my shower head do you? 

An irrational Great White may try.  It might be worth it for the shark to try. 

I'm pretty sure I'm delicious!

Stuff: My dearest companion.

But alas, it is the weekend again and I find myself torn by the great dilemma of whether I should do stuff or not do stuff.

Stuff is always there waiting for me. You may consider it a type of stalker, always there, watching you, growing as it awaits your attention, smelling your hair while you sleep.... You can try to take a vacation and get away from it, but it simply waits for you to come back and then it pounces on you like a cat. Damned stuff.

This past week flew by for me. Ironically, it flew by because I had so much stuff to do that I actually did. I guess giving your stuff the attention it deserves aids in time going by quickly. It also serves as a good distraction from other stuff that may weigh heavy on my mind.

So, I guess right now, as I write about not doing stuff that I do not want to do, I am actually doing stuff that I want to do(blogging) which is distracting me from the previously mentioned "not want to do" stuff.

So then, you got your good stuff and your bad stuff. Good stuff, for example, like blogging, or watching a movie, or sitting on your couch (doing nothing is still doing stuff), or eating pizza for breakfast is good for your soul and mental demeanor. Bad stuff, aka "being responsibe/ productive" is probably healthier and aids in your income but will drive you nuts.

So I am going to take some time to aid in my soul and mental demeanor. I am going to stop my blog shortly and turn it up a notch by moving over to my couch and watching a movie!

This stuff is going to eleven: one stuff more than ten!

What am I supposed to do? I've got no place else to go!

I certainly hope that this doesn't come across as overly prejudiced but I can only assume there is some prejudice within me regarding such a sensitive issue.  A very sensitive issue.

I went to a local Chinese Restaurant to pick up a lunch yesterday.  I have been eating at this same place for over twenty years and I LOVE IT!  They always serve the tastiest ham fried rice goodness to ever come in a styrofoam container. 

But I'll be honest, when it comes to Chinese Food, I don't know if I really know what good food is.  I just like what I like.  When it comes to the food I am simply an ignorant Gaijin. Yes I know that Gaijin is a Japanese word and I don't care.  That's the level of ignorance I have achieved!

So, twenty years of the same Chinese Food and it still tastes as good as it did when I was in college.  Have I mentioned my love for this place?  Oh there is love!!!  Twenty years ago, it was just me and a group of borderline homeless college kids eating there and we ate well!  But as the years have progressed, I have noticed an awful lot of Chinese people at this restaurant.  It's almost made me want to stop going to this restaurant.

No, no, no, don't go there.  This isn't because I have a problem with Chinese people.  In fact, It actually makes me thrilled to think that actual Chinese people like the Chinese restaurant I am frequenting. 

When you think about it, that has to add a lot of credibility to a restaurant, when members of the culture they are trying to cater to actually like their food!  And this way, I am not just some ignorant American eating at a Chinese place simply to be trendy.  I am a man of the people eating where the real people eat.  This is where I want to be.

I also prefer Mexican Restaurants that real live Mexicans frequent.  Let's face it, we're more familiar with what is called "Tex Mex" in the states and most of it is damn near American-ized to death.  But, if Mexicans like the place you're going to, then this has got to be good!  But it has to be a local "Mexican" restaurant, not some franchise.

Don't even get me started on Taco Bell and Moe's; Moe's ESPECIALLY!!!  Why are they always yelling at me when I walk in the front door at Moe's?  If someone walks into my house and I start yelling at them, it is because I DO NOT want them to come in.  I love the food at Taco Bell and Moe's but I feel they have done for Mexican food what the Olive Garden is doing to Italian food; sure it's good food and they've covered the basics, but I'm sure they make a lot of stuff up!

In the same line of thinking (not the Taco Bell, Moe's, Olive Garden thing but the whole "who frequents your restaurant" thing) I prefer barbecue restaurants full of fat happy people.  A BBQ joint full of thin people isn't doing it right and they aren't dishing out enough!

So, you see, it's not a race issue.  I think Chinese folks at a Chinese place, and Mexicans at Mexican restaurant, and fat people at a fat restaurant are all a good thing.  A Very Good Thing!

No, the problem I have with my Chinese restaurant being full of Chinese is that, well, okay, let's say you like an "underground" band.  By liking, no, loving them, you have some semblance of being an individual because you and only a handful of others follow this band.  They are your secret to share with the world and you feel a connection with them. 

Then your band has a hit and suddenly they are loved by all!  "THOSE SELL OUT JERKS" you say to yourself and you're done with them.  How could they get you to love them only to cheat on you with everyone else on the planet?  They go from being your master of puppets and getting you to ride the lightning with them, to singing about a sandman and then they bring down Napster!!!!  Why Lars? Whyyyyyy???? 

Sorry, I'm getting off point.

So my Chinese restaurant is selling out to the exact same audience they were originally cooking for.  THE NERVE!!!!  They've become too good for me.  But I neeeeeed them!

Along similar lines, I have been devastated with what Political Correctness and Equal Opportunity has done to Japanese restaurants.  I was horrified when I learned you could no longer hire people based on race, at Japanese restaurants.  Of course, I understand that policy for any other business primarily because I do not think any race is better than any other race and also because ignorant people had gained too much control in the work place, historically. But, this should NOT be the case for a Hibachi Cook at a Hibachi Restaurant!!! 

This is a historically significant role in Japanese culture.  There is so much tradition in everything they do as a Hibachi chef.  I cannot stand it when someone who looks way too much like me is up there swinging knives talking about "Japanese Ketchup" or making a "Japanese Smiley Face" out of oil, or making "Mt. Fuji" out of onions...  Ughhhh.

But what am I to do?  I need my Chinese food from that particular place and I LOVE HIBACHI! As far as the Chinese food goes, I guess I will cave in and continue to go even though, everybody knows now.  And as far as the Hibachi places, I guess I do like it when Sven sings Happy Birthday in Japanese whilst he flails his knives around in a Thor-like manner.

On a side note, my original point has got me thinking:  Do you suppose restaurants pay people of specific cultures or weight classes to frequent their place?  I will gladly move to Europe and get paid to eat at all the American restaurants over there like McDonald's, Burger King, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut and Olive Garden. 

SIGN ME UP!!!

So, it's your birthday. Oh boy.

Dear, your name here,

      I simply cannot believe another year has passed and we all get to celebrate the joy that was your birth, once again.  It was such a beautiful event that we must make sure every year that we treat you better today than we would any other day because today is the day that your mother almost died suffering insurmountable pain so that you could make your presence known by shouting at everyone in the room and then peeing a little while people covered in latex gave you a very quick bath and wrapped you in a towel only to flop you back onto your suffering mother.  Yeah, let's celebrate YOU today!

      Now, re-reading that paragraph, it does sound a bit negative or perhaps even sarcastic, but that was not my intent.  I really do appreciate you.  I appreciate you all 364 other days of the year just as much as I do today.  I am simply tired and cannot imagine exerting any more energy into my appreciation for you.  Isn't it enough that I am taking the time to tell you how I honestly feel? 

      You are a wonderful person and I think you should feel like that every day.  I think every day we should all celebrate each other.  I don't want to just take one day to let you know you're important and then crap on you for the rest of the year.

    And besides, are we even certain that today is really still your birthday?  First off, you were born in a different time zone.  If it's early enough or late enough in the day by the time you get this message, chances are, I've already missed it.

     Secondly, how accurate are calendars and time pieces anyway?  Every four years, we have to add a day to the calendar so we can catch up with lost time?  On top of that, what about daylight savings?  Depending on the time of year, chances are another hour has slipped away and we didn't even notice.

    And if the calendar has slipped in anyway today might not even be the day we think it is.  Have you seen how many different cultures have different calendars?

     Finally, have you ever read about the theory of relativity and time dilation?  I'm not sure if I understand it myself, but, I think it says the slower you go, the faster you age which is the Physicist version of "It's Better to Burn Out than to Fade Away!"

   So, chances are, every time you've flown in a plane or even gone really really really fast in your car (yeah, I totally know you) you've actually gone a little back in time, unlike Bob who's always sitting on his couch.  He's so weird and he smells funny.  I don't really care for Bob and I am not going to acknowledge him again... no, not even on his birthday.

    So, yeah, anyway, chances are you may actually be younger than any of us think!  Although you did get mono that one time and sat still a lot.  Maybe you're older.  I don't know.

     It's really overwhelming me to treat you any differently today. 

     SCREW YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!

     It's not more important than you and you are important every day!  You were going to be born regardless of the date so why waste all of this time making a big deal about it?

     I'm getting a headache just thinking about it.  I think this is just another ploy by the card companies and the headache medicine people simply getting together and stressing us all out to make a big deal out of nothing.  I hate what they are doing to society.

     We should really be appreciating your Mother today. 

     I miss my Mom.  I am definitely getting her a card next Mother's Day and then we'll go out to eat so she doesn't have to cook and do the dishes (and neither will I).  I hope she doesn't mind paying though.  I'll get the tip.

                                     Thinking of you,


                                                     Your BFF!

Do you want butter or world domination with that?

I have said it before, and I will say it again (probably even in this post) that my biggest fear in parenting is that one little mistake a parent may make that turns their child into an international criminal master mind who desires to have "sharks with frickin' lasers on their heads" at his/ her disposal.

I made muffins for four kids for breakfast.

Three of them had a discussion that really got me thinking.  It wasn't a deep discussion, to me, but for them, it was intense.

It was the type of discussion among kids under the age of 12 that can lead to hand to hand combat or even really bad words like "stupid" or "dummy" or end, as this one did, with an intimidating "Shuh...."

Child A stated with pride, "I ate the last muffin!"  This was quite an accomplishment as he held a title and he got the last word as far as who got the last muffin.  There is some power in taking the last of anything.  Nobody else can ever have again what you had for the last time. 

This kind of thinking is probably more in line with having a bowl of Do-Do Bird Stew or a Tyrannosaur drumstick or something.  Muffins... not so much... but it is all part of growing up and the learning curve for them.  I fear the devastation he will feel the next time he has a muffin and it dawns on him, "It wasn't the last.. I must make it my goal in life to, EAT THEM ALL!"  And hence another mad scientist is born. 

But alas, Child A was to be outdone and he was out of the conversation at this point...

Child B chimed in with "Well, I got to eat the first muffin!"  This was quite a blow to all in the room; the muffin equivalent of shouting "FIRST!" 

A cold silence chilled the dining room after Child B's comment was made....  This was dominance among the tween and those beneath.  How could it be topped...  I was hanging by a thread on the suspense.

Just as we were all ready to breath a sigh of relief as there had been no challenges to Child B's dominance, Child C chimed in.

"No, I had the first muffin.  I took it off the plate as it was being put on the table!"  This was a cold calculated move on Child C's part.  She knew she had the upper hand.  I knew she had taken the muffin, but I was keeping my mouth shut.

I was a little hurt though.  I had no idea her preliminary muffin grab was a move to challenge the dominance of Child B.  I just thought she REALLY liked my muffins. 

Child B was ready for this.  As Child C portrayed an Il Duce'-esque face of pure confidence in her position and was making eye contact with the others, Child B threw out her final comment:

"Well, I finished mine first, so I had the first WHOLE muffin!"

Child C's face shattered.  She had NOTHING to throw back at Child B.  She was broken.  She had lost what she knew was hers. She held NO title amongst the clan...

All she could say was "Shuh...." with a look of disgust as she drank her milk trying to, at the very least, make a display of restraint and grace.... but I could see the twitch of pending vendetta in her eye.

As the only adult in the room, I wasn't sure where to go.  The kids need this sort of interaction to best learn their communication skills.  There was no shouting and it was resolved.

Child A was too young to understand what happened.  He was happy with his role.
Child B was the clear victor and will maintain her role of dominance for another day.
Child C learned a valuable lesson but is a little broken inside.
Child D is the wisest.  He simply watched the contest as if it were a tennis match. But he bettered himself by staying out of the war of words.

As for me, what should I have done?  What could I have done?  Sure, I could have chimed in with:

" Are you guys kidding me?  What the HELL does it matter? Just eat the muffins and shaddup!"

But, I don't think their interactions deemed such an emotional response and I would have been dubbed the man who says "inappropriate words."  Beside, I do believe they are practicing for when they are older and on their own.

Have you ever given two dogs the same chewie at the same time?  Not to be outdone, they look at each other as if to say "Bitch Please"  (appropriate use of the b-word).  Then they walk circles around each other, drop their respected chewies and walk away with each others original chewie very content with their prize. 

The dogs won't evolve past this and our kids aren't dogs.  I was convinced of this the first time I got in trouble for putting my daughter outside because she was crying... People are so judgemental about these things.  She had water out there!!!  (this is satire... that did not really happen quite that way).

So the kids need these interactions in an effort to grow. Granted, had it escalated to a higher level of intensity, I would have most definitely gotten involved.  I do not need four kids going all Lord of the Flies in my house, over muffins.  My house is simply not that big and it's messy enough as it is.

Regardless of all of this, I knew one thing that the kids did not and all the while, I felt the confidence within me.  When I was making the muffins, I had to make two batches as I only have one muffin pan.  Guess what I did?

I HAD THE FIRST MUFFIN BEFORE EVEN TELLING THE KIDS THEY WERE READY!!!!

Ha Hah Kiddos!!! IN YOUR FACES!!!! Who's on top now...  WOOT WOOT!!!

41 years of life experiences paid off on this day!

It's like daisies for Terminators, too!

"Come with me if you want to live!"

That may be simply one of the coolest lines Ahnold has ever used to touch my soul in one of his movies (that and "Stick Around" and "He's Dead Tired" and "IT'S NOT A TOUMA")!  Terminator 2 was simply an awesome movie not just for the action, but for the story line and soundtrack as well.  However, it had a deep meaningful message.  Terminator 2 taught me that sometimes we must sacrifice ourselves for the soul purpose of other living things; it also taught me why we cry.

Ideally people are the living things we wish to sacrifice for, but that is such a deep subject matter, and I'm no good guy terminator, so I'm just going to try to keep it to simple life forms for the sake of this blog.  

I am VERY BAD with plants.  But somehow, I have been designated the protector of just a few.  I am not always successful.

So, here is a plant. 

I'm getting better at blogging, here is an image!

I have had this plant for quite some time, I think three years or so by now.  I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA how I have managed to keep this thing alive.

I'm sure some botanist out there will tell me something like "oh well, what you've got there is a non-killibus greenous-herbascious which is a common household plant given to bachelors to prove to society and visitors that they can keep something alive and act as a responsible person in a civilized state."

I swear, that thing is just prospering in my kitchen.  Off to the left of it is my coffee pot and I accidentally gave that plant really warm coffee one day.  IT GREW!!!

I'm not entirely certain if I know what I'm doing with this thing but I have grown accustomed to it greeting me in the morning as I pour myself a cup of coffee.  Sometimes I remember to water it.

So here I am, much like the Terminator, I have this "life" in my hands.  It is my responsibility and I must protect it!  Yes, I am well aware that this plant is not going to be locked up and left to die like Sarah Connor.  No, this plant had no say in being put under my care but then again, neither did Sarah Connor. 

Now the plant is pretty and someone dear to me gave it to me; much like Sarah Connor was cute and someone dear to the awful metal killing machine wanted it to protect her.  But I was willing to bet that  had Sarah Connor been really really ugly, the Terminator would have just gotten back to her son with something like "John Connor, you're mahther deedn't mahk eet.  She was ahhglee! We find pretty mahther."

NOT Sarah Connor.  Maybe a Triffid?
You tell me.

Then THIS THING ---> came into my life!

That has not grown any larger in the three plus years I've been its protectorate.  It was my first "bachelor plant" other than a chia pet I once had (it's a damn shame what they did to that chia). 

My precious, precious daughter got in my car after school over three springs ago (we planter types explain time by referencing the seasons) with some wet dirt in a cup and said in such a sweet innocent voice:

"Daddy my teacher gave me this.  Can we plant it and grow it in a garden?"

"No baby, I can't plant a garden where we live right now.  We'll just keep it in the cup it's in and see if we can take care of it until we get into a new place."

I was really just thinking that I'd "accidentally" throw it away and that would be the end of the non save-able ugly Sarah Connor mud in a cup.  But my daughter actually cared for it for just enough days that it started to sprout some ugly spawn.

This thing scares me.  What you can't tell is that the stems are almost transparent and the leaves have little spikes.  Yeah, it's greenish, but that's it.  Also, every once in a while the whole thing simply lays down.  That's when I decide to water it and the previously mentioned pretty plant.  But if not for this thing laying down, the other plant would surely be dead by now.  I cannot be expected to remember to water plants that I only see two or three times a day.  But when I water this one, within an hour it stands right back up as if nothing was ever wrong.  I really think it's thought out the performance it puts on for me.  I sometimes worry about leaving it alone at home.

Now, back to my point,  unlike the Terminator, I could not tell my child that this thing is going to die because it is soooo ugly.  I now have to make sure this one lives.  She doesn't pay any attention to it at all anymore but I know that if it goes missing, I'm in BIG trouble!  Not only will she be upset with me, but the plant... the plant may start to stalk me!  No no no... in a scary stalker way, not a vegetarian celery pun type way.

But if you'll notice, it's still in the styrofoam coffee cup that I first got it in.  I did upgrade to putting that into an old margarine container when I tried to drown the damned thing one day and got water all over my counter.  The other plant is in a pretty pot with a sexy mushroom thing in there I guess in case any Smurfs need a place to crash sometime.

But my point is that I cannot not kill these things.  I "cannot" in that I have inadvertently tried to do so and also "cannot" because if I do, the people who gave these to me might very well dip me into molten iron or at the very least, give me a hard time.

I have come to realize that, much like Sarah Connor surviving because she was around the Terminator, the plants have only survived because they are around me.  Granted, I put them in a place that would best aid in their survival as long as I could teach one of them to lay down when they wanted water.

I had a cactus and some bamboo that other people gave me, but they didn't make it.  Seriously they were maybe ten feet away in my dining room and I completely forgot to water them. I KILLED A CACTUS...

So, It's all about proximity.

Notice the Dog watching my "proximity."

What do you think of my pansies?  I think they were too far away from my kitchen sink too. 

I guess the plants in the kitchen thrive because, as bad as I am at caring for them, they are in a place where I can actually make the connection that when they look all droopy, they need water and the water is right there.  The plants anywhere else are kind of on their own. 

Once I walk past my pansies on the front porch and into my house, I have a dog and kid (and two kitchen plants) who I need to keep alive. 

I've noticed that the kid and the dog seem to stay really really close to me all the time.  Maybe It's all the dead plants keeping them in check and making said kid and dog remind me that I need to care for them too.

Nobody wants to end up like my pansies.

This is a good experience for Monday. AKA Humanity is lost!

Okay... this is gonna be a rant.  It's one of those "people totally suck" type things but there is a happy ending.

So, I was at the drive up teller machine at the bank and I got stuck two cars behind the guy who gets out of his car to go to the DRIVE UP TELLER MACHINE!  But nooooo, not only was he THAT GUY he was also the guy who does ALL OF HIS BANKING AT THE DRIVE UP TELLER MACHINE AND DOESN'T EVEN DRIVE UP PREPARED!!!

So, he's an overall jerk.  He was an older/ middle aged white guy with a candy apple red rag top corvette, (probably that 80's model).  Anyway, he was leaning up against the teller machine signing checks, then inserting them into the machine, printing a receipt, reading the receipt and then repeating the process TWO MORE TIMES!!!  I hate him.  It's official.

I had no happy place to go.  I was boiling over.  This is my lunch break.  Why can't you be PREPARED when you get to the ATM?  Where did you learn how to drive?  Can you really not get your car six inches from the machine?  How about a foot?  I see your long gangly arms leaning up against the ATM.  YOU COULD REACH!!!! 

I tried to play Words With Friends on my phone, to distract myself from the torment, but all I had was R,R,R,U,N,N,S.  First off, there is NOTHING I can do with those letters, and secondly, I had not realized until just now what those letters spelled out.  Gross....

And all five radio stations I can tolerate in town were in a commercial break... yeah, that's right... ALL FIVE!!!!

"WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO THE WORLD!!!!" is all I could think.

My only saving grace was that between his car and mine was a middle aged lady in a brown-ish minivan.  I felt a kinship with her.  I felt that she and I were somehow bonding over this whole experience.  I had a buffer between the jerk and myself but she was having to watch it first hand.  I was certain her blood was boiling.

"We're gonna get through this you and me" I said to her as I made the whaddya gonna do hands as I cocked my head a little to the right and made the face that goes with it.  You know the face, where you smirk on one side and kind of look up to the right whilst pulling your head into your shoulders in a sort of shlump.   Yup, that's the one.

I don't know if she saw me, and I know she couldn't hear me, but I knew she felt what I was feeling and she knew we would make it!  The three cars behind me? I don't know.  I couldn't help them.  As far as I was concerned, it was just me and brown-ish minnie van against the evil world of middle-aged-red-corvette-out-of-the-car guy.  I hate that guy.

Finally he was done.  He got back into his car and still had to organize himself.  Of all the nerve!  Not me buddy.  When I'm at the ATM, I don't even take the time to put my card back in my wallet.  I just drive off and do it when I am clear and the person behind me can pull in.  Why am I not like Marcootcg (middle-aged-red-corvette-out-of-the-car guy) you might ask? Because I am a considerate human being just like, I can only assume, brownish-minnie van.  As if to add insult to injury he put his car in reverse and almost backed into my comrade in arms, BMV (minnie van).  Poor lady.

I was amazed at her restraint.  She did not honk or even swear.  She didn't even acknowledge him.  Ohhhhh she was to be applauded for the peace she has achieved within herself.  I can learn from her.  She is a good person.

Then the unthinkable happened.  My observations were as follows as best as I can recall.

"Ohhhh brownish-minnie van lady, I am so proud of you.  What, what are you doing?  Oh you poor soul.  Marcootcg took so long that you just have to drive right through and go back to your... no, no wait, you've stopped?  Why have you stopped just past the ATM.  You're opening your... door?  But, but why?  You're getting OUT?!?!?  YOU'RE WALKING BACK TO THE ATM?!?!?"

She was one of THEM!!!!  She walked to the ATM and inserted her card, signed a check, deposited it and took her card back out.  Then she walked to her devil van and got a different card!!! "Hisssssssss" I could feel my soul about to explode with a steam of HATE!!!!  She returned to the ATM, inserted a card and withdrew cash. 

I felt so betrayed.  I could not believe I ran into two of those horrible etiquette ATM types...  After getting her cash, she returned to her van and spent some time there.  I could not pull up and she just sat there.  I guess she was organizing her belongings.  I don't know.  I was too broken to even care.  She finally drove away.

I drove up, inserted my card from within my vehicle and deposited my already signed check.  Then I went to withdraw some cash and saw the message:

"Sorry this ATM is temporarily unable to supply cash."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....

SHE TOOK THE LAST OF THE CASH!!!!!

I started the laugh of the crazy people as I drove away.  I only had to drive about a half a mile to get to the next branch of my bank and there I was able to withdraw cash, but the damage had been done and it had been done very well!

I could not believe how awful and misleading people can be.  I think the woman in the devil-van was much worse than Marcootcg.  He was upfront with his jerkish nature driving his Corvette as if my truck is soooo beneath him.... but WiDV (woman in devil van) was so misleading in her demeanor and presentation.  She was pure evil.

I got my cash and I returned to work a little less hopeful for humanity.

Yeah, so what, I lied about the happy ending.  Sometimes things just suck!

Have a nice day.

I'm trying again today.

I failed miserably at doing nothing yesterday.

I'm quite disappointed with myself for cleaning my bath tub and the all of the kid toys in the tub.

And then, as if to punish myself for being more productive than I had wished, I opted to be even more productive and take on an infuriating task. So, being in my bathroom, I opted to dismantle the plumbing to my bathroom sink and clean the line. I've had a very slow draining sink for quite some time.

I had to remove two PVC pipes, one from the wall and the other little "u" shaped PVC pipe that keeps the bad odors from coming out of your sink.

Then I cleaned up the puddle I made under my sink. Well it came from the pipes. I didn't pee under my sink. You're sick you know that?

Then I shoved a "rooter" type wire spinny thing about 10 feet down the line. I pulled it back out and, voila! Hair and awful smelling black liquid came out of the pipe. The hair fell to the ground and the liquid went everywhere.

So this was fun.

I put the pipes back together and ran water in my sink to confirm I had completed the task and, voila! No such luck!

And now the pipes were leaking too! I was overjoyed with frustration at my level of productivity.

Soooooo.... Dismantle pipes, again.... Shove rooter in pipes... Fifteen or so feet... Grumble about productivity.... Spin rooter and pull... Pull harder.... Puulllll.... Pull one lat time....

I greatly regret getting eye level to the pipe in the wall at his point.

The amount of sulfur tasting black ooze liquid that came out gave my face a shade I've never quite seen on a human. Al Jolson would be proud at how ignorant I looked.

I smelled very much bad as well.

Another wad of hair came out too. So, I decided that if this didn't do it. I was done.

I put it all back together. I puttied the pipes at the wall. I ran water in the sink. IT DIDN'T DO IT! I was done.

But at least the pipes didn't leak!

I spent the next hour cleaning up me and the bathroom. I could NOT get rid of smell very easily.

Then it dawned on me!

I removed the stopper from my sink. That was soooooo nasty.

The base of the stopper was coated in a slimy ooze of... You know what, it was gross.

My sink runs great now. But I am still a failure at doing nothing.

But I am going to make another attempt at doing nothing.

Right...

Now!

The NERVE of some Saturdays

Saturday's are such wonderful days.

I don't have to do anything and yet I do stuff. Why is that? Why can't we let ourselves relax? Why must the weekends be our time of catch up?

I blame work and friends. How dare they keep me occupied during the week! Granted, work does not typically occupy my weekends, whereas friends... The nerve of them!

So as I sit here typing I am listening to the birds outside chirping, the coffee maker gurgling, my clock ticking, my dog breathing heavy and my air conditioner turning on and off all drowned out by the clicking of my keyboard.

I have nothing planned for my day so far, but I'll try to relax. However, I could really do to dust and vacuum around here and maybe organize my mail. I'm sure some buddy of mine will come over and give me grief for the appearance of this place.

How dare a buddy such as yourself take me out for a few beers on a weeknight and then pass judgement on me during the weekend when you (hopefully) stop by with pastries!!! I've got a whole day to do nothing and just a few things to do and here you are occupying my time with so called "kindness" and "thoughtfulness!"

How awful! I don't even know what I originally meant to type, you've gotten me so worked up by burdening me with what I really hope is a cheese danish or an apple fritter you burdensome wretch you!

Well, if you're just gonna show up unannounced I guess I better stop typing and start straightening up. I've got a busy day ahead of me and now I have to make time for you and those pastries! Ughhhhhh....

Seriously, where are you?

I don't know you, but your dog rings a bell!

I am simply awful at remembering names.  Well, let me correct that. 

I am simply awful at remembering people's names.  I don't know why.  I've heard that if you use someones name in a sentence immediately upon meeting them, it helps, but that makes me feel weird which may be why I can't do it.

"Hi, my name is Bob and this is my wife Jehoosophat."
"Your name is Bob and your wifes' name is Jehoo... Juhov.... Guesswhos-sofat.... It's great to meet you."
Sure, I could have responded with something like "Hi Bob and Jehoos..Jessi... my you have such an interesting name."  But that just seems so cliche'.

I feel awkward.

So I'm just left to saying to myself "Bob and J... Bob and J... Bob and J..."  The whole time you're talking to me.  So I'm really missing out on the conversation:

"I'm a cardiac surgeon"
"Yeah, we need those...Bob and J... Bob and J... Bob and J..." 
"My wife is French."
"Ah yes, snails.... Bob and J... Bob and J... Bob and J..." 
"We have a Pug named George"

And then a rather loud DING DING DING DING DING goes off in my head.

"GEORGE, That's great!  I love that name for a pug ... George.  I love atypical dog names, why I myself once had a dog named...." 

And there you have it.  I am now involved in the conversation.  I have no idea who you are other than being George's owners and I will never forget your dogs' name.  After a while my girlfriend will walk up to me as I'm still talking to you about George and all of his crazy antics and I will introduce her to you; "And these are... well, these folks have a dog named GEORGE!!!  Isn't that just great!"  I will abandon her with you and then walk away to go to a quiet corner of my own and panic.  "Oh man, I hope she asks them their names."  And I will worry knowing that I have once again forgotten about the humans and am thinking of their dog... George... ohhhh I bet is so cute and fuzzy.  A Pug!  Ohhhhhh...

Why do I do that?  Why does the animal matter more to me than the person?  Why can I watch 50,000 humans get annihilated by an alien race in a movie, but if the dog dies, I AM LEAVING THE MOVIE AND ASKING FOR MY MONEY BACK!!!

Is it their innocence?  Or is it that people annoy me?  Is it both.  I don't know.  I can't seem to work it out in my head.  I start trying to focus on the matter and find an answer but then I get distracted thinking of the dog in question.  Like right now.  As I am typing this I am thinking about George.  I bet he's grayish with little bug eyes and tiny little paws and that little curly cue tail and smushed face... oh da Georgie Porgie puddin' and Pie... Hims so cute ain't him... and I bet if I squeeze him just a bit, OHHHH look at his little bug eyes bug out just a bit more.... ohhhhhhhh.. so fuzzy... not furry... no, pugs are......

I'm sorry.  I wish you hadn't just witnessed all of that.

It's just that there is something about dogs that make them so easy to cherish and love in an unwittingly annoying way.  Whereas, people are fickle.

I know that my dog loves me.  She tells me all the time.  She tells me when I get home and give her a treat.  She tells me when I take her for walks and give her a treat.  She tells me when I give her dinner and when I give her her 7 o'clock chewie.  She tells me when I give her breakfast.  And sometimes she tells me two or three times while I'm "sleeping" just in case I forgot there are treats in the kitchen and... heyyyyyyyy... I think she just wants me to feel happy about giving so much.  I should move some treats to my nightstand drawer.

Maybe that's it.  Dog's want me to feel happy under the "it's better to give than receive" protocol.  Where as people just want to waste valuable space in my brain with useless info, like names.

I am going to give my puppy a treat when I proof reed this to her later.  And then I am going to tell her all about George!

Experiments are soooooo cliche'!

I am going to do an experiment. 

I am going to place a video camera in every room in my house, but it's not for anything freaky.  The Cameras will actually be pointed towards all of my windows.  I'm guessing I'll need eleven cameras.

I'm going to need help raising capital.  I'm thinking I'll need $77,021.37.  That covers the cameras, the storage medium, the estimated excess use of power in my house for the month I plan to run this experiment, the editing software and hardware I'll need in order to compile my footage, MD&D related expenses (Mountain Dew and Doritos), and the 30 day cruise of Europe and the Mediterranean that I will need to take to best relax after the experiment is over.

For the experiment, I plan to turn on all of the cameras, walk into my house, shut the door, and see what happens.  I have two doors, so I will do each door as I enter the house and each door as I exit the house two times a day and then compile my notes.  I will do this for thirty days straight.

My ultimate goal is to find out if when I close a door, do any windows open?

I have been told a lot in the past few years of my life that "when a door closes, a window will open" or "another door will open."

This sounds like a Laurel and Hardy skit to me.  I can just see it in black and white with a little bit of ragtime piano music playing.  Stan is closing a door while Ollie is bent over.  The door closes and a window opens.  Ollie stands up, maxing out the supports of his overalls, and closes the window.  Then the reverse happens.  As the window is closed, the door opens back up knocking Stan square in the face.  Stan is disoriented, loses his balance, stumbles a bit and falls off a 65 story building.  AND SCENE!

I realize that the "door closing/ window opening" thing is just a quote (metaphor, idiom, cliche') to instill hope, but it just isn't overly practical to me.

First off, I simply cannot afford to either heat or cool the outside world.  When I shut my door, I'm greatly anticipating my windows staying shut. As people say in one of those towns I lived in growing up "I weren't raised in no barn!!!"  I'm pretty sure they say that.

Secondly, I cannot afford to hire a construction crew to fix whatever problem with my house is causing all of my windows to just open and close all loosy goosey like this.  Likewise, I cannot afford the Ghostbusters either.

Also, nothing is coming through my windows, other than bugs and wind, that will be big enough to contribute much to my life.  I have tried it and I cannot fit through my windows.  My house is like 60 years old and the windows simply don't open wide enough for me or anyone else to fit through.

If you want to give me hope that things are going to get better for me, give me something to hope for.

"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."  WHAT THE HELL?  I will need life to give me a few lemon farms in order for that sort of thinking to give me any sense of hope or success.  I've tried the whole lemonade stand thing.  The money is crap, the people tend to be rude because of that whole "I thought I'd be buying lemonade from some cute kid, not some old guy" thing and the hours are simply grueling!  Not to mention the splinters I get from the wooden spoon I have to stir the damn lemonade with.

I want to hear something like, "When life gives you lemons ... that Saudi oil baron over there will give you ONE MILLION DOLLARS EACH!"  This inspires me greatly.

"When a door closes, a window always opens ... and all of your neighbors will give you $100 per day in gratitude for you cooling/ heating the neighborhood!"   WHOO HOOEEEE...That is GREAT news!!!!!  Let me see, I have a neighbor to the left, to the right, behind me, across the street and then one in each corner.  That's.... EIGHT NEIGHBORS!!! Which would come out to $800 a day.  This is much more realistic than the oil baron scenario.    I am sooooooo inspired!!!

Oh yeah, and in a kind of reverse inspiration, there's always "money can't buy happiness."  Well, I'm sure it helps!  That's just something people with money say to keep the rest of us without as much money from trying so hard and taking a piece of the pie.   mmmmmmmmm... pie......

Anyway, so I'm going to do this experiment to research hope based on the "Open Window Theory (TM)."  So far I've managed to pool my personal funds and I now only need $77,016.26.

Granted, I could do a much better experiment if that Saudi oil baron has any use for these four lemons.

Would you please help?

Happy 4th Y'all!

"We're Americans, with a capital 'A', huh? You know what that means? Do ya? That means that our forefathers were kicked out of every decent country in the world. We are the wretched refuse. We're the underdog. We're mutts!" - John Winger '81

I can only hope that when our forefathers declared our Independence 236 years ago today they had envisioned a land similar to what we have created. 

I'm sure they might be a little shocked at where capitalism, marketing, the media, big oil, medical insurance, modern technology, religions, other immigrants, politics, etc....  have taken our nation today, but, I just have to believe that we're somewhere near the mark.

So on this special day remember the battle cry of some of our ancestors:

"I wish to be freed from the tyranny of a king who does not believe that we shall have the rights to take a day off from work, eat a whole lot of meat and BLOW STUFF UP!!!!"

Seriously, be safe and enjoy this 4th of July folks!  Remember how we got here and what we stand for. 
As for any English friends out there... Yeah, sorry about all that stuff 236 years ago, but you're probably better off having let us go.  It wasn't you... it was us.  It's better for both of us this way.  BFFs?

I DON'T LIKE SPAM!!!! But if it's all you got....

"Grrrrrr-kkkkkkkkkk-grrrrrrrr-weeya weeya weeya weeya weeyaaaaaaa..."

That was the magical sound my old 486 (no idea what that means but that's how it was referred to) computer would make when my modem would find the correct AOL phone number and get me onto the World Wide Web back in 1998.  This was the first home computer I owned.

I was so excited to get on the internet and see everybody online who I could chat with, later called "IM," ("chat rooms" sounded so naughty). But most of all, I could get E-MAIL!!! 

No more having to actually write things to people, which is simply wonderful for people who are handwriting challenged much like myself.  Really my handwriting is awful.  I'm sure it's either because I have some sort of un-diagnosed physical issue or that I simply don't care for people to read what I write down.

Also, NO MORE LICKING STAMPS!!!! 

I think the US Post Office invented the self-adhesive stamp for the soul purpose of getting back at me for that kind of thinking.  Seriously, I didn't even know they were self-adhesive until after I licked and accidentally swallowed 6 or 7 stamps that stuck to my tongue instantly.  I'm pretty sure they haven't "passed" yet and that I could probably ship my stomach across country overnight without having to pay any extra postage.

But I Digest (thank you vaudevillian shtick comedy)...

So, yeah, ELECTRONIC MAIL!!!!  I once questioned that since this was called "E" for Electronic Mail, then why didn't we call what we had been using all along "P" for Paper Mail.  Then I figured it out:  the term P-Mail is too similar to "Pee-Mail" which my dog checks at every tree trunk, fire hydrant and fence post we walk past every day so she can see what her friends have been up to.

So we had Mail and now we have E-mail! 

"Paper Mail is a thing of the past" I, and surely so many others, thought. 

However, someone told all the marketing people about this "e-mail" and "internet" secret and they decided that they needed to start sending us CRAP MAIL and thus SPAM was re-invented from being a meat product very popular in the pacific rim to being the previously mentioned, CRAP MAIL!!! 

Suddenly e-mail wasn't so much fun anymore.

But at least the postal service still existed and their stamps were DEEEEELISH!  So you could still count on the occasional letter in the mail from your grandma, or bill collectors.  At least someone was thinking about you enough to send you something more personal than electronic mail.

But then an odd switch happened, bill makers and grandmas started figuring out how to use the e-mail as well and the e-mail Gods figured out how to BLOCK SPAM!!!  Suddenly, e-mail was back on, like donkey kong!!!!  Does that even make sense?

However, on the flip side to that, the SPAM makers (no, not Hormel; at least I don't think so) figured out that they had a good thing on their hands just wantonly sending everyone their sales and marketing crap.  Since the e-mail folks were going to just block it, the Spam folk would just go all old school and starting mailing Paper SPAM to our houses.  And since the Postal Service really has NO legal precedent to block PS (paper Spam, stay with me on this) and they're making money off of it anyway, ever day I get MILLIONS and MILLIONS little pieces of crap ads in my mailbox.

So now, pretty much Birthdays (mine and the kids') and Holidays are the only time I look forward to getting mail.  The rest of the time, it's just crap as far as I'm concerned... that was, until two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago I got a ton of useless ads in my mailbox, but then the next day, I got nothing.  I was so happy, as if a prayer had been answered.  Then, the day after that I got a whole bunch of nothing again, and so on and so on for TEN DAYS!!!  I went ten days without getting a single piece of mail.

It was torture man!!!!

Everyday I would come home from work sticking my hand as far down into my wall-mounted mailbox as I could, checking to see if something very small had perhaps fallen just out of reach.  All I would find were leaves.  A bird started making a nest in my mailbox a year ago but it got sick of all the spam too.  I swear I'm gonna clean those leaves out one day.

I GOT BUTKUS!!!!  NOTHING, Nada, zilch....it was awful.  Nobody loved me... not even the spam folks.

I'm sorry spam folks.  I realize that you are people too simply trying to get by in this crazy old E, Pee and just regular ol' mail world.  I will take 47 conflicting coupons to pizza hut, and a free massage when I call that number, and that mattress store personal invite, and the 48 conflicting Papa John's coupons, and whatever else you see me worthy of... I didn't mean it.... whatever I did or may have thought... Please, please, just keep sending me something so I know I'm still alive!!!!

Then two days ago, the PS started again... I'M SOMEBODY!!!! Yes, this is just like having your name in the phone book for the first time.  Oh it feels GOOD to be alive!

Wait a minute... Paper Spam... PS?   I GET IT NOW!  That's what P.S. means at the end of a letter;  why you guys have been with us for a lot longer than I thought... WOW.

Dear Old Aunt Gussy

I know I'm not the first to think of this, but the English language is a complete pain sometimes.

I also know that there are others out there who can probably discuss this better than me, but here goes...

I am fascinated by words and phrases in our language because, well, I use it sooooo much.  I like words.  They can be fun. Sometimes, I like to just starting pounding words out and see where they take me, much like, right now.

Sometimes, I liken writing to traveling down back roads.  I might use a phrase like "I'm headed into the sunset" and suddenly wonder where that phrase came from. It's simple enough and isn't too mysterious, but, why does it exist?  These old phrases are like the small town I just drove through that hasn't seen a lot of traffic since the interstate came around.   Why is this town here?  Was it a watering hole for trains or horses at one point?  What is this towns history?  Is it simply a stopping point on the way to the sunset?  Come to think of it, until just now, I've never used the phrase "headed off into the sunset."

Sometimes, I'll think about the dirt roads that became these highways, what made them so popular?  Which when compared to words, is the basic development of the language I speak.

Now I've tried researching this next part, but I couldn't find much regarding what I was looking for so, I'm going mostly from memory here and I hope it's close to accurate:

First off, Mesopotamia magically appeared and the people instantly knew Semitic.  I guess this split off into your Arabic, Latin and Indo European dialects which then went "hog wild;" such a fun phrase describing how something is like some piggies playing in the mud. Awww look at 'em.  They're so cute.

Anyway, there were these guys in the Indo European split who really liked to dress in black and have Emo hair and look all unimpressed and they invented the "Goth" language.  Eventually they got all organized after being picked on by Russel Crowe and his dog (who I only remember seeing in that one scene) and decided to speak Germanic.  I'm sure they got short haircuts and put on Hugo Boss suits while organizing. 

Then you had your separate Germanic dialects of which the Western Germanics went all Anglo-Frisian on their comrades (ooops, wrong language) and then voila (did it again), ENGLISH!  The Frisians were on there own; yes, very sad.

That is a mess of evolution to get to one convoluted language.  Oh yeah, and then we started stealing from other languages too, comrades. 

We have 26 letters in our alphabet? Why?  Why do we have K and S when C can do the same job?  Get rid of either C or K and S.  It would be less confusing to get rid of C, but you diehards out there would be worried about a word like "choice."  K and S can be replaced just fine by C.  So Choose! For that matter, what the hell do we need X for?  I am already confused and I haven't even gotten to my "f "and "gh" issue....  All these multi-purpose/ criss-crossed letters are like two dirt roads that intersected in 1807.  Now they've become two interstates intersecting, creating maybe 47 lanes headed in "God only knows" how many directions and we now call that original intersection Houston!

Deep... soothing... breaths....

Essentially the English language somehow utilizes too many letters for the sounds we wish to make.  It is very confusing.  And then we have all the words we make with them to deal with.  Whose bright idea was to, two and too?  For that matter whose bright idea was "who's?"  It's nuts.  The Germanics screwed us!  Why couldn't we have stuck with the Latin languages and have genders for our words? 

NO!  That would NOT make us all Latino.... ughhhh

My Dad once said to me, "Spell Fish."
So I spelled it staring at him as if he was losing it.  "F-I-S-H."
Then he said "spell it the other way."
"What way"
And then he went insane and said "G-H-O-T-I."
"Poor Dad," I thought.  "Being in those submarines has finally made him crack."

But before I was able to call the straight jacket people to come get him, he commenced to explain it to me.  Don't worry, I won't do that to you.  I am just going to give you this link that I found whilst typing this blog.  Until I found this moments ago, I seriously thought Dad was nuts, even though his reasoning was sound.

Of all the languages I've ever spoken (and forgotten), I know English the best, yet I mess it up all the time and it confuses me the most. 

And, as is so easy for me to do what with all the words availble to me, I have gotten off of my original point.  I must've taken a wrong turn down a dirt road.

I'm curious about where the phrases come from. 

For example, I'm guessing that somewhere down the road there was an Aunt Gussy who liked to dress up real fancy-like from time to time.  When anyone else in the family opted to dress like her, they were gettin "all Gussied up."

Sadly, Gussie had a husband whose family gave him a very vulgar nickname that rhymes with Chuck.  He had a drinking problem and whenever anyone in the family had too much to drink they were referred to as being "(not Chuck)-ed Up!"  Very sad.

Some words were created with bad intentions.  But, still fun!

I jot nuthin'!

It's not that I'm not writin' stuff today, it's just that I'm simply takin' the day off and not postin' today.

And I'm not usin' the letter "jee" either!