Not Quite an Army of Monkeys Typing

She's using me

2009-08-17T15:25:00.001-07:00

I am sitting on the couch watching TV when she comes to find me. She presses against me, nuzzling my cheek then giving me "the look" that means she is looking for some amorous attention. I begin to caress her face and she closes her eyes, leaning her head back and making little sounds of pleasure. As I continue to touch her, she stretches herself out next to me, limbs extending, pressing herself closer into my fingers as I am touching her. She begins purring with pleasure as I touch her. In the time we have been together, I have learned how she likes to be touched, what it takes to please her. As I continue, she writhes in ecstasy and scratches me, but I know she doesn't mean to. As a tease, I stop and move my hand away. Her eyes fly open and her head whips around to look at me, to find out why I have stopped. I chuckle and go back to giving her what she wants. When I get to that spot on her lower back that really drives her wild, she loses control of herself. I continue until she rolls over, satiated, and curls up on the couch next to me. Sometimes I think all she wants me for is the things I do for her. You know, fresh water in her dish, food dish full, cat toys all over the house and the occasional left over cereal milk. I now know the origin of the phrase "pussy whipped."

In another world...

2009-08-16T18:32:00.003-07:00

I saw her again tonight. But still I said nothing. I am sure that I am making things more complicated than I have to, but over analyzing things is a specialty of mine. If she wasn't friends of friends it might be easier. If she wasn't a friend of someone my friends wanted me to meet, it might be easier. If I didn't think her friend might have an interest in me that I don't feel in return...Well, I am sure you get the picture by now.

I am always worried that she'll catch me staring at her, that I'll be giving off some creepy vibe that will only make her uncomfortable rather than reveal the thoughts I have of her. Does she know how her nose crinkles when she makes an “eww icky” face? Has anyone ever told her how her eyes light up when she smiles? And oh what a smile! I find myself telling dumber jokes than usual just to try to coax one out of her.

I've gotten a few “friend” kisses from her, mostly through precedence set by her friend, but I don't have the courage to instigate one upon meeting or parting, it is all left to her whim. But she has such soft lips and I can't help but wonder what they would feel like pressed to mine. Is her breath as sweet and warm as she is? Are her kisses as fiery and filled with passion as she is from the conversations we have had? As playful and unassuming as she is? God, I'm staring again.

But how can I not? She has such an amazing body, curvaceous and thick, like a woman should be. Not some emaciated stick figure of a woman. How would it feel to hold her, to feel her press against me in an embrace which is more than friendly? Is her skin as soft as it looks? Is she someone who would want to cuddle after sex? Snuggled up against me as I run my fingers over her. To slip my arms around her waist and nuzzle into the back of her neck and drift off to satisfied dreams.

I nibbled that neck tonight, but it was just in the pretense of games with everyone. But did she notice that hers was the only one I did that too? Hers was the only finger I was sucking on seductively, but I wasn't the only one playing with her. Did she even notice I was doing that. Could she see the heat in my eyes or tell the thoughts, far from innocent, going on behind them?

But still I made no move. Waiting for some sign from her. Something that would indicate an interest in return. We are a flirtatious group by nature, but I focus my attentions on her primarily. I don't want to make an ass of myself. I keep asking what the worst is that could happen, but it has been a while since I have been with anyone. I don't want to reek of desperation, even though I haven't had this kind of attraction to anyone in quite some time. So I do nothing to obvious and wish that she could read my mind.

Years have passed since that night, and after that initial attraction we've become good friends and nothing romantic or physical has ever transpired. Once or twice, there was a fleeting possibility of maybe something, but she had other romantic interests, or I did. As time passed we got to know each other too well to think that we might actually work out together as a serious relationship. We've had serious talks and there are some very compatible aspects as well as some that would cause one of us to kill the other. Her beauty and sexiness have never diminished, though, and there are moments that I wonder “What if?” and imagine her and me breathless and spent in a tangle of sheets, reaching for water and giggling in the glow of satisfied after play. We still flirt, but there is too much reality to let the fantasy happen.

Most of the time I am okay with that.

The Wedding of a Lifetime

2009-08-16T00:50:00.003-07:00

This all really begins on February 27th, 1973, with the birth of my little brother. We started out as decent playmates and got along well. But as we got a little older, we fought a lot and caused our mom and dad some embarrassment, I am sure. I remember being in physical fights with him in public on more than one occasion. But there were also the fights I got into in his defense. Somewhere we got past the fights and became friends as well as brothers. We share a very similar sense of humor and have spent enough time watching the same movies over and over together that we can speak and riff in quotes from movies, comedians, TV shows and other sundry forms of entertainment. I have a good friend of mine who said watching us talk was like watching two people sharing one brain. My closest set of friends and I will often have the same thought at the same and will just acknowledge it by saying “The router is working.” My brother and I have that going in spades.

As time has passed, I don't see my brother as often as I did when we were living in the same state. I am the only member of my immediate family still living in Arizona, my mom, dad and brother having bounced around for the last ten plus years. We still get together for Christmas and sometimes Easter and we trade phone calls from time to time. As technology has advanced we trade text messages or instant messages as our main form of communication. Two men leading full lives, resorting to what we can in order to keep in touch.

And yet, whenever we are in the same room, it is like nothing has changed. Sure we both shave our heads in defiance of the receding hairlines - Or protruding foreheads, if you prefer - and bald patches we now have. Many people who have seen pictures of us say that they can see the resemblance between us. I'm not sure I completely agree, we both have shaved heads, Van Dykes and the average number of eyes, ears, limbs and what not. Past that, he has a very athletic build, which I don't, and I have him on height. Maybe I am too close to see the physical similarities, but so be it.

In the words of one of our favorite comedians, “I told you that story to tell you this one.”

About 2 years ago, my brother met a wonderful young woman. They began dating and fell in love. I didn't have the chance to meet her until Christmas of 2008, by which time they had been dating for about a year and a half. I really liked her from the time I got to know her, she was sweet, smart and loving. She challenged him and didn't put up with his crap without giving a little back herself. She was good for him and he seemed very happy. He found a woman with the qualities I know I would need to find in order to build a lasting relationship with a personality like mine. Well, and his as well.

A few months later I get a Yahoo IM window pop up with one of the many lines that we quote to greet each other. After a few preliminary “How's it going?” types of posts he asks me what I think about marrying my little brother. Of course the first response was “I don't think that's legal in most states, plus what will your girlfriend say?” It turns out that he had asked her to marry him and she had agreed. (I know, you already got that. Nothing gets by you, does it?)

Beneath the knee jerk, smart-alec reaction, I was floored. My brother has always been the more together of the two of us, careers rather than jobs, no financial/credit issues, he travels and takes good care of himself. Now, I've never felt anything than loved unconditionally by my family, but I have always felt like a bit of a screw up when compared to him. Our lives follow very different paths and while I am happy with the majority of mine, I always feel a little less the grown-up than he is. I'll be forty this September, but that concept boggles my mind. Surely I can't be FORTY! Forty is kind of old. It would take a bit of convincing for me to date a forty year old woman. Those are cougars, aren't they? I don't look my age, I don't feel my age, and I certainly don't act my age! I'd say I am closer to thirty than forty. Denial is a lovely place, I'll send you a postcard.

So when my brother asked me to perform his wedding ceremony, I was deeply moved in the faith that he was putting in me to pull this off. Almost immediately I asked him if our parents knew that he was asking me to do this. I love my parents very much, but we have very different ideas about religion. I could imagine my parents asking my brother if he really wanted to have me do it, wouldn't he rather have a “real” ceremony, or something along those lines. His response was just another shot that really got my heartstrings thrumming, while the verbatim escapes me, it was along the lines of, “This is our wedding and we want you to be the one to do it.” Sure, no pressure. He didn't ever say, “Look, don't screw this up, okay?” but I most definitely wasn't going to give anyone a chance to go back to him afterward to give him the “Well, you picked him, you could have gotten a professional.”

Over the next couple of months, I wrote out some ideas for the ceremony. I looked at the first ceremony I had written, a very simple one for a friend of mine, and expanded on a couple of thoughts I had from that as well. I talked to a friend of mine who does weddings for a living and is highly regarded in the field, being chosen “Best Female Officiate for 2008,” in order to get additional information, ideas and tips. (Thanks Crystal!) My brother and his fiancee had also used “The Google Machine” to find some things they liked as well. In the course of exchanged e-mails, re works and revisions we came up with, in my opinion, a very nice ceremony. They had chosen a pair of readings, one for the best man and one for the matron of honor to read. They had found vows that they liked and words for the ring exchange as well. Beyond that, the bulk of the ceremony was all mine.

The ceremony went just about flawlessly. My brother and his fiancee were very obviously taken with the emotions of the moment and it was a joy to see the two of them together like that. It was, for the most part, a serious ceremony, but there were the whispered one liners and quips that have defined the majority of our relationship. I like to think that my voice didn't crack with emotion and that I was a magnificent speaker, but I haven't seen the tape. I sure know I felt the moment very deeply. There were many compliments about the”beautiful ceremony,” including the most important critics; my brother and his fiancee. Sorry, his wife now.

To my brother and his new bride, thank you very much for the honor you gave me in asking me to perform your ceremony. Thank you for your trust, your hospitality and your help in its creation. Thank you for inviting me to spend this very special and important day with you, it has meant more to me than you might know.

To my brother, I am very happy for you. I am also very proud of you. I always have been, but it has been a while since I had such a vivid reminder. You have made a very nice life for yourself. You are an amazing human being and I feel, as I always have been, honored and lucky to know you. I wish you the very happiest of lives, you deserve it. I love you very much. Now go put on the helmet.

A Personal Opinion

2007-09-22T12:17:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday, September 18th, 2007 a tragedy occurred. Phoenix Police Officer Nick Erfle was fatally shot during a routine encounter with a trio of people jaywalking. As I read the article in Wednesday’s Arizona Republic, I was struck again by the utter uselessness of this violence. What possible rationale could someone have for taking another human life over something so trivial? As details continued, however, it came to light that the shooter, Erik Jovani Martinez, had a long history of gang involvement and criminal behavior. He had been arrested in the past and had been deported in March of 2006, only to be arrested again in Arizona in May of 2006.

So, in light of the events that happened in the killing of Officer Erfle, I began to wait for this to become an issue of illegal immigrants. I was not disappointed. Or rather, I was disappointed to not be wrong. In less than 24 hours, According to the Arizona Republic, Phoenix Mayor Phil Gordon

“called on Washington officials to ‘secure the border and secure it now’ before another officer pays the ultimate price. ‘This individual that took our officer's life is a perfect example, a poster child, of our failed Washington policy for securing our borders,’ Gordon said.” (The complete article is here.)

Amazingly, Sheriff Joe Arpaio said something logical in response. According to the same article,

"It's a big, complex issue," said Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio, who has been in the national forefront when it comes to pursuing undocumented immigrants. Still, Arpaio admitted, "You can't catch 'em all. We have a lot of violence out there, whether you're legal or illegal."

And therein lies the truth. It is merely coincidence that the last two officers slain in the line of duty in Arizona have, been done so by illegal aliens. But you can’t say that to the average reactionary. I have had three separate conversations in as many days with people who are outraged about the problems that illegals cause. I have many thoughts on that subject, which I will not go into here. My main reason for writing this is to examine how we ignore the logic of emotionally charged situations and make rash decisions in doing so.

Whenever a member or a few members of any particular group do something that we disagree with, or do not understand, we tend to attribute that behavior to the entire group and nut to just the individuals doing that thing. Not all illegal immigrants are shooting and killing people. Not all police officers are tasing people speaking out in public. Not all Catholic priests are molesting their congregation’s youth. Not every person with a Southern accent has appeared on Jerry Springer.

Those are just a few examples, but I feel they make my point. Step back from the tragedies and look at things for a moment. Hold the person guilty of the behavior responsible, not whatever group he belongs to.

It seems to me that when something terrible happens like this we, as humans, should be doing more to alleviate the suffering and help each other through it, not making matter worse and adding to the strife through our reactions. Granted, it is difficult in any situation of such high emotion, to be able to examine things in such a manner. But there are always people who should be rational enough to be able to help remind those most intimately affected of the truth. I am just surprised that, in the case of Officer Erfle, it was Joe Arpaio.

"I think I shall now be sick."

2007-08-15T21:50:00.000-07:00

I am horribly mentally and emotionally scarred after a recent trip to the convenience store. After the wonderful discovery that are Funyuns with wasabi (Read more here.) I was shocked and appalled to see an affront to nature and all that I hold dear.

I am not trying to be overly dramatic here; I am trying to prepare you for the horror you are about to be told of. So that you won’t be caught by surprise, as I was. So that you, dear reader, can go on about your day with a minimum of mental anguish. My brain is still boggled.

Let us begin with some groundwork and build up. Bud Light. Comes out darker than it goes in. As my friend Clay says, it’s like sex in a canoe; f**king close to water. Then there is Clamato. In the words of the late, great Richard Jeni, “Tomato juice and clam juiced mixed together and you drink it. Notice that I say, YOU drink it!” So, inspired by, perhaps, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and, perhaps, repeated blows to the head, someone came up with Chelada. Two bad tastes, that, when mixed together, would make Satan gag.

Here’s the kicker; you can’t even find this stuff on the Anheuser Busch website search. Even THEY. know this is evil in a can!

I sit, rocking and shuddering just knowing this stuff is out there.

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(Not so) Random Fact: Richard Jeni’s specials, previously only available on VHS, will be released on DVD sometime this month.

Bibles and cell phones

2007-03-06T20:28:00.000-07:00

I received the following in an e-mail. Normally when I get this kind of religious, touchy feely kind of thing, I have already seen it and I just delete or ignore it. This one got me to thinking, however. Here is the e-mail as I received it:

Wonder what would happen if we treated our Bible like we treat our cell phones?

What if we carried it around in our purses or pockets?

What if we turned back to go get it if we forgot it?

What if we flipped through it several times a day?

What if we used it to retrieve messages from the text?

What if we treated it like we couldn't live without it?

What if we gave it to kids as gifts?

What if we used it I case of emergency?

This is something to make you go, hmm.where is my Bible?

Oh, and one more thing. Unlike our cell phone, we don't have to worry about our Bible being disconnected. Because Jesus already paid the bill!

And no dropped calls!

Now mind you, I don’t consider myself to be a very religious person. I do consider myself spiritual, though. I was raised Catholic and some of the habits of that are still stuck in my brain. The above e-mail got me to thinking and led to the following:

Wonder what would happen if we treated our cell phones like we treat our bibles?

What if we interpreted the other person’s side of the conversation as it would best fit our needs?

What if we used the excuse of having different service providers as a reason to start wars because our provider was the one true provider?

What if we heard different conversations depending on what version of phone we were using?

What if we used contradicting features to fuel hatred and division and alienate others who don’t use their phone the same way?

What if we condemned people who choose to use other forms of communication as “Heathens” or “Uneducated” or “Uncivilized?”

What if we only used certain features of our phones when it was beneficial to us, or when others were around to see what loyal phone users we were?

What if we built extravagant buildings to use our cell phones in, but berated people who felt they could use their cell phones outside these buildings?

What if the people who were supposed to teach us to use our cell phones, were granted special privileges by the government and used people’s desire for the phones as a way to bilk them of their money.

Oh, and one more thing. Unlike our Bibles, we don’t have to worry about our cells phones working if we believe in them enough. They work because of scientific fact.

The truth is that a cell phone and a Bible (Or a Torah, or a Koran, etc.) are very similar. They are excellent tools. They can do a lot of good, or they can do harm, it all depends on who uses the tool and how. All cell phones do essentially the same thing; they provide a convenient way to communicate with others. All holy books and writings are the same, too. They give excellent examples of how to live a good life and interact with others. They teach us about how we came to be the people we are. Most holy books teach essentially the same things, live a good life and treat your fellow human beings with the dignity and respect that you would like to be treated with. But like cell phones, holy books are imperfect by the virtue of the fact that they have been fiddled with by mankind. The important thing to remember, it seems to me, is to use either object with respect for the potential results of our actions.

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“I like your Christ; I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”
Mohandas Gandhi

TMI

2007-01-10T16:57:00.000-07:00

I read a random bit of information somewhere; and when I say “somewhere,” I mean some random place on the internet. If I had read it in Playboy, I’d just come out and say so. Shy I am not. But let me not keep you in suspense. What I read was that an ear of corn has, on average, 800 kernels wrapped in its silky husk.

First of all; how do you get the job of kernel counter? Then, who pays this person to sit around counting bits of corn and averaging it out? I am sure there is a government grant out there somewhere that is funding this. And why are they doing this counting?

Did we really need to know this kernel (Ha ha! Get it? Kernel!) of useless information? Unless it is winning me a car in some kind of contest in Iowa, I’d rather be guessing the number of M&Ms in a pickle jar. This random bit of fluff has dislodged some other bit of information in my brain, I am sure. Hopefully it wasn’t something important. I already can’t remember phone numbers to save my life. Well, except for my friend Katy’s number, cause it is kinda awesome. As is she. (No, I won’t give you the number, she’s happily married.) (By the way, Katy, you realize this means you are the first person I am calling if I need bail money. Just saying.)

But back to the subject, because I know you are all ears (Get it? “Ears,” like corn! I crack me up.) (And no, this is most likely not the last of the corny puns.) (See there was another one!)

Have we really run out of important things to discover? Isn’t cancer and AIDS still a concern somewhere in this world? Don’t we have a plethora of things that we could have been having Colonel Counter working on? Or is this the level of his ability to participate? Is this someone who had been counting sheep but kept falling asleep? Or was this some really annoying guy who kept getting in everyone’s way while they were working on real science? “Hey, will someone find something for Dwayne to do? He keeps trying to play “Pong” on the particle accelerator.” “Okay Dwayne, go down to the farmer’s market, buy all the corn you can, then count the kernels in each ear, and find he average. Off you go!” “Okay, Steve, you make a tape of random numbers to play while he is counting, to make him lose his place and start over and over.”

And another thing; How do we know this is even accurate? Is someone going to do a follow up to check the numbers? I know I’m not going to do it. I have books to read, movies and TV to watch and music to listen to. Although I guess you could listen to music while counting. Just not anything like 99 Luftbalons or anything from the Schoolhouse Rock math series.

Now that we have spent the last five hundred or so words discussing useless information, I feel like I have just contributed to the problem. But thanks for letting me bend your ear. (All right, I’m done with the puns now.)

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Random fact: The average foot has 4.89 toes on it. Don’t believe me? Just start counting.

Tadji R.I.P.

2006-11-28T20:38:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up to find that my oldest dog, Tadji, had died during the night. At first I thought he was just sleeping, from the way he was laying. So I believe (And fervently hope.) that he passed in his sleep, without much pain.

I began writing this by recalling his last few days, but have decided instead to focus on the eleven plus years of his life. I don’t know if it is society in general, the people I have worked with in the last few years or some change in myself, but it seems that it is so much easier to focus on the negative about people and situations rather than the positive. For all the tears that I have shed over his passing, I was not remembering all the smiles we had shared.

I got Tadji as a puppy of eight weeks old. I was working in a very small town in Northern Arizona. I was working at the Sunrise Ski Resort as a representative of Popular Outdoor Outfitters. (Which has since gone out of business.) It was the not the first Christmas that I had spent away from family, as I had been working retail for about seven years at the time. It was, though, the first Christmas that I spent without family or close friends. It was the first alone Christmas that I had spent. I had made a few friends in Springerville, but nobody that I was close enough to that I would spend my holiday with them. I was feeling pretty alone, which is very unlike me. Especially at the time, as I had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances when I was doing retail.

This is a bit of a build up, but I want to convey just how important it was when Tadji came into my life. It was the weekend of Valentine’s Day and I had run to the grocery store when I met a rancher who had three Border Collie puppies in a box outside the store. One already spoken for and I wanted to think a bit before I brought one home, so I got the man’s number and I went on about my day.

I couldn’t get the image of those cute little fur balls out of my mind and, after checking with my landlord, I called the rancher and made arrangements to go by his place that evening. When I got to his place, I got to meet the puppies’ parents and I got to play with the two puppies he had left. I was originally drawn to the other puppy, but Tadji, after looking at me for about a minute while his brother romped around the yard, came right up to me and started tugging on my shoelaces, furry little feet on either side of my foot. It was love at first sight. Or bite. In retrospect, I should have thought about the fact that I had just picked the puppy that was already chewing on my shoes before he had even been properly introduced.

He was so tiny; I could hold most of him in the palm of my hand, his back legs hanging on either side of my wrist. I took him home and let him run around he house a bit while I tried to figure out what his name was. He almost got named Zap, as he had a penchant for tearing around the carpet then coming up and giving me a sniff and a static shock. It wasn’t until after a week or so of being called “The Puppy” that one of my employees used the word “Tadji” which is Apache for “turkey” and it seemed like a perfect fit. I had to guess at the spelling, so any errors there are all mine. He didn’t seem to mind the name, but he never seemed to mind anything other than kids. And that was only because a girl I was seeing at the time had a son who chased him into a corner and kicked him. Needless to say she and I didn’t last long after that.

In fact, Tadji stood by me (Well, lay next to me.) through several girlfriends, five vehicles, as well as several different employers and jobs. We lived in the same apartment complex from when we moved back to Tempe from Springerville. He endured my weird taste in music, even when I would play Art of Noise because he would “sing” to it. He never barked at me no matter how weird I got with my hairstyles of facial hair configuration. He would always be by my side, to the point of being underfoot. He would always be waiting at the door, tail wagging, when I got home. As a matter of fact, he would greet those women who had keys as they came in as well and I had to fight my way to get a greeting of my own.

He was easy to train and could do many tricks, although his favorite was one that I never taught him. Anyone who ever started out scratching his ears and ended up at his butt as he bounced it around and smiled his big doggie smile at you will attest to that.

There are many, many things about the time we spent together that make me smile and I plan to spend my time remembering those, rather than focusing on the times that we won’t have now that he is gone. I hope when I am gone, those who survive me can do the same with memories we have shared, for it is the lives and times we lived together that matter over the pain of the things that never will be. I don’t want any more memories of a life as half unlived. I’d rather see them as only halfway done with.

Thanks to all of you for your support this week. It has been very touching to hear from those besides myself who have happy memories of Tadji.

Random fact: I still have some of his puppy teeth.

Tonight on WTF Theater...

2006-11-09T22:22:00.000-07:00

I got a call to see if I could come in early today, and, since I like to be able to pay my bills, in I came. Mind you, when the call came in I was sitting at home watching Tyra Banks be sympathetic to the homeless on her show. She even dressed up like a homeless person and went out on the street for a night. Well, her and her camera crew. It was kind of a traffic accident hour of television, I couldn't look away. She seemed touched by the whole experience, but the question I have is,"So what do you do now Ms. Banks?"

Wow, I got sidetracked in my first paragraph. That usually happens later on. I didn't intend to write about the pseudo homeless super model, I came to write about Schwarzenegger!

Normally I bring movies in to work on the evening shifts, tonight I left home and forgot to grab anything. As we channel surfed, we found "Commando" coming up next on one of the Spanish channels. GREAT! I haven't seen this movie in a loooong time, but I always remember it as one of my favorite Arnie movies.

My brain has played tricks on me. This was not the movie I remember loving. The "Commando" of my memory was a gripping action movie with great fight scenes and a menacing bad guy. Granted, this version was cut for TV and was dubbed into Spanish, but it just wasn't what I remember. The "Commando" that I watched tonight was very 80's-tastic. Especially the soundtrack. Hoo boy was it annoying. And the end title theme was powerfully bad! Also, the main villain, Bennett, played by Vernon Wells, who I remember as being quite a badass? Yeah, turns out he's gay. Well, I don't know if the actor was in the closet with Doogie Houser, but the character in the film was flaming! Tight leather pants, mesh sleeveless shirt, fingerless gloves, and a dog chain and teeny padlock around his neck. All he needed to complete the outfit was a feather boa to try to strangle Arnie with. Cause Lord knows bullets weren't working. They must have had every available Hollywood extra touting a rifle and trying to shoot him down. These guys must have gone to the Keystone Cops school of shooting, cause they couldn't hit the ground if they were aiming at it. And the hand to hand combat scenes weren't any better. I can imagine the director giving the stuntmen their directions; "Okay, you five guys stand around holding your automatic rifles and wait for Mr. Schwarzenegger to come over to you and hit you. Don't worry, we won't show your faces on screen, that way you can still face your families with some dignity."

Maybe I have just become spoiled in the 20 years (Ouch, that long?) since this movie came out. There have been such amazing leaps in fight choreography and special effects that there is no way to watch this movie and take it any kind of seriously. Especially when you have eleven Hispanic kids who speak next to no English trying to pronounce "Schwarzenegger." And one of their first questions is "Isn't that the Governor who hates illegals?"

Sometimes I can't believe I get paid to be this entertained.

The Emperor's New Costume

2006-11-03T17:52:00.000-07:00

Okay, so Hallowe'en was last week, but this just happened yesterday.

Every Thursday my company has a lunch/happy hour kind of deal at the bar across from our office. Low key and only a few of us show up with any kind of regularity. The wait staff know us and treat us well. One of the waitresses was showing us pictures of their Hallowe'en party and I was reminded of the scene in "Mean Girls" where they make a comment about Hallowe'en just being an excuse to dress sexy. Sexy, in this case, meaning "clothing that you would normally not wear outside the bedroom." Or as a friend of mine called it, "Dress Like a Slut Day."

I'll get back to my real point in a minute, but let me digress by saying that I have been a big fan of Hallowe'en since I was a little kid. I loved to dress up and cruise the neighborhood with my friends to see what they had all come up with for costumes. I still love to see what costumes my friends come up with, but I think that is because I have smart, creative friends who also get into the spirit of it all. (The best in years still has to be Zach's "Zombie Jesus" from 2005. The line "He died for your sins, now he's back for your BRAINS!" will never cease to make me chuckle.) So, to recap, I appreciate a good costume. I really appreciate a creative costume.

Back to the story about the pictures;

Many of the people who came to the party at this bar (The Coconut Club) are attractive younger women. As is to be expected since the bar is three blocks from ASU. I have absolutely NO problem looking at pictures of attractive women in sexy outfits. However, I DO have a problem calling a pair of boy shorts, a mask and a couple of pasties a COSTUME. That is not a costume. That is someone stole your clothes. There is more fabric in a pair of tube socks than in her entire ensemble. And this girl won the prize for "Sexiest Costume." That being the case, the prize should have just been called "Closest to naked."

It may sound like no big deal to you, but I maintain my position that a LACK of costume should not be constituted AS a costume. And, while she was indeed yummy to look at, she was really nothing more than a stripper in the wrong bar. Maybe. She could have been earning her drinks, I don't know.

Let's try the no-costume-costume in another scenario;

Random person: How do you like my garden?

Me: What garden? All I see is a patch of dirt.

Random person: That's my garden.

Me: No, it's a lack of anything growing.

Random person: That's cause I pulled the weeds.

Me: Did you plant anything?

Random person: Nope. I just removed what was there and put up sticks around the dirt and tied string around it.

Me: So, nothing is going to grow here?

Random person: Nope. Especially not weeds.

So, to recap, not wearing clothing = not wearing a costume, either. You have whole year to think of something good for next year.

You're not the boss of me

2006-10-07T00:16:00.000-07:00

Last night at work, I was startled by a heavy bout of thunder. I hadn't expected rain, really. It had been cloudy off and on all day and had sprinkled a few times as I was working my way around Tempe's streets on my bike, but no really storm. Until last night. Thunder, lightning, wind and a good deal of precipitation. I sat by the window and watched as I sipped a cup tea and checked eBay for the average selling prices of some items I am considering selling.

After a time, I had to move in order to do the bit of work actually required of me on my overnight shifts. And I didn't think about the storm anymore. When I went out into the back yard this morning, though, the sight of the patio table and umbrella, tossed aside by the night's wind, led me to look around a bit more and think.

We have had fewer rainstorms this year than in years past, but it seems that when they have come, they have been much more, shall we say, "productive." I have seen entire streets turned into rivers, impassable save for a raft, or the fool in the Hummer, who tries to ford the stream and gets his fifteen minutes by being broadcast repeatedly one the five, six, nine, ten and eleven o'clock news broadcasts.

On my trip home, I was deluged, along with my fellow commuters, by the rain that fell this morning. As I watched the average speed driven fall by at least ten miles per hour, if not more, it got me thinking about how many things in nature are beyond our control and affect our lives.

The storm this morning was nothing compared to the hurricanes that come on a regular basis. Katrina was just a year ago, but still it's effects permeate New Orleans. Of more personal impact to me, Hurricane Mitch hit Honduras and surrounding countries in 1998, almost ten years ago, but there is still evidence of the sheer destructive power it brought with it.

There are countless storms that buffet different parts of the world on a daily, weekly, monthly and yearly basis. In addition to the storms, there are earthquakes, avalanches, volcanoes, tornadoes and other events which make the Bible so much fun to read.

It seems, at times, like the Earth is trying like hell to get rid of us. Roiling about, trying to dislodge the tick that is humanity and has burrowed itself into Gaia's skin. We strive to develop materials and designs which will withstand the onslaught of torrential fury that is leveled against us. We create buildings that will ride out the most tumultuous earthquake, we fortify our defenses against the floods that follow the rains and hurricanes, we build fake trailer parks to fool the tornadoes. Okay, not really, but you get the picture.

But no matter what brilliant advances we make in our attempts to weather the storm, we still take our losses, in lives as well as in property and money, with each shake of Mother Earth to dislodge us.

Every so often, we get a little reminder of who is REALLY in charge here.

Pornganization

2006-08-15T20:39:00.000-07:00

It has been brought to my attention, at more than one time in my life, that my style of organization leaves a bit to be desired. The ironic thing is that I love organizing things. And even more so, I love organizational stores or shelving type units that have multiple compartments for things. I am always looking at bags with many pockets for things as well as new ways to organize my jewelry supplies and tools. If I had the budget for it, my place would be walls of cubby holes with places for everything and a big, old apothecary desk for my jewelry making stuff.

That being said, the new 2007 Ikea catalog came to my mailbox earlier this month. The Ikea catalog is a form of porn to me, I immediately turn to the best parts (Shelving units) and begin to drool over the glossy pictures, imagining the various possibilities of the images on the page. Wondering what different positions might be most workable and just how flexible the models would be if brought from the page to my own home. I gaze longingly on the pages, dreaming of the things that I would like to do, had I just the means an opportunity.

It should also be noted that, like porn, the pictures in the Ikea catalog are more perfect than anything in real life. They are the equivalent of the Playboy spreads with models, perfectly posed, airbrushed and lit so that no imperfections are revealed. The Ikea shots are in perfect homes. Photos that lead you into temptation to buy the real home, whose rooms will age and get dirty and show their usage over time.

But, unlike porn, I can peruse the same images for the entire year until the next catalog comes out. And I don't need a Kleenex to read it. Plus, I can take it to work with me. It is a good thing I am blessed with a vivid and fertile imagination.

Rub Me The Right Way

2006-07-10T17:55:00.000-07:00

I am sitting on the couch watching TV when she comes to find me. She presses against me, nuzzling my cheek then giving me "the look" that means she is looking for some amorous attention. I begin to caress her face and she closes her eyes, leaning her head back and making little sounds of pleasure. As I continue to touch her, she stretches herself out next to me, limbs extending, pressing herself closer into my fingers as I am touching her. She begins purring with pleasure as I touch her. In the time we have been together, I have learned how she likes to be touched, what it takes to please her. As I continue, she writhes in ecstasy and scratches me, but I know she doesn't mean to. As a tease, I stop and move my hand away. Her eyes fly open and her head whips around to look at me, to find out why I have stopped. I chuckle and go back to giving her what she wants. When I get to that spot on her lower back that really drives her wild, she loses control of herself. I continue until she rolls over, satiated, and curls up on the couch next to me. Sometimes I think all she wants me for is the things I do for her. You know, fresh water in her dish, food dish full, cat toys all over the house and the occaisonal left over cereal milk. I now know the origin of the phrase "pussy whipped."

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Random Fact: My brother is a volleyball stud.

How Stupid Are Men?

2006-07-02T11:48:00.000-07:00

How stupid are men?

Don't all you ladies rush to answer that; I will be making a specific point/observation in the lines to follow.

So, here's the deal, I received a random friend request on MySpace. Now, since I am not just there to accumulate friends like some people, I actually check out the profiles that send me requests. Most of them are links to web cam sites.
This one was different. It is someone advertising a penis enlarging "sling” It is, essentially, a rack for your Johnson. I for one am not going to strap my little buddy into a medieval torture device of any kind. But that's just me. Let's continue, shall we?

So I am reading the profile just to see what the hell. I admit to my curiosity. I love to see what kinds of vague promises are made. I always wonder just what it is that sells people on these gimmicks. This one contains the unequivocal scientific reasoning as follows;

"The use of traction or weights to enlarge the penis is based on the principle of tensile force and the body's ability to adapt under such influence. By exposing the penis to a constant, permanent stretch, the cells in the penis chambers will begin to divide and multiply, thus increasing the tissue mass."

So, with sufficient pulling, you can cause the cells to divide and multiply? And with sufficient pressure, you can get them to do beginning algebra as well. Okay, maybe not, but following that logic, if you want to make yourself taller all you have to do is stretch your legs. So all you short folks out there, start hanging from your ankles while holding heavy weights. I'm sorry, I think this only really works for Gumby. I have years of experience of applying tensile force to my member through pulling, and it hasn't gotten any bigger. But it does tend to relieve stress and bring about a sense of overall well being.

So, back to my original question, "How stupid are men?" Do they really believe this garbage? Why is it that I am not a millionaire from selling something so bogus? Ah yes, I have scruples. Damn them.

Before a guy starts plunking down money on this, I suggest he contact the Jim Rose Circus to ask the guy who dangles multiple concrete blocks from his penile piercings if he has reached porn star proportions yet.

In closing, I wish that I could change her layout so that her "Friends" list reads, "A bunch of guys who think their penises are too small."

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Random Fact: No guy really believes that size doesn’t matter.

A New Direction

2006-04-07T00:25:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note to let you know of some changes afoot here at the Blog of Eric.

As some of you may know, I had begun a second blog as an advice-to-the-love-lorn/questions column. At least, that was the plan, but I never really got questions and it never took off as I had hoped.

SO, I have decided to convert that to a diary type blog so that folks who know me can keep track of the events in my life.

I am going to keep this blog in the vein that it began, just random thoughts and the silly workings of my mind.

Read whichever you like, both if you choose, and please, feel free to comment.

Seacrest OUT!

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Random Fact: Coming soon a blog on anal probing. I'll warn you.

Week End Update

2006-03-31T16:48:00.000-07:00

While this blog contains autobiographical elements, I have never intended it to be an online journal, per se. I have not envisioned this as a place where I relate the details of my day-to-day life. But, as I have been a bit lax in posting of late, I thought I should at least relate why. (And this way my parents will know I am alive!)

I have started many blogs in the recent past, but haven’t been able to really finish any of them to my liking. There has been other stuff going on that I think has distracted me.

Here’s the quick rundown:

I am still trying to get my correct pay from my last job, where I worked for 4 years. Ended badly and they still owe me money. I am in the middle of a complaint with the state labor board about it.

I came out of work this week to find two of my tires flat. I had used my spare about a month ago and hadn’t gotten around to replacing it. So, several hundred dollars later I have new tires. Seeing as how I couldn’t drive on just two good tires, I had to enlist the help of friends with vehicles to get the tires replaced. This took a bit of coordinating, but was done. In between getting the tires fixed, I relied on some rides from friends when the buses weren’t running. (Thanks to all of you, you know who you are.)

After getting home the night I found my tires flat, my male cat got out and has not been seen since. I am very careful about watching him since the first time that he got out and I don't know when he slipped past me, but I was tired and distracted that night, so who knows. I had a dream this morning that he was sleeping on my chest as he likes to do, but awoke to find it had just been a dream. That sucked. For as much as they are a pain in the butt, I love the cats and am missing him very much. The flyers go up tomorrow.

Speaking of buses, they suck in Phoenix. 5th largest city in the US and the mass transit system is deplorable. I had to take the bus to work one day and it took me almost three hours to complete what would have been a 30-35 minute drive.

Also rode my bicycle to do some errands one day without the car and was almost run over. Wound up crashing while trying to keep from slamming into some jerk face not paying attention to the fat guy on a bike. I was even wearing a bright red shirt. Don’t know how he didn’t see me. Was probably on a cell phone.

So, I am a bit beat up, physically and mentally, but getting by with the help of friends. My two best friends this week, Aleve and Tiger Balm.

Well, thanks for listening. I will be retro-posting as I finish the things I have started.

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Random Fact: That’s the news and I. Am. Outtahere.

House Napping

2006-03-13T21:01:00.000-07:00

So I am watching my friend’s cats and apartment as they traipse around Europe for two weeks. This is the apartment where we congregate for theme movie nights such as Zombie Night and Cheesy Sci-Fi Movie Night. Much fun is had by all and it becomes a bit reminiscent of Mystery Science Theatre 3000.

However, there is one drawback. More butts than chairs. And, as I am frequently one of the last to arrive, I am usually standing until someone foolishly gets up to go to the booby-trapped bathroom. (That is a whole other story.) As for those of you who say, “Why not just get there earlier?” Well, I can’t. It’s cultural AND genetic. (My mom will vouch for me on this one.)

So, here I am, with full run of the cable box. A very well stocked couple of shelves of movies. More books than I can ever thing to read and access to a very quick wireless network. Guess what I do. That’s right, I plop down on the couch and watch movies I already own! Two of them in a row! And they weren’t even great movies. I could have at least justified it if they were great movies. Then I fell asleep during something I hadn’t seen, but wanted to.

My pets are suspicious and think I am cheating on them.

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Random Fact: Many of the recent “Random Facts” are actually quotes from movies and comedians.

Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

2006-03-09T03:12:00.000-07:00

First off, I mean this to reflect society on the whole, not individually, so you other nice people out there, don’t fire off nasty e-mails, please.

It seems as though we have become an increasingly selfish bunch. We are motivated more by what our individual interests and wants are than what is good for the group. For instance, when two lanes merge into one, it is easy enough to realize that if one car goes from one lane, then one from the next, everyone would be able to get on their way with the same amount of delay. But we all know what really happens when those two lanes merge. The bigger car gets to go. Either that, or the person with the least concern for his or her own vehicle.

But the example that makes the biggest impression on me is the seeming decrease of people saying, “I’m sorry.” Two very simple words, but speaking them is so much more than those few letters seem to contain.

When you say “I’m sorry.” You are asking for forgiveness from someone. By asking this forgiveness, you are admitting that you have done something that has made a negative impact one to someone else. You are acknowledging your recognition for the feelings of others.

It seems that we have become so self-centered as a society that we have lost the capacity for the ability to think of others. It seems that we only think of situations in terms of what we can get from them, or how they impact our lives. We have stopped being responsible for being good neighbors. We have stopped taking into account that there are other people on the planet.

I am not sure when this began, or why it has happened, but it is prevalent in many places that I have gone, not just limited to the folks on daytime TV. Although the folks that they find for the Judge Whoever shows are shining examples of this. Well, maybe they don’t shine, but they sure are apparent.

So join with me people! Explore the impact that your actions have on others! If you wrong someone let them know that you realize it and say “I’m sorry!” Together we can make the world a better place!

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Random Fact of Kindness: Drop pennies where kids can find them. Make sure they are facing “heads” side up.

Think Before You Speak

2006-03-03T14:47:00.000-07:00

I was listening to the radio the other day. (For those of you out of touch with things mundane, radio is like streaming audio, but in your car.) There was a commercial that came on. Okay, there were a lot of commercials. But there was one in particular which was advertising a fundraiser for a Gulf War (II) vet who was injured in combat and is now an amputee. The fundraiser is to assist in the payment to make modifications to his home, so that he can function in it.

Now before you start thinking that I am going to start picking on this poor gentleman, let me allay your fears by saying nothing could be further from the truth. I have kept politics out of this blog, for the most part, and don’t intend to start on that topic as yet. Suffice it to say that I do not support the war, nor the bogus reasons we have been given as to why we are there. I DO, however, support all of our troops stationed overseas. They are doing an amazing thing under conditions that I can’t even imagine. I have nothing but respect and admiration for these folks.

What caught my attention was the way it was phrased. They are wanting to raise money to help him transition to his “new amputee lifestyle.”

I don’t want to sound too much like George Carlin, but this seems like rhetorical B.S. to me! You don’t have an “amputee lifestyle,” you have a bachelor lifestyle, a swinger lifestyle, a gay lifestyle, a rich lifestyle, etc. This is tantamount to saying that a homeless mentally ill person has a “carefree lifestyle.” What kind of crap is this? We are taking this man who sacrificed parts of his body doing a job that few are willing to do.

He is not picking out new drapes with his new girlfriend, he is having to learn to function in ways that circumvent the ways he has functioned for his entire life, up til now. He has to make adjustments to an environment that he was comfortable in prior to his being deployed overseas. He has to make a shift to a condition that most people will never have to experience and that society at large fails to fully accommodate adequately.

Calling this an “amputee lifestyle” seems insulting. It diminishes the loss and sacrifice of his condition.

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Random Fact: (From Amputee Online) Phantom sensation is not just the feeling of having a limb when no limb is present (which usually goes away). It is a term used for any sensation or pain originating from a residual (stump) limb.

http://www.amputee-online.com/amputee/phantom.html

Things Only My Brother Will Understand

2006-02-27T22:09:00.000-07:00

It is my brother's birthday today. I won't tell you how old he is, but he is three years younger than me and I am 36. (I'll wait while you do the math.) So, in honor of the brain that we seem to share, I thought I would post a list of things that he and I shared growing up. Some of you might recognize a few of these. I hope the randomness makes you smile.

Happy Birthday, Bud. I love you like a brother.

Now, speaking of blowjobs!

I don’t have any phony dog poo.

Have a popover, froggie!

New in town, eh?

We’re all out of caboodles. I’ve got a caboodle kit; you build your own caboodle.

Now I’m watching Fro-Fro-Froofie the Dog.

And you ain’t Baxter? No, I’m not Hawley.

Ahh…root’s kicking in.

Shut your festering gob you tit!

Ruthlessly; "I wonder where Ruth is."

Man that FDS really stings!

My stuck is foot!

It doesn't matter to Jesus.

I, also, am not a pussy.

Bullshit, Klaus! You give your own love to Wilhelm, I'm going to find Rebekah!

Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana.

Don’t tell Mom about your new girlfriend.

Using the whole fist there Doc?

Back een bowl?

If I had to describe my reaction in one word, that word would be "What the fuck?"

If you get an outfit you can be a cowboy too.

That's got to hurt Bob. Thank you Captain Obvious.

You shouldn't hang me on a hook Johnny. My mother hung me on a hook once. Once.

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Random Fact: My brother was born in Honduras, C.A. and had dual citizenship for the better part of his life.

Houdini in Fur

2006-02-25T19:45:00.000-07:00

I believe that God (Or whatever you call the creation deity or theory, you believe in.) put domesticated animals on this planet in order to keep us humans ~~from thinking we are all such hot shit~~ humble.

We see these wee creatures and think “There’s no way they’ll survive without my love and care to protect them. And in return they’ll worship me and give me unconditional love.” Or something to that effect. I know that is how I would up with my furry menagerie.

Now, as you can see, I have plenty of evidence at hand, and under foot, to base my “research” on, in order to support the theory that we aren’t as smart as we think we are.

As I stated, it begins with humans and our egotistical thought that these animals couldn’t survive without us. Well, I have a little secret for you; They managed to survive without us for eons. No, really! We all used to live outside, under the stars. Then we discovered caves and decided that being dry in the rainy season was a plus. Then we discovered empty caves and found that staying dry while not getting eaten by the cave’s occupant, was far better!

Then we started choosing certain animals that we liked (And didn’t eat us.) and began bringing them into the caves with us. Then we had to discover doors, because the ungrateful little bastards kept going back to their own homes!

Which brings us, more or less, to the present. Dogs seem to have taken to the idea of domestication a little better than cats. (I blame the Egyptians and their cat worship phase. Spoiled them for the rest of time.) But even dogs try to escape, all animals do. Or, failing escape, they try to make us wish they would leave. Well, at least three out of my four do. I don’t think I even need to point to the extreme example of Sigfried and Roy to make this point.

It has even gotten worse recently. I live in Tempe, AZ, where the temperature has been in the upper 70’s and we are in the midst of a record long dry spell. I have been keeping the windows open because it has been so nice at night. I came home the other night to see a cat sitting on my doorstep. As I came closer, I thought to myself, “That cat looks very much like Loki.” And with good reason, it was the furry little booger! So he sees me coming and starts meowing pitifully and bumping the door with his head. It turns out he had knocked the screen loose and had escaped. As soon as I opened the door, he streaked inside and disappeared under the bed. 10 minutes later he is has come outside again to check things out. Which means that now I can’t leave the door open when I takes the dogs out.

So, I now have a routine every time I come home: First, I walk the dogs. Second I make sure that everyone has fresh food and water so that I can distract them long enough that I can eat in peace. Then I walk the apartment to see what has been knocked over, trodden upon, chewed on, peed on, disturbed, molested or, on rare occasions, puked on. The most common thing muttered during this circuit is “Goddam cats!” To which Tadji just looks at me as if to say, “Hey, none of these other freeloaders was my idea, okay? That was all you.”

See, they try to lull you into a false sense of peace before the next attempt by looking really cute, and by curling up next to you, or on you, to sleep. They are just waiting for you to drop your guard so they can strike! I am sure they plot all day while I am gone. There may be a poltergeist in cahoots with them. I am still trying to prove that, but I am convinced that they must have some sort of supernatural assistance. They have no opposable thumbs and they can’t get everywhere they have gotten things from.

So, in this struggle of man against nature, I accept that some higher power is reminding me that I am not so high up the food chain that I can’t be tripped up (Sometimes literally.) by these supposed “domestic creatures.”

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put the dogs out. I’m still not sure where the cats even got that tiny flamethrower.

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Random Fact: “There is no rule 6.”

Idol Minds

2006-02-22T21:25:00.000-07:00

I have not watched American Idol before this season. Sure, I knew what the premise was and could even name a few of the contestants, being inundated with commercials between the shows that I wanted to watch. I can even name a few of the people that have won.

There is a woman that I used to work with that would have to get home in order to watch, and she would refuse to answer her phone while the show was on. I used to tease her and tell her that she was too young to be so obsessed with Clay Aiken.

Now I kind of understand her ardor, though.

After watching one of the horrendous singers in an audition show I watched the rest of the show, waiting for more of the car crash singers. I have been watching as many episodes as I can this season and can actually name several of the contestants. And since I am bad with names anyway, this is far more impressive than it sounds.

I haven’t reached the point of actually calling to vote yet, but I feel the temptation.

Pray for me.

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Random Fact: William Hung has THREE albums out. What is wrong with people?

The Tax on People Who Don't Understand Statistics

2006-02-18T21:16:00.000-07:00

Tonight’s Power Ball lottery is up to an estimated 360 million dollars. That’s 360 followed by six, count ‘em six zeros! ($360,000,000) I have never had anything that had that many zeros in it. Not even my old college transcripts.

Of course, as people gather in the glow of the CRTs around the office to discuss the dream lives they would have if they won all that money, someone will invariably say, “First, I’d pay off all my bills.” My co-workers and I have decided that this is pretty well B.S.

Let’s say you lose half of the money to taxes, that still leaves you with 180 million dollars. Sports stars aside, who could really spend that much money? You could afford to hire someone to call you creditors and tell them to go to hell. You will never need credit again!

In fact, one of the doctors I work with came up with an even better plan. He said that he would drive his credit as bad as it could go, then go into a Ferrari dealership to try to buy a car. After they reviewed his credit application and turned him down, he would then say, “How about this suitcase full of cash? Will you take that?” He’s a genius!

I am still not buying tickets. I blow enough money on pointless stuff anyway, but at least I get something out of it. I have talked to people who have spent literally hundreds of dollars figuring that if they win it was a good investment. They could take that money and bury it in a hole and have almost the same chance of winning. They say you can’t win if you don’t play. But you also won’t blow the rent money or the car payment if you don’t play either.

Unless you blow it all on CDs.

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Random Fact: Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people.

If I Only Had a Life

2006-02-11T03:40:00.000-07:00

I used to think that the game The Sims should more aptly be named “Get a Life.” With the expansion pack of “Go Outside and Talk to Real People.” I have to admit that I was a bit prejudiced in this view, never having played the game myself. Now that I have played it a little, and watched it being played I have to admit that I need a life.

Granted, the person who was showing me the game is a mental patient, who is living in a group home with other mental patients who are much older and less independently functional than he is. I can understand how he uses the game to be able to do things that he will never be able to do in his real life. And I do have to admit that I was entertained by the fact that all of the women in his game are dressed in underwear or bathing suits. He has created his own little imaginary harem.

And I am not casting aspersions on the, apparently, millions of people who have bought and enjoyed this game. I am in no way implying that they function on the same level as a mentally ill person. Well, maybe a little I am.

I admit to playing my share of video games. Maybe not that well, but I like to play. I have taken the role of a fighter pilot, a striker for Arsenal, a medieval knight, Indiana Jones, a blue hedgehog and the son of Death to name a few. But this is SO different from making a video version of myself to have the same goals as my real life. Why should I sit in front of a screen trying to find a job, a roommate, an apartment, etc. when these are things that I have already done in real life?

The odds that I shall one day pilot a star fighter against an alien armada are much greater than me finding a girlfriend and buying a pinball machine. (Those of you about to make a comment on the odds of me finding a girlfriend, SHUT IT!)

Now, the only thing more pathetic than playing a game that simulates life is to watch someone else play! (As the Penny Arcade Folks so aptly put it here.) It is a special kind of wrong to have your goal in life be to wait for your turn to try to achieve goals for life. Really. I am shaking my head as I type this.

Now, I am off to build Lego starships and have my little Lego Obi Wan Kenobi decimate the little Lego Darth Maul.

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Random Fact: “It’s either 6:15, or Mickey has a hard on!”

I Can Feel My Brain Shrinking

2006-02-08T15:20:00.000-07:00

So I was watching Jerry Springer the other day and I had a few questions. Besides “Why the hell am I watching Jerry Springer?” that is.

First, “Do these people get that Jerry is making fun of them?” I am thinking no, since they are on the show in the first place. They aren’t a bus full of brain surgeons, that’s for sure. I actually have a little more respect for Jerry, because he actually seems to get that he is parading the shallow end of the gene pool past us on a daily basis.

Next, “Who is having sex with these people?” I mean really, there are people here with as many children from as many different women as I have had sex with in my whole life! (I’m not posting that number, my mother reads this.) Even the most ignorant of folks have to realize that these people are not remotely close to attractive. (Although a woman with no teeth does have one advantage.)

Then, “How do they get people to go on this show?” I get that they have people calling in and wanting to be on the show, but if I were to get a call from the Jerry Springer show, (Or any of it’s brethren.) I would immediately assume that my girlfriend/wife is either cheating on me, or is a man. So how do they get the unknowing people on this show? I am guessing it has to be piles of money. Big ones.

Lastly, “How am I ever going to get this hour of my life back?”

At least I was reading during the commercials.

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Random Fact: There used to be cartoons on T.V. every Saturday morning. On every channel.

Eggs on the Rocks

2006-02-03T01:16:00.000-07:00

My father has always taught me some of the most important lessons in my life. Or if not taught them to me, but he has given me the information to learn the lesson. I have already posted the framed sayings that he gave me, which is just one example. I’d like to tell you another one that has come back to my mind recently.

I don’t recall the exact details of the situation, but at some point I was talking to my dad about some boss or supervisor or something. It was some situation that I felt that I was right and this other person was wrong. (And if you know me, you know how I like to be right.) While I don’t remember the exact details of why I was upset, I will never forget what my father said to me.

He told me “If you drop a rock on an egg, the egg will break. But if you drop an egg on a rock, the egg will break. The important thing to know is when you are the rock and when you are the egg.”

Recently I have been having troubles with the medical director at my work. I’m not writing to gripe about work, though. (I do that enough while I am at work.)

The point is, the more things I go through in my life, the more times I realize that I was given a pretty good set of tools by my dad. And I know that he got them from his father, who was also a wise man. All of the influences that I have had, from all the male figures in my family, have taught me to deal with problems with a certain wisdom and sense of humor.

The older I get and the more people I meet, the more I appreciate just how lucky I am to have been brought up the way I was. There are a lot of people out there with no common sense at all, and who rarely seem to think of others above themselves.

So anyway, I am off to see if I can find a way to be the rock instead of the egg.

************

Random Fact: Until President Kennedy was killed, it wasn’t a federal crime to assassinate the President.

St. Timothy of Borborygmus

2006-01-26T23:28:00.000-07:00

According to my new
calendar, (Jeffery Kacirk’s
Forgotten English) today is the Feast Day of St. Timothy. St. Timothy is “a protector of those with intestinal ailments.” In order to figure out what kind of sacrifice St. Tim prefers, I went to
this site to do a bit of research. Oh my Holy Saints, Batman! There are hundreds, if not thousands of saints listed! The “X” page has only one listing, though. Kind of like an express lane for saints. St. Tim, of the intestinal ailments, according to one record hung out with St. Paul. Pretty high up there in the saint seniority, it would seem. And he got to be saint of intestinal disorders.

It got me thinking, (Surprise, surprise.) with so many saints, you really had to get in there early, or be connected in order to get to be the saint of something good. If you become a saint today, you are probably going to wind up with something like “Patron Saint of Lost Keys” or “Patron Saint of Lint Screens.”

Imagine being martyred, dying some gruesome, horrible death for your God, and having to wait around in heaven for your sainthood certificate to arrive. With the golden ink still wet, you make your way over to the Saint’s Services Desk in heaven and ring the bell. (And an angel gets his wings.)

Me: “Hello, anybody here?”

Patron Saint of Saints: “Yes, can I help you?”

Me: “I’ve just received my sainthood, you see, and came to register and see what you have available.”

PSOS: “Well, let’s have a look at that parchment. First of all, you’ll need a fixative for your certificate, keeps the ink nice and prevents smudges and fingerprints. I recommend the Saints Preservus™ it’s acid free and archive quality. Now let me get the registration book and forms. What is your first preference for patroncy?”

Me: Nothing too outrageous or glamorous, what occupations do you have available?

PSOS: “Let me have a look…there is whale washers.

Me: Umm…What else?

PSOS: Canker Sores?

Me: Yeah, no.

PSOS: Lost Causes? Never mind, sorry, that one is taken. How about Lost Keys?

Me: I knew it! How about Patron Saint of Those Aggravated by People Who Talk On Their Cell Phones When They Should Be Paying Attention to The Road?

PSOS: *With a stunned look* I’ll need more ink.

You get the idea. Anyway, I’m off to sacrifice a bucket of hot wings to St. Tim of the Intestinal Disorders.

************

Random Fact: The guy on the donkey is just a guy on a donkey.

Vampires, Werewolves and the Laws of Physics

2006-01-21T04:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, if you have not seen "Underworld Evolution" but plan to, don't read this.

So, as you may surmise, I went and saw "Underworld Evolution" Friday night. And I was enjoying it just fine until the final ten minutes or so.

And Marcus goes and pulls a helicopter out of the sky by a piece of rope.

This was the point that my brain said "Oh come ON!" and from there on, I was too fed up to really enjoy the film anymore. Now you may ask why it was this particular bit of film fantasy that I had a problem with. We are talking about a movie where a guy is bitten by a vampire AND a werewolf and becomes a mix of both. We are talking about a movie where they only reload for about a third of the bullets they shoot. A movie that has vampire who flies with bat wings. A movie where a guy is a medical intern in an un-named European country, but doesn't speak the language. A movie where four policemen get their asses handed to them by bogeymen and they come back the next day without any more men. And that's not to mention a movie with vampires and werewolves.

So, as you can see, my sense of reality was already suspended going into the whole affair. But it seems that my brain expected the basic laws of physics to still apply. It boils down to this; It doesn't matter how strong you are, you can't pull a helicopter down.

Before you get too loud in your protests, I propose a simple test. The next time you go to the gym (If you are that kind of person, if not go watch someone who does.) go to one of the pull down machines, put on your body weight plus 50 pounds, then pull down. You know what happens? You pull yourself up! Unless you brace yourself to something that weighs more than the total weight, you will move, not the weights.

Now that you see where I am headed, back to Marcus and the helicopter. First of all, helicopters weigh a LOT more than your average vampire. So, if Marcus were trying to lift one on a teeter totter, he'd have a problem. A helicopter has to produce enough lift to keep itself in the air, plus passengers. (Which, in this case, was at least 6 who disembarked. Selene and the four Red Shirt commandos, then the revived Michael.) So, to counteract that weight, Marcus has to weigh at least as much as those six individuals.

They use helicopters to move heavy cargo. Without doing too much research I found a company that you can use to have helicopters lift things. They lift 6,000 pound air conditioning units. So now Marcus has to weigh at least 6,000 pounds to even begin to think about pulling down a helicopter. And he'd have to be considerably heavier to just YANK it down the way he did.

Now, if this had been "The Matrix" I could accept this, since the suspension of the laws of physics was established as a ground rule. But it wasn't "The Matrix" it's "Underworld Evolution" and this JUST SHOULDN'T BE.

Maybe Marcus has strong toes and gripped the Earth for leverage...

************

Random Fact: The Hessian soldiers hired by the British to fight the colonists during the Revolutionary War were paid about 25 cents a day.

You Hang Your Hat Where Your Heart Is.

2006-01-11T05:30:00.000-07:00

I was reviewing my notes and jotted ideas for blogs to come, as well as things that I have begun writing, but have not completed for whatever reason and I was reflecting on my preparations to go to visit my parents for Christmas.

When I was telling people about my plans for the holidays I kept saying I was going “home” for Christmas. I’ve been to my parents’ current home once. They moved from the Phoenix somewhere around ten years ago and have been to three places in Oregon, intermixed with time in Texas and Tucson.

I have lived on my own since college which was…well, it was a while ago. In the late part of the 80’s. There have been several apartments, moves and even a room mate or two which lead to my current living situation. I have lived in the same apartment complex since 1997, just moving from a one bedroom to a two bedroom a few years back.

And yet, as stable as my residence has been, home is still where my parents live.

Obviously, when I say I am going home after work, I am heading to my apartment. But when I talk about “home” in the embroidered saying sense, I always think of wherever my parents are.

I know that whatever happens I will always be welcome there. I know that any time I want to get away from things I can call them and I will have a place to visit. A place that is as comfortable as where all of my belongings and clothing reside.

It has been like this since I first moved out. I would go back home for dinner and movies or to help out if needed. I spent holidays there and brought girlfriends over, when there were girlfriends to take. I don’t know if it is the cultural background from my father’s side that makes this so easy. I am not really too concerned where it comes from, I am happy that things are the way they are.

This isn’t to say that everything is an idyllic Norman Rockwell picture. We all have our quirks in my family and there have been times that there was tension. But, over all, I know I have a place that I can always return to. I can always go “home.”

Even if I have never been there.

************

Random Fact: The current bathroom, maybe not so much.

Eric and the Furry Menagerie

2006-01-10T06:36:00.000-07:00

I realize that I have written about my cats several times. I have two dogs, too, they just aren’t as much ~~trouble~~ ~~drama~~ ~~effort~~ of a novelty to write about. I do love all my furries, though, and will be writing more about the dogs, I am sure. Here is how we came to be a family. (You can hum the “Brady Bunch” theme, if you wish.)

It all started innocently enough, I was living in a small town in northern Arizona at the time, working at the local ski resort. I went to the grocery store, because that’s where they kept the food that you could take home and cook to not starve. There was a farmer there with two of the cutest little Border Collie puppies. His dogs had these and he couldn’t keep them all, so he was selling them. He had already found a home for all of them but these two. A family took one and I came home with Tadji. The first dog I had ever owned since moving out on my own. We lived a happy bachelor life for about three years.

Then came Annie, my Border Collie/Corgi mix. She had been rescued from a shelter by a co-worker of mine, but in the short time she was with my co-worker, she was assaulted by the co-worker’s obnoxious Jack Russell Terrier, chewed him a new face hole and was evicted. (In Annie’s defense, she is obnoxious, but my co-worker’s dog was worse. The dog used to bite her husband whenever he tried to get into bed with my co-worker. She always defended the dog. They are divorced now. Anyone surprised?) Anyway, Annie was faced with having to go back to the pound. Luckily, I know dog people. I told my co-worker I would find Annie a good home, rather than risk her going back to the pound. That was almost seven years ago.

Again, life was mostly good. Annie was…a challenge. I had gotten spoiled with how easily trained Tadji was. Annie was…a challenge. This should have been my first clue.

A few months ago, (More than it seems.) I had another co-worker who had kittens she had to ~~get rid of~~ find homes for before she moved out of state. (I need to quit working with people.) So she brought this box of teeny, tiny cute little baby kitteners to work. I took one. My boss took one, another co-worker took one, and so on until the box was empty. By the end of the weekend my boss discovered that she was allergic to cats. (You see where this is going, don’t you?) So now I have two cats.

In case you lost count, I am beginning to gather animals two by two. If it ever rains in AZ again, I may build an ark.

I realize, in retrospect, that I am a sucker for tiny, cute fur balls in need of care. But it is proof of my belief that puppies, kittens and babies are cute so that they aren’t killed when they chew your favorite shoes or barf on your rug.

************

Random Fact: A fly got into the house yesterday. Cats went absolutely batshit.

Potty At My Parents' House!

2006-01-09T22:24:00.000-07:00

I am convinced that the guest bathroom in my parents’ house is there specifically to make sure guests don’t overstay their welcome.

It is nothing glaringly obvious, at first. My mother is a very good decorator and the room seems inviting enough from the door way. There are nice towels in matching, coordinated colors. Nice, framed cross-stitch works and shadow boxes with dried flowers. Very inviting.

Until you try to use it.

First, there is the lighting. There is no light over the toilet and it sits in a semi-shadowed corner. Not that big a deal, but men like to read in the john and good light helps. Luckily, there is a fan. (It doesn't help for reading, but it is helpful to those who follow after.)

The wall of the tub comes up to just above my knee. I am 5’11” so this is not a short wall. It makes a deep enough tub that one could take a bath, should one choose. But, the tub floor sits at floor level, so having to lift a leg that high to enter the tub can be a bit precarious. Then there is the problem of exiting the tub. The floor of the tub is wet and treacherous, there is nothing to grab onto, and the walls are slippery with steam. (At least, the way I shower they are.)

If you make it out of the tub without falling, the next thing you notice is that the light over the sink id glaringly harsh. Coupled with a mirror which, from the outside of the tub, reflects from mid thigh and up. The mirror is so unflattering, that Callista Flockhart would think from her reflection, that she needs to lose a few pounds.

Now, granted I wear glasses, but not in the shower, so my vision might be a bit distorted, but, seeing my washed out, gelatinous reflection was a bit horrifying. It’s enough to make you wish you had slipped in the shower.

But if the reflection is accurate, the paramedics don’t need to be seeing that! This is why I am convinced that sex should be done by candlelight. But that is a whole different topic. The bottom line is, as much as I enjoyed visiting my family, I was glad to get home to the lighting and mirrors that understand me and make me feel wanted.

Plus, I don’t have to sleep on the floor at home.

************

Random Chuck Norris Fact: Chuck Norris can touch MC Hammer.

Happy New Year, Average Old One

2006-01-01T22:46:00.000-07:00

First of all, Happy New Year to everyone out there! I hope that your celebrations were fun and that everyone got home safe and without incurring a DUI. (You people know who you are.)

I hadn't been prepared to be blatantly reminded of how single I currently am until at least February. Or at least for a few weeks, when the jewelry, flower and card companies start their push for Valentine's Day revenue.

Then I went to a New Year's party last night.

It started out okay. A group of my friends and I met at a pub to see a sort of Irish band that I liked, The Clare Voyants. The reason I say it that way is that the band changed configuration from how I had come to know it. The drummer, who I had known for years, is no longer with the group and, to me, this makes it not the band I used to love.

So I had no particular desire to see the rest of the band without Paul, however, my friends and I were meeting at O'Connor's prior to going to a house party. Now, last year, we spent the New Year's at this pub, closing it down, then retired to hotel rooms to continue the festivities. It was a blast.

Anyway, we met at the pub, and then headed over to another friend's house for a very comfortable and low key evening. They had a fire going in one of those above ground fireplaces (Similar to this.) and were relating all the high points of the year, month by month. I had nothing to contribute. Other than not dying for 36 years in a row, there were no real outstanding high points that I could recall.

Then came midnight. A few seconds of yelling "Happy New Year!" then all the couples broke down for prolonged kissing. Except for myself, my friend, Billie there were no single females. So she and I were basically watching everyone else make out as we tried to make small talk. Whee what fun. I left for home shortly thereafter, as couples began to cuddle in groups to chat.

As I said, I am fully expecting to be faced with the deluge of ads for all those in relationships within the nest few weeks, and am used to tolerating that with cynicism towards those that try to get romanticism to revolve around one day a year. I was caught by surprise last night, though. Smacked in the face by Baby New Year. The little bastard. I hope no one changes his diaper.

************

Random Fact: Regardless of what Cyndi Lauper says, girls don't just want to have fun. Some want to have babies.

My Mother fed us GARBAGE!

2005-12-28T23:49:00.000-07:00

And we loved every bite of it! In fact we begged for it!

An old family favorite, which I (Nor my dad or brother.) have had for years is Sandwiches de Basura or, Sandwiches of Garbage in English. They are beyond yummy.

Well except for the beets.

But the proof of my mother's love for me is that she cooks the beets on the side and lets those who want beets (Everyone but me.) add them on their own. I don't know why I have never liked beets, but I don't. And, I have recently found out, they make your pee come out red! How ~~cool~~ gross is that?

Back when my father was much younger and still living in Honduras, there was a woman who had a cart, from which she sold chicken sandwiches. She called them Sandwiches de Pollo, (Chicken Sandwiches.) but her customers started calling them Sandwiches de Basura because they had everything in them. The name caught on and an aunt of mine was able to get the recipe.

Anyway, I have translated the very old and worn recipe for those who might want to try this culinary delight. Be forewarned, there is a lot of chopping and the end result is messy to eat. But SO worth it!

Sandwiches de Basura
Serves 8.

Ingredients
3 pounds of chicken
2 stalks of celery (Halved)
4 sprigs of parsley
3/4 of an onion (Quartered)
1/2 of a green pepper
5 tomatoes (Firm, peeled and quartered)
2 tsp. salt
pepper (To taste)
6 cloves of garlic
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
paprika
poultry seasoning
1 Tbsp. of Catsup
2 beets (Bleah)
2 potatoes
2 carrots
1/4 cabbage (Cut like cole slaw)
1/2 can of tomato paste
1/2 Tbsp. of oil
1/2 pound of butter
lettuce
French rolls

Directions:
-Cut up chicken. (Raw) Add to pot with 4 cups of water.
-Add celery, parsley, onion, green pepper, tomatoes, salt, pepper, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, paprika and poultry seasoning. Cook til tender, then add Catsup. (Or Ketchup, whatever.)
-Cook beets, (Or not.) potatoes, carrots and cabbage. Cube and mix well.
-Remove chicken to a plate, skin and de-bone.
-Heat 1/2 can of tomato paste in 1/2 Tbsp. of oil until dark red.
-Remove celery, some onion, parsley and green pepper from broth.
-Take 3 1/2 cups of the broth from the chicken (With the tomatoes and the rest of the onion in it.), and puree it in a blender. Add to the tomato paste and heat. If lumpy, puree again. Add butter and bring to a boil, then reduce to simmer for 30 minutes.
-Wash lettuce (I like Romaine lettuce for this.) and tear large enough pieces for bread.
-Cut French rolls in half, (Lengthwise, you are making sandwiches.) butter, mustard and heat. (Or toast.)
-Fill bread with chicken, veggies, sauce and a leaf of lettuce.

************

Random fact: I'm supposed to be packing right now.

Nativity Anonymous

2005-12-26T22:37:00.000-07:00

I love my mother dearly, but she seems to either be A) Addicted to Nativity sets, or 2) senile and forgetting that she has one (Several) so she buys another one. (Several) I have found at least seven in the house so far. And that isn't including the origami one that I made for her many years ago. She asked me to make them stand again. I'm working on it, but my brother and I are planning an intervention.

************

I have my own collection.

I'm Dreaming of a Wet Christmas

2005-12-23T23:05:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Salem, OR! The weather here is in the 50's and cloudy/rainy. Phoenix will be in the upper 70's all week, and sunny. (What the heck am I still doing living in a place where you can wear shorts to Christmas shop?)

I have endured the hardships of traveling during the busiest time of year to be with my family for the holidays. I have endured setbacks, missed flights, minor disasters, frustration, sleep deprivation and invasive probing (At the airport. I'm not that kind of boy.) to be with my mother, father and brother.

"Why?" you may ask. (No really, you may. Go ahead.)

Because these people get me!

Now, granted, they most likely do so because they have had a direct hand in the formation of the psyche that fills this seat and pours out these blogs to you. My brother and I can communicate in random movie/comedy quotes which no one else can comprehend as any type of discernible mode of discourse. We riff off of each other and let people try to keep up. (And keep from wetting themselves laughing.)

I love not only the jokes, but the reminiscing about times long since gone and things almost forgotten. I love that I can discuss religion and politics and just about anything, with people who might not always agree with my point of view, but will accept my opinions with open minds.

I am very fortunate to have a very loving and caring family. Granted, we have our quirks, as any group of people will, but I know that I will always have my safe place here, no matter what happens in the "real world." I feel blessed that my parents raised me with integrity, respect, compassion, morals and common sense. I feel further blessed in knowing that I am not alone in my expectations of what people can be, given half the chance.

I can't remember the last time that I have been able to spend time with my mom, dad and brother, just the four of us, but it has been too long. I love the recharge that I get from being with them. This, to me, is what Christmas is all about. Spending time laughing, smiling, joking and being with the ones you love.

I wish you all the very happiest of holidays, may they be warm, joyous times.

************

Random fact: I am off to decorate the first live tree I have seen since the 80's.

Pretty Little Lies

2005-12-20T06:25:00.000-07:00

I was talking with dome co-workers the other day and I made some joke about the fact that my hair is no longer fully covering my head. Most chuckled, but one said that I shouldn’t say such mean things about myself. I told her that I was not being mean, just being honest about the fact that I am losing my hair.

But that interaction got me thinking.

It seems to me that we spend a great deal of time telling ourselves lies about the things that we don’t like about ourselves. Things like I’m not that overweight/hygienically challenged/socially inept. Or whatever your own personal hang up might be. We seem to think that if we convince ourselves that we aren’t really that way that it will be true. If I buy clothes to try to hide my extra pounds, they won’t exist. If you wear that push up bra, you will have bigger boobs. That comb over will make you less bald. And, in my opinion, it seems silly that we try to fool ourselves like this.

None of these things will change the truth of who we are.

In fact, if anyone should be immune to our chicanery, it should be our very self. We should not be able to lie to ourselves so effectively. It seems far healthier to take a realistic look at ourselves and to accept who we are. This doesn’t mean that we can’t change things about ourselves. But how can you make a realistic change when your self image is based on a lie? If one makes an honest inventory of one’s self, and is willing to look at the truth of themselves, without reasoning, excusing or rationalizing, then one has the basis to make an honest change.

I know the aspects of myself that are not in line with what the media or popular opinion would have one believe is acceptable. I know that I am overweight and that I have a messed up eating routine. I know that my form of organization is clutter. I know that I have a tendency to run late. However, by acknowledging these characteristics about myself I am able to work with them instead of against them.

When you are able to accept what others perceive as weaknesses as part of who you are and can become comfortable with those things, then they no longer become obstacles to your life. When you can work with your nature rather than against it, your life will be more fulfilling and less stressful.

If you want to change something that doesn’t work for you it is more easily done when you have a realistic idea of what you want to change. And if it is something that can be changed.

Or, at least, that is my philosophy on things.

************

Random fact: It's not easy being Barbie.

Batten Down the Hatches!

2005-12-19T05:11:00.000-07:00

Update:

The Prevacid samples seem to be handling the "suicide" hot wings just fine.

************

Random Fact: I need not suffer in silence while I can still moan, whimper, and complain.

Using the whole fist there, doc?

2005-12-16T21:59:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I don’t like going to the doctor. I never really have. I’m not afraid or anything, I’ve just never been a big fan of going to the doctor, nor of taking medication. Which is weird as my father is a doctor, my mom is a nurse and my uncle is also a doctor. I also work with doctors and nurses every night. I have always felt that I have better things to do and have never really needed to go. Until recently, that is. I started having digestive issues about a month and a half ago. And it has been more than just heartburn from eating spicy food. So I decided to swallow my pride (It’s not spicy.) and went to my doctor.

I have had this doctor for just under a year, and this was the second time I have seen him. The first time was for a nasty cold. Now, I really like this doctor, he’s a very nice guy, so I don’t hold any animosity towards him for what I was subjected to today. I know (I hope.) that he was acting in my best interests. For the possibilities of acid reflux or ulcers, he ordered an upper GI. In order to rule out gall bladder trouble he ordered an abdominal ultrasound. I was lucky enough to schedule these tests one right after he other in order to get the results more quickly. Yeah, lucky me.

As prep for the tests, I had to refrain from eating or drinking anything for six hours prior to the tests. I scheduled the tests for the morning so that wasn’t a problem. But I have never woken up so thirsty. I swished water around my mouth and brushed my teeth and off I went.

First up was the abdominal ultrasound. Now, it’s just my opinion, but, if you are going to smear jelly all over my chest and stomach and then prod me with electrical equipment, you should at least talk to me. Especially if your first words to me are “Take off your shirt and lie back on the table.” Maybe I’m just old fashioned. Anybody who knows me will tell you that I am A) Not quiet; and 2) Not shy about talking to people or asking questions. If you are rubbing warm jelly into my stomach, I’m going to have a few questions. I was laying to where I could see the monitor. I wanted to know what parts of my innards I was looking at. I might have to identify them later. And, since they aren’t in color, like in my anatomy texts, I needed help.

So, I got to see my gall bladder and my kidneys and the blood flow through the whole area. Kind of cool. No baby, though. I told the guy if he found one that we’d be rich. He didn’t even crack a smile. Oh well. He finished up and walked out, leaving me there with a puddle of sticky jelly dripping down my side. I’ll bet he doesn’t call. I towel off as best as I can and pull my shirt back on. If you haven’t ever had an ultrasound, you can’t just towel the jelly off; you really need something to wash it off. But there was no sink.

Next stop was for the upper GI. I am lead into a small dressing room by a rather tall medical assistant, who tells me to sit down, then looms over me and asks, “Have you ever been scoped before?” Of course I reply, “Miss, we just met. I don’t even know your name? At least buy me a drink first.” She laughed. Praise be! A human! Next she asked if I knew why the doctor had ordered these tests. My response? “Because I have insurance to cover them.” I am now two for two and feeling less apprehensive about the impending examinations. She tells me that I am going to have to drink some fluid, they will take some pictures and we’ll see what we find.

My next instructions are to take off my pants and shirt, place them in a bag, then put on a gown, with the opening towards the back, then have a seat on the bench outside. No problem. Clothes folded, into bag, robe on…oookay, robe not covering anything back there. Out the door and onto the bench. I can only imagine what I must look like in my fedora, gown and casual boots. I did duck back in for a second gown to cover the backside. (Those benches are cold!)

Luckily I didn’t have too long to wait before I was whisked into a room that looked like it belonged in the engine area of the Enterprise. The tech was a strikingly cute brunette, who smiled. Two humans in a row, I am already doing better than the last stop! The doctor introduced himself to me and had me stand on a platform with my back against a panel. I am told that they are going to take some shots while I am standing, then lay the table back.

Whee, I can hardly wait.

They close a panel in front of me and I am handed a medicine cup full of crystals and another half full of water. “Toss the crystals in the back of your mouth, then wash them down with the water. It’ll make you want to burp, but don’t.” They weren’t kidding. Then I get to have my first drink of barium solution. Okay, if you read back, you’ll notice that I was told that I was going to be given some fluid. This was not fluid in the same way that a brick is not a good thing to drop on your toes. It was what happens to chalk when it gets melted with cherry flavor and cold mud. I drank it as fast as I could so that I wouldn’t throw it up. Or belch, because there was certainly a bit of gurgling going on in my stomach.

They started taking pictures and asking me to hold my breath. Then the table starts to lean back. I am asked to rock side to side to coat my stomach with the barium, then to roll over a couple of times. Did I mention that the cover is still closed? It is like trying to roll over in one of those waist up phone booths, if it was lying on its side. And sized to fit. After two spins I am asked to roll onto my stomach and rock side to side again. And, joy of joys, I get to drink a second cup of barium! At least this was through a bendy straw. A few more revolutions and rocking on back and stomach and I am coated well enough for the rest of the procedure.

I am also slightly motion sick and ready to barf barium onto the tile. Luckily I am not claustrophobic.

If you have ever worn a skirt, you can imagine what has happened to the gowns I am wearing. They have hiked up and I thank my mother for making sure I know how to wash a pair of underwear. I am also glad I have opted for the full coverage boxers. In my most polite voice, I opine “You guys just do this to see if people will do anything you ask them to, don’t you?”

I have changed my opinion, the cute tech is certainly a minion of Satan, recording my thrashings on the table for some get together where they watch these films and giggle till they cough up brimstone. The doctor redeems himself by telling me that there are no ulcers anywhere to be found. However, I apparently do have acid reflux disease. So now I get to learn about that and figure out what changes I am going to have to make to my diet. If you can call the crap I eat a diet.

I am now done and able to get dressed and go home, where I will be showering off the left over ultrasound jelly. I am also instructed to drink a lot of water throughout the day. I am sure that if I don’t the barium I ingested will turn into radioactive cement in my stomach. I needn’t have worried, it came out rather quickly. (If you are currently eating, or are about to eat, don’t read the next line.) Barium comes out the color of Gulden’s mustard.

Needless to say, I can’t wait to see what the doctor has in mind for the next time I visit.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find out who to call to audition for my Nexium commercial.

************

Random fact: Do you know what do with used enemas? Bury ‘em! (Say it out loud.)

Too Stoopid to Breed

2005-12-09T12:05:00.000-07:00

I rarely watch the news on TV. Firstly, I have a hard time watching the mannequin people who are reporting the news, in between their so polite laughter at their feeble attempts at humor. Then, there is the tripe that passes for “news” in the first place, add to that their scripted follow up questions to the so-called stories and perhaps you can begin to feel my dislike for television news.

Tonight, however, I had the TV on in the background while I was going through some papers and a story came on that made me stop to listen out of sheer stupidity of some people. Luckily, it was the middle of the night and there was no other news, apparently. Well other than the Southwest Airlines plane that skidded off the runway and killed a young boy.

In the story that boggled my mind, however, it happed to pass that a set of parents, I’ll call them Mr. and Mrs. Dumbschit, apparently left their 7 year old son sleeping in their minivan upon returning home. They left him in the parking lot of their apartment complex. Asleep. Parked in a fire lane!

Now, while they were inside minding their own business, a tow truck, which was contracted through the apartment complex, came by. The driver saw a minivan, unattended in a fire lane. He hooked the minivan up to his truck and left with it to go to impound the vehicle. On his way, he stopped at a mall. It was here that he noticed that there was a 7-year-old boy asleep in the minivan. He immediately called 911.

Our stalwart police forces sprang into action and returned the child to his parents. Of course, charges were pressed. For reckless endangerment. On the tow truck driver!

Let me repeat that; the tow truck driver was charged for reckless endangerment. Because, of course he left his child, sleeping in a vehicle, which was illegally parked, and apparently out of his ability to keep watch, while his minivan was hooked up to a tow truck and hauled away. Oh. Wait. That wasn’t him. It was the child’s parents.

As I stated earlier, luckily this news item was replayed over and over and I could assure myself that I was awake and had, indeed, heard the story correctly.

I remember one night I left my laundry in the back of my (At the time.) Geo Tracker. The back window was unzipped and someone stole a bag of my clean clothes. I remember feeling like a moron for having done that. And I hadn’t even had to carry around and care for those clothes for seven years.

It completely escapes my imagination how someone could, in this day and age, leave their child, unattended, in a parked car. Let alone parked somewhere it was sure to call attention. For example, oh I don’t know, a fire lane! And, let’s not forget, that they DID NOT NOTICE that their minivan was hooked up to a tow truck and hauled away.

So, once again, my TV has proved to me how stupid people are. How Mr. And Mrs. Dumbschit escaped, what, to my mind, is gross negligence, is beyond me. How this could fall entirely on the shoulders of the tow truck driver is another mystery. But it is the Springfield PD that has chosen where the fault fell in this, are clearly working with frozen brain cells. Granted, it did get down to almost 50 degrees here last night. This is the equivalent of below freezing to the rest of the country. (Well, except for California and Florida.)

I have the utmost respect for police officers. I am a regular contributor to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund. I am certain there must be some sort of logical reason that the tow truck driver was charged, but the official statement is that the parents will not be charged.

I have tried to find a link to this story, but all I have is the video link. Click the story about "Tow truck driver faces charges after towing van with child inside."

And all I can hope is that the Dumbschits follow the example of other stupid people and have several more children. The next time they lose one, they might not find it quite this easily.

************

Random fact: Some days, I want to move into a cabin in the mountains. Some days I want to live on an island in the Caribbean. (I have one picked out already.) And still other days, I just don’t want to leave the house

It Came From The Internet

2005-12-05T23:10:00.000-07:00

For quite a while, I was keeping a folder of junk e-mail with titles that made me laugh for one reason or another. One of them became a post all to itself, but here is a list of quickies. Be warned, there are many naughty words contained herein. Also, many typos, which I have left intact.

cleavage 7 curses
--Much more interesting than Plan Nine From Outer Space

Me proud to pull that thing out
--Tarzan and the lion with a thorn in its paw?

Fwd: Wanna hear a joke?
--This one was for penis enlargement pills. Irony at it’s best!

Be Acquainted With Your Further Half
--How much further now?

Blonde..in tight..Panties.
--Sung to the tune of “Knights in White Satin”

These girls want more than one cock
--And there are so few women with just the one.

Use your dick as a club
--Who’s the leader of the club that’s made for you and me? D-I-C. K-E-Y…

Give..her Multiple..Orgasms..
--You can see the strain involved just from this line.

Life is Short, Get a Big Tool!
--The H2 is great for over compensators.

Here Is Found The Fountain Of ROCK-HARD
--Just past the Fountain of Youth, hang a left.

Blondes get Tagged...by Large Cock
--Somehow I remember this game differently in my school playground.

Watch Little chicks that Like Big dicks
--Farmer Dick is awfully tall, but he has the best feed.

DUMB BL0NDE TAKES DICK
--He may have lost the house and the kids, but at least Dick got to keep the car.

Don't never not use double-negatives.
--Okay, but these triple negatives are just as bad.

Lose inches in the shower!
--All I lose in the shower is hair.

BREAK WALLS WITH YOUR BIG COCK!
--If my aim gets so bad that I am running into walls, I want a refund!

Are You Gay And Don't Know it?
--That would explain a lot…

I'll love you more if you stop going bald.
--Sadly, this wasn’t junk mail, but a break up letter.

GROW 4 INCHES ALMOST OVERNIGHT - SEE HOW!
--Now my feet hang over the end of the bed.

Friend, Your dog can be smarter!
--If he gets any smarter, he’s going to figure out I am an idiot!

YOU CAN BE HUNG LIKE A PORN STAR!
--They use the same kind of noose.

Meet Sara from whoremart
--Wow, there’s a Mart for almost everything!

NASTY DOGFART SLUTS TAKING IT HARD!
--Umm…Sorry, brain got stuck. WTF?

YOUNG SNOBBY CHICKS GETTING HAMMERED!
--Ahh, the Bush twin’s official website.

86% OF ALL WOMEN LIKE IT BIGGER
--They don’t mean the stomach.

Men - Get Larger Where it Counts
--86% of all women say it’s your bank account balance.

Raping Animal Lovers Go To The Extreme!!!
--As if raping animals wasn’t extreme enough.

SMACK PEOPLE WITH YOUR HUGE DICK!
--So, penis enlargement makes you abusive?

A YOU A HARD WORK?
--Umm…Maybe?

YOU HAVE WON THE FREE PORN LOTTERY!
--Yippee! The winning number was 69!

MAKE YOUR COCK PUMP IRON!
--It beats trying to get your arms to do it. Make sure to towel the bench off.

HOMOSEXUAL LESBIANS GETTING FREAKY!
--As opposed to the straight lesbians?

Stay Rock Hard ALL Night Long Plus Add Inches
--Well, okay, but only if I can add inches, too.

HUGE MONSTER COCK GETS little Kelly
--And she couldn’t do anything! No tag-backs!

Want a good opprotunity!!!
--I’d better look that up before I say yes.

HAVE A MASSIVE HORSE COCK!!
--Must sell! Taxidermist going out of business!

FUCK FOR 8 HOURS STRAIGHT! AND LOSE 50 LBS
--I don’t have that kind of time! Could I do a couple of 2 hour/12.5 pound sessions?

GET A HORSE COCK NOW!
--Just ask the guy two spots up!

Hung like a h _ _ s _. FILL IN THE BLANKS
--House? Heist? Hoist?

DONT BE SCARED AT THE BEACH THIS YEAR!
--Jaws was make believe.

Feeling Old? We Can Help!
--Just ask my mom. We make her feel old all the time!

Animals In Action!!!!!!!
--You should see my demon cats for the hour long chase around the house every morning.

I WANT TO SUCK YOUR COCK
--She didn’t really want to. And you could tell.

MAKE PEOPLE SICK WITH YOUR HUGE DICK!!
--The Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson story.

HAVE SEX FOREVER
--Sometimes it just seems like it.

BRITTANY SPEARS WANTS TO SUCK YOUR COCK!
--She didn’t want to, either. At least that’s what the restraining order says.

************

Random Fact: I've been doing this blog for just about a month now. Wow.

Smells Like Kindergarten Spirit

2005-12-04T21:24:00.000-07:00

I was at Office Max the other day. Because I love the place. It is as good as shopping for shoes gets. And if you know me, you’ll know how good that is. I own a lot of shoes. More than many women I know. Don’t ask why, I don’t know. I just like shoes. And, no, I’m not gay.

But, back to Office Max.

So there I am, with the new pen I am going to try out, waiting patiently for my turn to check out and looking around the little tubs of things they litter on the counter, like booby traps, waiting to spring on you while you are most vulnerable and least suspicious. I notice they have holiday pens. Scented holiday pens. Two varieties, pine and peppermint scented. Okay, that’s kind of a cute gimmick, but as I am discussing the pens with the young ladies behind the counter, I begin to reminisce (As I have been doing more often of late.) and my brain takes me back to those scented Sanford markers . Now Sanford also makes a permanent marker , which is the only marker I know of in a metal tube versus a plastic one. The reason that they make it a metal encased marker, I believe, is that mere plastic could not hold the distinct odor of these markers. You may have smelled these. You draw a line with one and the smell lingers for two days. If you write out an entire poster with one, you will be left a shadow of your former mental capacity. Once you come out of the coma, that is.

But, as I mentioned previously, Sanford makes the aforementioned children’s scented markers. (No, they don’t smell like children. That would be weird.) (And only priests would buy them.) (Or Michael Jackson perhaps.) I have many fond memories of coloring or drawing with these markers. Of course, you would use some colors more than others, depending on your preference for scent. I was partial to the grape (purple) and root beer (brown) (Which has now become cinnamon.) scents.

So as I am talking with the crack register staff at hand, it occurs to me that it is no wonder we have kids sniffing things to get high. We started them on it! And the more I thought about it, the more I realize how narrowly I escaped being a huffer! Between the Sanford markers, Play Doh , finger paints, rubber cement and lord knows what other school supplies that have been erased from my memory, is it any wonder that I can remember anything from my childhood days at all? I am amazed that I emerged with my brain functioning intact! (Some might argue this opinion.) Although this might explain some of my more bizarre thought patterns.

I am surprised that these items are virtually unchanged from my childhood of ~~thirty-some~~ years past! What with kids wearing helmets for everything and playgrounds being so softened, sanitized and safe that no wonder child really wants to play on them! Any kind of “Danger” (Real, or paranoid parent perceived.) has been so removed from childhood, that I am amazed that we still have these junior mind eraser starter kits in almost every store.

I am already concerned enough about the cognitive abilities of kids as it is. It seems like imagination is less and less a part of their worlds and the only escapism they might find is in the alluring fumes of their school supplies. Who knew the art teacher was the first dealer they’d encounter?

But then, as I said, I have reached my current place in life without ever trying drugs, and with my neurons intact, so maybe the effects aren’t as bad as all that. As a matter of fact, just to prove a point, I drew my parents a Christmas card with the scented Sanford markers that inspired this rambling. And I am just fine.

I like Spaghetti Ohs. They taste like happy. Wow, I have a lot of toes.

************

Random fact: Yes, you read correctly, I have never tried any kind of illegal drug. Mom and Papi, you did good.

Holy Shite, it's December!

2005-12-01T00:37:00.000-07:00

I am accustomed to the date changing in the middle of my work shift; it's one of the hazards of working overnights. But when the hell did it become December? I still remember having to remember to write 2005 instead of 2004. It was just last month, I swear it! But now, midnight has come and gone and it's just about a month til I have to learn the year all over again! That's just not right. I think someone must have cashed in the daylight savings time that has been accruing for years. It is the only logical explanation for the fact that the last year has passed in the span of a couple of months. I know it can't have been 12 months since last Christmas, because I would have lost all the weight I have been planning to lose by this year.

It's frightening to think that this quick passage of time is what the remainder of my life will be like. I have always been a procrastinator, but now I may not even have time to do that any more! It seems like just a few weeks ago that I was celebrating my 36th birthday. At this rate I’ll be 40 by the time I’m 38! (No wonder my mom celebrates the same birthday several years in a row.)

Part of the problem, I am sure, is what I call our “microwave society.” We are so busy trying to get things done faster, we don’t even have time to enjoy what is going on. I love hot tea. But I detest microwaved water. I like my things to have taken some time and effort to have been accomplished. I love to cook, and to my mind (Or at least my taste buds), food cooked and prepared from scratch tastes much better than when is has been nuked. Even the frozen dinners you cook in a skillet are a shadowy reflection of food actually prepared. Of course, when you only have 30 minutes for lunch, some sacrifice must be made.

We no longer write letters. Well, most of us, it is far more practical to write an e-mail and have it delivered within minutes. Imagine the post office didn’t exist and you were to trying to propose the idea of a post office in these times, people would look at you like you were insane!

You - “No, really, we’d have men in trucks and they would come to your house and take your note to someone else’s house. For only 37 cents.”

Your friend - “How long would it take?”

You - “A few days, up to a week, depends on how busy they are.”

Your friend - “Are you on crack right now?”

I bought a crock pot on sale the other day. It was less than half price. I am sure it was so cheap because no one knew what the hell it was. And when they saw “slow cooker” on the box, they probably freaked and went to get an instant double espresso.

And that’s another thing! Between Espresso, energy drinks, Jolt Cola, crack cocaine and crystal meth, how are we supposed to be patient enough to wait for anything anyway? Hell there is even caffeinated gum! Just how fast does a person need to chew anyway?

So, in case I miss you next week, Happy New Year!

************

Random fact: On this date in 1913, the first drive-in automobile service station opened, in Pittsburgh.

Portable Philosophy

2005-11-30T20:41:00.000-07:00

I have this bag, okay, I have many bags, but there is one in particular that I am talking about today. It is a green canvas messenger bag that I got at a surplus store. I always liked the bag, and one day I started putting buttons on it. Now it has in the neighborhood of sixty buttons. Most of the buttons have been purchased at various t-shirt or adult bookstores. (So, Mom, if you hear stories that I was in an adult book store, it was just to buy buttons!) There are other buttons I would have bought, but I have tried to keep it PG-13. Anyway, I have listed the buttons here, for your viewing pleasures.

-Service may vary according to my mood and your attitude
-It's not just a body it's an adventure
-The aliens promised me it would grow back
-Someone Less Dumb for President
-Coffee isn't helping get the jumper cables
-Excuse me, but I have minds to twist and values to warp
-Everything I need to know about life I've learned from reading banned books
-Guns don't kill people? yeah, right
-All religions are fairy tales
-Just pretend I'm not here - That's what I'm doing
-I do all my own nude scenes
-God is watching-give Him a good show
-I've found Jesus. He was behind the sofa the whole time
-Tact is for people who aren't witty enough to be sarcastic.
-It's sick the way you people keep HAVING SEX without me.
-Dip me in honey & throw me to the lesbians
-TV is educational. It teaches you how stupid the networks think you are.
-Another brilliant mind ruined by education.
-You nonconformists are all alike.
-"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yeild to it." Oscar Wilde
-I haven't lost my mind, it's backed up on a disk somewhere.
-I am not infantile, you stinkybutt poophead.
-I've got nothing against God, it's his fan club I can't stand.
-A normal person is just one you don't know real well.
-Believe those who seek the truth. Doubt those who find it.
-I see you're playing stupid again...looks like you're winning too.
-Don't make me come down there. God
-Immaturity: It's not just for children anymore.
-If love is blind why is lingerie so popular???
-You're not famous until they put your head on a PEZ dispenser
-Ignorance may be bliss. I wouldn't know.
-"Not all who wander are lost." JRR Tolkien
-GET REAL If I'm lying wouldn't my pants be on fire?
-I have no idea what I'm doing out bed.
-Happiness is a journey, not a place.
-Comfort the disturbed. Disturb the comfortable.
-Seriously bizarre
-You cannot stop me, you cannot destroy me, for I am the cockroach of love.
-Jesus loves you but I'm his favorite.
-I'm not myself today. Maybe I'm you.
-Emotional baggage limited to two checked pieces and one carry on.
-Rock is dead. Long live paper and scissors.
-Where are we going and why am l in this handbasket?
-I'm reading your mind. Okay, I'm done.
-Mr. Right just called. He's cheating on you and he's gay.
-Never put off until tomorrow what you can get someone else to do today
-Spiritual people inspire me. Religious people frighten me.
-Free the endorphins
-"The only unnatural act is the one which cannot be performed." William Burroughs
-Who says I want to fit in?
-To Err Is Human, To Really Screw Things Up You Need Religion
-Can't sleep, clowns will eat me
-A clean house is a sign of a wasted life
-Don't act stupid We have World Leaders for that
-If the world's a stage, I'll be needing more wardrobe
-Never underestimate the power of a sick mind
-Why be normal when you can be yourself!
-Out of my mind back in 5 minutes
-Parental Advisory

Braving the Shopping Mauls

2005-11-25T07:38:00.000-07:00

Today is called Black Friday, by those in the retail profession. Why is it called this? Because, this is the single busiest shopping day of the year. Let me repeat that, in case you missed it; The. Single. Busiest. Shopping. Day. Of. The. Year.

Now, speaking as almost nine year veteran of retail, I can certainly sympathize with the people that have had to wake up before their Thanksgiving dinner has fully digested, in order to man the registers and aisles of stores, in preparation for the onslaught of shoppers that will be advancing today. Many of these folks will deal with shoppers who have been waiting for the doors to open, with the same looks on their faces as lions in the Roman Coliseum waiting for the Christians to be brought in.

So, if you are one of the shoppers descending upon these folks today, please be patient. You are (Statistically speaking.) not the first person they are dealing with today. You have the opportunity to be the most understanding, though. Look around you at the masses of people carrying off their packages, overloaded like ants returning to the hill.

I will be sitting home on my couch, relaxing and watching movies, with my feet up. Unless I decide to go to my favorite coffee shop and watch the SUVs circling the parking lot of the mall across the street, looking for places to go and practice their rampant consumerism.

I might not have such a bleak view of these Christmas happenings if I hadn’t been hammered with the holiday spirit for last few months on end. Hallmark releases their Christmas ornaments in July fer christsakes! Some of the stores I went shopping for Halloween goodies had more Christmas items than Halloween of Thanksgiving supplies. And it seems that the push for the Christmas shopping season starts earlier every year. Soon it won’t just be trailer parks that have year round Christmas lights!

Even worse, the push is more for the commercial side of the season than the actual purpose of it. Target stores last year wouldn’t let the Salvation Army have their bell ringers in front of the stores. Why? My thought is because that bell sounds to the greedy parts of the people passing it by, and makes them feel guilty that they are ignoring the true season of giving, by going shopping, instead of helping the less fortunate.

To me, Christmas has always been about family. I have a rather large extended family and we, for the most part, gather together every year, to celebrate together. It isn’t about who gets the most gifts, it is about spending time with the ones you love. (Or at least tolerate because they are family.) It is about renewing relationships and ~~drinking a lot of Johnnie Walker~~ catching up.

Okay, enough out of me for the time being. Remember, only 28 more shopping days until the holiday that the Christians used to supplant the Pagan Yule celebration!

***********

Random fact: Today’s forecast for Phoenix, AZ is a high of 75. Enjoy your cold weather kids!

Dress to Impress

2005-11-24T11:19:00.000-07:00

I recently received a spam e-mail which was titled “Impress her with a hard erection!”

Now, I may have missed this particular issue of GQ, but I don’t remember this really being a way to impress women. As a matter of fact, I don’t think there is a bar in Phoenix where I could just walk up to a woman and whip mine out without getting slapped and/or arrested. Okay, maybe there are a few places this might be acceptable. But I don’t go to those places. In fact, I have only heard of them from friends. (And in case my mom is reading this I would never go to one, even out of curiosity to check it out.) (Cause you never know where my mom will turn up. She surprises me a lot.)

Since I have many women friends and I am not shy, so I asked around for things that impress them about a man. I invariably had to ask them, at the end of their thoughts, and lists, “How about a hard erection?” Needless to say, I then had to explain I wasn’t offering one.

Actually, I have been hard pressed (No pun intended) to find anyone impressed by a hard erection. Then again, I haven’t asked around any retirement communities, where this might actually be a topic of conversation. I can imagine a table of old ladies sitting around asking each other if they had seen Ernie’s (Or whoever.) new erection.

Now, it could be that I am more difficult to impress in this manner, having the equipment myself and having had to deal with such “uprisings.” But other than the retirement home example, I can’t think of a situation where you could use an erection to impress anyone. And believe me, I have put effort into it. Here’s the proof:

At a job interview;
“No, I don’t have a degree or experience, but take a look at this!
(Unless you are applying for the position of “Porn Star.”)

Meeting your girlfriend’s mother;
“No ma’am, I don’t have a diploma or any goal or direction in life, but there is something I’d like to show you.”

In court;
“I’m sorry, judge, I don’t have a valid license or proof of insurance, but I am an upstanding citizen.”

Buying a car;
“No I don’t have a job, or credit, but I do have one thing can provide to show why I should have this sports car.”

Before the parole board;
“I know I haven’t completed my therapy sessions, but perhaps, if I were able to introduce a character witness?”

“Hello, Nobel committee?”
I think you get the point.

***********

Random fact: I am turning into my parents and I don’t even have kids yet.

***********

Also;
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Wisdom That Man Should Not Forget

2005-11-21T04:29:00.000-07:00

When my father still had his private practice, he had, in his office, a framed collection of thoughts, which I always liked and would read every time I was there. He had it in both Spanish and English. As I said, I always liked this and it made a lasting impression on me. This year, for my birthday, my father gave me the English copy of this work, the same one that had hung in his office for all those years, and all those years ago. Turns out that he had saved it to give to me. I’d like to share those thoughts with you, and I hope you find something in these words, as I have.

Wisdom That Man Should Not Forget

The Greatest Obstacle...................Fear
The Most Beautiful Day..................Today
The Biggest Error One Can Make.......To Give Up
The Greatest Defect.....................Conceit
The Best Distraction.....................Work
The Worst Impoverishment.............Discouragement
The Best Teachers.......................Children
The Most Vile Feeling....................Envy
The Most Beautiful Gift..................Pardon
The Most Knowledgeable.................God
The Most Marvelous of the World.......Love
The Sweetest Happiness.................Peace

I don’t know who originally penned these thoughts, so I don’t know who to attribute them to. If anyone comes across the original author, please let me know.

*****************

Random Fact: One of my favorite books is “The Art of Worldly Wisdom” by Baltasar Gracian. It was also given to me by my father.

I miss Garanimals

2005-11-20T20:40:00.000-07:00

By the way, the Garanimals in the title is a link. As it is in this line.

I have been looking through a lot of old photos and I realize that I have worn my fair share of tuxes in the past. I’m also on to you women, by the way. (I may be smart, but I never said I was quick about it.) Any time there is any kind of even that the woman wants to go smoothly, men get dressed in tuxes. Weddings, proms, state dinners, every man is wearing a tux. You know why? Because if women didn’t require us to wear one, we would all show up in jeans and T-shirts.

You know I’m right on this. This is just another example of my theory. (Which, if you know me, you have heard, but if you haven’t, it is the basis of a whole post of it’s own. Possibly a series.) The simple truth is that we, as men, cannot be trusted to dress ourselves. It seems worse when you are living with a woman. You have to constantly ask, “Does this plaid shirt go with these fireman pants?” It’s no wonder women tend to live longer than men, they need a few years of peace before they go.

I have lived alone the better part of my adult life. Maybe not the part mind you, but at least the longer portion of it. In that time I have managed to get jobs, dates, and not be laughed out of Denny’s for my attire in the time that I have picked it out myself. I am also an oddball in that my underwear and socks tend to match the rest of the outfit. (Depending entirely on the proximity to laundry time.)

There have been times when I have been blessed (Or so it seemed at the time.) with female company that stayed over often. I even had a female roommate for a while. Now during these times, I remember not being confident in leaving the house unless I had run my outfit past my significant other. (Or Sarah.) In fact, in Sarah’s case, I think it was reciprocal, because I saw her just as often in her scanties asking for my thoughts on a particular outfit. Somehow I could help her get dressed, but I was incapable of picking out my own wardrobe.

Until I was living on my own again. But I have begun to wonder if my time without having a serious relationship has impacted my ability to pick out clothes, and thereby, be able to find such a relationship. Somehow that seems even too cruel for the powers that be. I think my next move might have to be having someone move in with me to be a wardrobe consultant. She could start out by interviewing all of my clothes to see if they had “relevance” in the new structure. I don’t think I need the whole Metrosexualization package. Just a little more pizzazz to my wardrobe. I certainly can’t just rent tuxes, not with my job. I’ll get locked up, too.

I have noticed that my clothing has become much more about comfort than about style. “Clearance” is also a good word in my shopping vocabulary. As I am looking back in some of these pictures, I find myself recognizing shirts that I still have. Some that I still wear, some that I swear I will be able to wear again. (I also used to have more hair. It must be in the closet somewhere, too.)

Ummm…I started out with a point. Oh yeah. Women dress us for important occasions so that we don’t screw it up. Such is the deviousness of their plot that in trying to uncover it, your brain goes on tangents! They are a nefarious and sinister gender. And we are dumb enough to fall for it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out how to connect these suspenders to this belt holding my pants up.

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Random fact: This post has no correlation with the opening of “Walk the Line.” A movie about a man who solved this particular dilemma.

Direct line to God

2005-11-16T03:34:00.000-07:00

My brother and I have very compatible senses of humor. We grew up listening to all the same comedy albums (Yes, albums, we are that old.) and watching the same movies, so we often speak to each other in quotes from these sources.

We also find humor in the abstract and bizarre. So it was that when I got my first apartment, I found one of those slim line type phones, which had an actual bell ringer. It was a very weird mintish green color, but it had a bell ringer!

After about a month of use I realized that I could take the phone apart! And, rather than have a number mat which lies over buttons, these buttons were all separate. (If you see where this is going, we should go out drinking some time.) Of course I re-arranged the numbers! You still had to press the “1” position for a “1” but the button might be the “4” button. As long as you didn’t look at the phone too much, you could dial without problem. But the looks on my friend’s faces when they asked to use the phone for the first time were amazing! Okay, so I am easily amused, I can admit that.

When my brother moved from his dorm to his first apartment, I bequeathed the phone to him. He left it in the same state that I had set it up, but made sure that people were drunk before they tried to make a call. After some years of abuse the phone stopped working, but he still kept it on the counter, cord trailing but unplugged. He began to call it the “Direct Line to God” with the comment that if it ever rings, we are well and truly screwed.

Goonie goohoo, my brother, goonie goohoo.

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Random Fact; According to this site $1.00 of goods or services in the year 1969 (When I was born) would cost $5.30 today

Oral Pleasures

2005-11-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

Okay, all, I have fallen in love. And it has the potential to be a very long lasting affair, too. It all started the other day in a Circle K. I was wandering the store, feeling a bit hungry, but just looking for a little snack, when I saw the object of my affection.

Funyuns. With wasabi!

Now, I thought that once they added lime to Coke, my world was complete. As good as an icy cold Coke is, it could always use something added to it. Cherry, Vanilla, Captain Morgan’s. But Funyuns? They were a perfect food. Granted they were a side. You could never really make a meal of Funyuns. Not even if you were seriously dumped. (We all know that requires Hagen Daz.) (Hey, most of my friends are women.)

But, back to the Funyuns. I bought a bag. Such was the intensity of my desire, the bag didn’t even remain intact while I waited in line. I tenderly, gently took a nibble and was enraptured. Oh god, they are good.

So now I am hooked and I know we will be together forever. At least until they stop being made, which will be my luck.

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Another food combination; Mint Kit Kats, believe it or not, not so good.

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Addendum 10-20-05

There is something very gratifying about listening to an ex-girfriend looking over your blog and telling you, “Oral Pleasures? Shut up! Shut up! I want to read this!” Only to be disappointed that it wasn’t about what she thought it was. Thank you for making my day! It’s nice to be fondly remembered.

Department of Redundancy Department

2005-11-12T19:25:00.000-07:00

It all began with my brother buying a new car. In filling out the multitude of forms, which are redundant in and of themselves, he told me that he lost count of how many times he had to write down his “VIN number.” As in Vehicle Identification Number. Number. Just in case you forgot that it was, indeed a number. I can almost make the argument for that need of reminding. My VIN has letters in it. I'd hate to forget it is, after all, a number.

So then, new car and VIN number on your sheaf of papers you head to the Department of Motor Vehicles, Motor Vehicle Division. Or DMV, MVD for short. I wore BVDs just to be a smart ass. Under my BDUs. Okay, that's not redundant, but it makes me chuckle.

And, good lord, let's not forget going to the ATM machine and having to remember our PIN number. Ah, I see the realization in some of your eyes. For those that missed it, Automated (or Automatic) Teller Machine. Machine. And Personal Identification Number. Number.

I also have a new PDA, which means I never have to remember anything again. Of course, to make sure I don't lose data, I have to back up the memory…to the memory. I'm not sure how this works, so I kept everything written on paper. Just in case.

My brother and I were having this conversation while he was waiting to get on a plane. As I am typing this, I am sure the ~~waitress~~ stewardess has handed him his foil packet of peanuts, with the precaution “Warning: Contains nuts.”

I am sure there are more out there, but I worked an 18-hour shift and I am going to bed now. If you think of any I have missed, please, pass them on. Oh wait, here's one; I now have two cats when none was sufficient.

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Random fact: This entry was posted using my friend's new Mac G5; she calls him "Big Mac."

Nuts about cats

2005-11-09T00:24:00.000-07:00

I’d like to take a few moments to talk about my testicles. I have grown quite attached to them, and they to me. I am also rather protective of them. I have a female Corgi/Border Collie mix, who used to have the uncanny ability to land on my tenders every time she would jump on the couch. Together we learned to avoid the twins. Now I have cats.

I am not sure how many of you are men, or have woken up with a man, but the first thing we do, typically, is scratch the boys. I think this is a prehistoric, genetic ritual which is really an excuse to make sure everything is still in place and that a saber-toothed tiger has not munched something in the night. Then there was Lorena Bobbit, which brought the ritual into the 20th century.

Anyway, in addition to the scratch, there is the subject of “morning wood” of which I have heard said; That’s why men think with their penises; (Peni? Penisi? How the hell would I know, I only have the one!) How do you outwit something that is awake 20 minutes before you are?

But back to the testicles. And the cats. Most people who have slept around cats know they will go for your toes in a heartbeat. Mine do. But if I happen to be sleeping on the couch, they ignore the toes for other targets. You guessed it, the sack. Today, for example, they are re-paving the parking lot to my apartment complex, so I was trying to sleep to the lullaby of numerous large construction machines backing up. (They seemed to only function in reverse.) Well, my living room was quieter than the bedroom, so I went there to sleep. I was awoken several times, which prompted the scratch and adjust ritual, which in turn prompted a fuzzy cannonball to the gonadual area. At one point I was amazed to discover that a seven month old kitten can launch itself over five feet in a horizontal line, with amazing accuracy. I also learned that, with a good underhand scoop, you can fling a cat onto the other chair with amazing accuracy. I also learned where the “catapult” must have gained it’s name.

I guess it is my own fault for moving under the blanket, but for goodness sake I think I should be able to handle my business in my own home!

So, I am either going to have to get a protective cup, or a tennis racket.

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Random fact: Spell check tried to replace my invented word “gonadual” with “gondolas.”

Thanks for the Mom-eries.

2005-11-07T01:25:00.000-07:00

Today is my mom's birthday.

Happy Birthday Mom!

My mother is an amazing woman, and I spent a good deal of this weekend thinking about and realizing the impact that she has had on me.

I am in the midst of cleaning out the many boxen (One ox, several oxen.) of useless crap that I have accumulated in my 36 years on the planet. Actually, this batch represents just the last 10 years or so, most of the rest has been lost long ago. I store things in those 48-gallon plastic tubs that you can get at any Wal-Mart or Target. (These come from Wal-Mart, as Target is not open at 3:30 am.) So, I have these tubs of papers that I will “one day” go through to see what I actually need to keep and what I can get rid of. The good thing about having all this stuff around for so long is that most of it is useless now and can be thrown away.

By the way, neat people never have the sense of discovery that I do.

Now, you may be asking yourself, "What does this have to do with Eric's mom and her effect on him as a person?" I'll get to it, patience, young grasshopper. First of all, despite their protestations to the contrary, I leaned much of this hoarding from my parents. Admittedly, I have escalated the skill far beyond what they had ever done, but I have lived alone all my adult life and have never had to make room for anyone. Secondly, and more my mother’s influence, I have saved almost every piece of personal correspondence that I have been sent. Everything from birthday and Christmas cards, to letters and postcards. I had a tub and a half of this collection, which I spent the weekend going through.

And here’s where it really comes back to mom - The bulk of all that mail was from her. This is all stuff that started back when I first went off to college in the summer of 1987. Yes, I have been carting a lot of this stuff around for 18+ years. Without reading it in any chronological order, I can honestly say that I don’t think that there was a week that went by which didn’t find some piece of mail from mom. There were many pounds of articles clipped from newspapers and magazines, relating to papers I told her that I was writing, goofy stuff she saw that made her think of me, cartoons, coupons and confetti for birthdays, Christmas and just plain smiley faces. (I like smiley faces, but owe the bulk of my collection to mom.) Oh, and STAMPS!! Enough stamps that I could probably mail myself home for Christmas. (No easy feat, I am not a small guy.) I think the stamps were a hint, which I never took. Okay, I know the stamps were a hint. A little more subtle than the many notes that read, “Sure would be nice to hear from you.” But more on that in a bit.

My mother is, without debate, one of the most caring and selfless women that I have ever met. She has never let an opportunity to sympathize, empathize or support me or my brother go past. She has buoyed spirits, tended wounds, mended torn clothes and broken hearts. Without my mom I would never know when I should throw food away. Thank goodness she has the cell phone now and I can catch her away from home! She taught my brother and I to cook, to do our own laundry and to iron our own clothes. And, she has endured us teasing her that having taught us these skills is why neither my brother nor I have ever married, as well as being touted as the “Black Thumb” of relationships. (We are just kidding mom, we know it’s all our faults!)

I spent hours reading birthday cards, cards with update letters, looking over cards with photos, cards with new phone numbers and addresses from there various moves. And in the midst of all the remembering, smiling and misty eyes, I started to feel a bit guilty. I have been remiss in my end of the correspondence. I have a box of cards that I have bought over the years, and was going to send one day. (Another thing I learned from mom. Buy the card when you see it, and you’ll always have a card when you need it.) I am certainly not in need of stamps to write. And I don’t even call as often as I should or would like to.

None of this is new, but there is nothing like a towering pile of love to remind you how much someone has touched and influenced your life. And while I always tell her that I love her when I talk to her, I’m no longer letting so much time go between reminding her.

Happy Birthday Mom. I love you. (Papi, too!)

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Things that make you go…WTF?

Did you know there is an internet addiction website? Isn’t this a bit like holding AA meetings in a bar?

Is it just me?

2005-11-03T04:13:00.000-07:00

I don’t have any concrete proof, other than my own observations, but it seems like people are getting more and more stupid as every year goes by. It’s as though common sense has become rare and that critical thinking skills are non-existent. Humanity appears to be drifting through their days in a fog with their hazard lights turned off.

It starts with some of the e-mails I receive. E-mails from people who I consider to be intelligent. People with actual DEGREES for goodness sake! But they send me warnings about outrageous kidnapping plots for starters. (Not for those starting a career in kidnapping.) So, rather than sending out paranoia and unfounded fear, how about we say this; Folks, pay attention to your surroundings. Park in well lit areas. Exercise caution.

Then there is the ever-recurring e-mail that promises a huge check by sending an e-mail to everyone in my list, because Bill Gates is taking over Yahoo. (And the rest of the world, but that’s another story.) And the tag line is always something along the lines of “It couldn’t hurt.” Or “You never know.” But yes, you could know, if you applied reason or, failing that, research. And yes it can hurt. It hurts my brain every time I see this!

And how about the entertaining lists of “factoids”? You’ve seen them; you’ve probably even quoted some of these tidbits as truth at one time or another. But, as entertaining as they are, many of them are false. But people just go on forwarding these things and spreading the misinformation.

Maybe I should never have taken that logic class in college. Or maybe I shouldn’t have paid attention in class. It might make people easier to talk to. If you ever want to see stupidity in action, watch some daytime TV. And I don’t mean Jerry Springer; I’m talking about the Judge Whoever shows. Listen to some of the things people say to justify the stupid things they do! There was one person who refused to pay for a rental car that he wrecked while driving drunk because his daughter, who had rented the car, didn’t get insurance on the car. So he felt it wasn’t his fault or his responsibility.

What?!?! Let me get this straight, YOU drove drunk. YOU wrecked the car. But it isn’t. Your. Fault. OWW! My brain!

The only thing harder than watching these idiots is watching the one we elected. (Well, I didn’t vote for him. I put my mark by “Anybody but.” I find it difficult to have our nation represented by someone who doesn’t have a firm grasp on the official language of the country. Is it some kind of omen that the intelligence of our leaders seems to be slipping a few points with each person we elect? The last two elections I have not been excited by either candidate. I have always voted for the one that scares me less.

I see people having children that can’t even take care of themselves. What are they going to be teaching their children? I think that my parents are intelligent and well educated. I think they passed on good lessons on reason and critical thinking. But even I have moments of “What was I thinking?” There are people who can’t reason for themselves and believe everything they hear on TV or the radio, what are they going to be passing on? What will the children of the bad examples learn?

I’m frightened for future generations.

Random fact: I'm wearing new socks. (Thanks, mom!)

Mightier than the sword

2005-11-01T03:47:00.000-07:00

Have you ever written with a fountain pen? Even the cheap ones are a pleasure of fluid grace as they glide their way across the page. But a good one is like...well like something really good.

Seriously though, I am using a Sheaffer that I picked up at Office Max for about $30, and it is the nicest that I have ever had the pleasure to write with. I use it at work and when I notarize, people think it's a special pen that I use just for this purpose. If only they knew the only thing I don't use it for is writing on duplicate forms. Heh heh heh, my little secret.

Random fact: CD currently playing is Stray Cats, "Rock This Town." (Best of CD.)

Getting started

2005-11-01T01:50:00.000-07:00

Okay, so here I go, following the herd. I can recall all of the disparaging things that I have said about blogs and online diaries with great clarity. However, I find myself looking for a way to keep friends and family updated on my vampire lifestyle. (Okay, if you have searched "vampire" and found yourself here, I just work overnight shifts. No Goth/blood/weirdness here.) (Okay, there will most likely be weirdness.) At any rate, ("How about 6 1/2%?") here will be me, dumping the contents of my brain into cyberspace.

Watch your step.