Working with the Handicapped

I often wonder what in the hell is going on. I wonder and ponder this a lot. Probably more than I should. Case in point: I was doing a job last night and asked one of my coworkers a very simple and direct question. Mind you, there was little ambient noise, perfect diction on my part as taught to me by my British wife of 20+ years, and the question asked was in the context of the work that we were doing.

This guy was looking right at me with the, "I just pumped the neighbors dog" look on his face. He just stared moved his head up and down and slightly side to side mumbling something inaudible. Since I wasn't asking him to launch a nuclear missile or which wire to cut on a bomb, I kind of let his momentary lapse of consciousness go. That was until I asked him another question which I really needed some feedback on and I got the same, I'm in middle age and might have just had a petite mal seizure, f'd up grin and head shake.

"What the hell?" I was thinking to myself. I asked the question again, but made him give me background to his answer. This allowed him to break out of his dimension shift and be able to answer my question. At one point, I thought his head was going to split open and Arnold Schwarzenegger was going to pop out, like on "Total Recall". The real reason for this I believe is that the Government is experimenting with mentally handicapped people and placing them in critical positions in our society. Doctors, Lawyers (of course), Law Enforcement, management, etc.

I have seen management decision which I can only describe as choosing a piece of cheese over the cure for cancer; even after a known cure had been found. I have heard of keeping yourself and people out of the comfort zone, but not at the expense of their sanity.

Working with the handicapped has made me handicapped. Hmm, more parking spots for me.

More of the Same

Even after all the life lessons that have been thrown my way, I have still not figured out how to get away from those extremely lonely people that can't seem to pick up on the social cue that I like to call, "The fucking conversations is over dip-shit." This blog is more of a cry for help since I obviously have no clue on how to dismiss these people in a timely manner without visions of a giant meteor crashing through the ceiling a smashing my troubles into a steaming mass of jelly. I am more worried that the inner dialog I have running is slowly starting to surface audibly. I think I actually heard myself say out loud, during one of these encounters, "How about I just strangle you?" Somebody help me, I think I am developing turrets.

The Royal Shitter

We all do it, and no matter who you are, it all comes out the same. Poop is poop, and no one's poop is better than or more worthy than any other's poop. However, I will admit that there are varying degrees of potency. Anyway, there I was in beautiful Ouray after a wonderful breakfast, great coffee and then it hit. The morning power dump was upon me. I was way too far from the Hotel, and was shopping in a little backpacking store with my little wifey. We had already picked out some items to buy so it wasn't like we had gone into this place just to funk it up with my morning essence. As I walked up to ask the "question" that was evident on my face, I noticed that there was the explicatory "out of order" sign on the restroom to keep people who can read from asking to use their, oh so precious, facility. I knew the answer before I asked it. I asked anyway, "May I please use your restroom?" Now, I knew she (the storekeeper/shitter security) was lying when she gave me the answer, because she looked me up and down before she answered. Shitter bitch says, "There is one across the street by the Jeep tour place." I had only wished that I had explosive farts or something right when she said that, but I didn't.

This was when I started to imagine how these people must view themselves. We should be so lucky to live in a society where you are not put to death for asking to used their repositories of royal waste. Or perhaps just passing through the door to the immaculate chamber of crapdom would be so powerful and experience we would just pass out or die.

BTW, I devastated that crapper across the street.

Away

Hi all, I will be back with more frolic very soon, just a little busy. Get ready though, it's gunna be a wild ride.

Not Again

Once again I have subjected myself to young kids.

I went to volunteer at a kids triathlon, this morning. I run triathlons, and love to see youth getting involved in these types of sports. But, like all sports, there are the overbearing, pseudo-athletic parents who have raised a little turd kid that thinks he/she is the next L. Armstrong etc.

I was watching as the majority of the kids, with their ill-fitting equipment, ride by at the very end of their abilities. It was great to see these little kiddos pushing themselves. Then here comes Lance Jr. in his little leotard, emphasis on "tard", whipping the shit out of all these kids. Well, Lance Jr. wins of course and is prancing around the finish line in front of the onlookers and other little kid athletes in their tiny horn rimmed glasses and crooked bike helmets.

And then a miracle happens: God (or whoever) sends Lance Jr. my way. I was just standing by the water/powerade with my wife and he sauntered over with his little medal and trisuit. Did I mention that he was the only kid in a trisuit? The others had on, what appeared to be, the same clothes they wore to kindergarten that day.

Tour de France kinder says to us, "Yea, I think I won. I was second out of the water, but on the bike, pfttttt..." and gestures as though there is no way any of those lesser humans could have come close to his Excellency.

At this point I added, "Yea, you kicked the crap out of that four year old girl on the Schwinn." He looked at me very puzzled and wondered off. I actually felt good about that one. I was sure no one ever smacked his ego in the ass like that.

Guess I should be banned from kids' triathlons as well.

Surrogate Killer Parent (a day at the aquarium)

I love going to visit my bro and his family. He lives in the greatest cities and usually has jobs that I can only describe as surreal. But I digress, this is a short little story about my last trip to the freaky state of California to see my Brother, his two twins, and his very patient wife. I do not have kids, therefore I am more or less a caveman when it comes to being around them. This was seated firmly after I introduced the 3 almost 4 year old twins to the concept of violence and death while watching Star Wars (my idea, of course, even though their dad watched it with us).

The real fun began when we took a little jaunt to the aquarium together (minus mom). It had been one day since the Star Wars incident, and I was feeling more like a good uncle again.The twins looked in awe together as I explained the different types of sea life we were observing. I actually felt like a normal uncle, and not like "Kindergarten Cop" or some type of commando-esque baby sitter. I was eventually entrusted with one of the twins, all on my own. My little brother went to the restroom with one, and I took the other to pet the small sharks and rays. It was great. She was laughing nervously as the rough skinned (non-man eating) sharks would come up to her to be stroked with two fingers while I watched to make sure she didn't fall in etc. She really loved it, and I was having fun with her. Then there was an incident.

A little boy, about her age, decided that he did not like the fact that she was having so much fun and getting all this aquatic attention. He (four eyed freak boy) reached into the water with a cupped hand and threw it on my niece. This set off a chain of crying, which would last for one hour. Not before she whacked the kid in the chest for dousing her. I don't deal with little kids at all. I watched as the freak kid reached in for his second scoop of water and then pounced on him like a lion in wait. I said, "Hey, little freak, don't even think about it!" It just popped right out. I didn't even think twice that I was talking to a 4-5 year old. I actually had a little mini dream, while I was berating him, about shoving him into the shark tank. It was a beautiful thing, but a dream all the less. He looked at me like I was from outer space and started to cry.

Well, his mom (idiot freak number 2) decided to show up and said, as though she had just woken up from a long sleep, "what's going on little fella?" Now we were talking. I definitely know how to deal with stupid adults. I was just about to leap for her throat when my brother appeared and whisked me off while I was telling this lady to get control of her little tardo kid.

I definitely need to be kept away from the children for at least 15 years.

Story Time:"Bum Caked"

This is a funny little story that happened a few years ago that I thought might be mildly entertaining.

I decided to meet my little brother, who was coming in from NY, in Austin where our mother works as a housemother. We took her out to this great little steakhouse for dinner. The food was great, brother was funny and mom was happy. All was good. We ordered dessert which ended up being too much. The chocolate cake was so good I just had to take it with me. We decided to walk to our next destination, which was also downtown, when I spotted a homeless person, also known as a "crackhead", walking on the sidewalk toward us. Instead of being my normal paranoid self (big mistake), I decided to be kind and offer this man my wonderful chocolate cake leftover. I handed, with charitable hands (palms up full extension), the delectable dessert to the seeming wanting street person. The tall skinny disheveled man stared down at the polystyrene container and began to open it in a way I can only describe, as a zombie from one of those crappy movies would when ripping open your skull to reveal the brain. My "spidey sense" began to tingle as the zombie erupted into a frenzy state. My brother, being a seasoned bum watcher from NY, saw what was coming next as if he was in some type of "Matrix" sequel. The container was ripped open and the contents were pummeled in a death grip which seemed primitive to me.

As the urchin raised his cake-laden hand above his head screaming in a perfect street bum accent, "What da fuck am I gunna do wid sum mutha fuckin chocolate cake" I was frozen. My brother, on the other hand, became my mother’s secret service agent and dove in front of her as the beast brought his hand down in an uncoordinated attempt to toss the cake back at the generous person that donated it to him, ME. The cake impacted a passerby, who delivering soda to a restaurant. Shrapnel peppered my pants and shoes. We were just "bum caked". I did not have time to waste, my brother quickly grabbed up my mother, who was also going for cover while I stood in wonderment of what was unfolding. I guess I wasn't impressed with the killing power of a loaded three-layer fudge cake. I soon followed behind them, tending to my wounded pants and shoes, still in awe of what happened. Don't give zombies cake!

The Uncomfortable Gaze

So, how long is too long? What happened to these people in childhood that caused their stare timer to get all fucked up? Could it be that this person just slipped through the "ass kicking" cracks of society? I really want to know.

Give me some answers, because I think it could be a self correcting problem prompted by some constructive confrontation. Like, what the fuck are you looking at turd nugget?

Societal Suprise

SOCIETAL SURPRISE: So there I am, making my way to the barber for a hair cut. I enjoy this time. I make a little small talk with the barber, but for the most part we both keep quiet while he performs his craft and I enjoy the soft buzz of the electric clippers. But every so often, TODAY, I found myself in a verbal mental fencing match with an old amputee in an attempt to get him to just shut up. It started off as usual with the opponent listening in and adding to a conversation with which he was not a part of, at least it appeared that way from my point of view, but I like to be fair. Let's step into the psycho's shoes for a bit today. I can imagine sitting there, in the barber shop with what appears to be an already freshly shorn head. So I (the psycho) am lonely, sad as that may be, and looking for prey and thinking about going down town for a quicky from one of the local ladies of the night/day, and possibly eating the doughnut I have squished in my pocket and BAM!!! In comes this guy who just wants a friggin hair cut. He doesn't look like he will be disturbed by my pointing my nubb at him while joining in on his two person conversation with the barber. Well as shallow as it may seem, I really wasn't upset, but it was the timing. And timing, along with some content, bad breath, and the missing limbs, is really makes this so "One Flew Over..." . Nothing I could do or say, be it a digressing tone to end a conversation, to actually saying, "Ok then, I am all out of words" would shut this ass up. He actually followed me out of the shop and too my vehicle where I left him talking to the spot I was parked in after I backed out and pulled away. Holy shit, I am so glad I met this guy today. I was running out of funny stuff to blog about.

Love,

Me

Not Alone

Just thought I would say that it is good to know that I am not alone when it comes to dealing with adult children.

Relax

Just Relax and let the crazies wipe themselves out.  This is my new way of dealing with difficult people.  I will just stay out of the mix and let the chain reaction of the psychic war of the weak minded burn itself out.

xxx ooo

New Yorker Cartoon

Get it?

Vote for, National "Kiss my hairy %&@" Day

Some people can be reasoned with and some need to be reasoned with.  Some people can actually see the big picture and realize that there are some details in life that just don't matter that much.  But there are those few that, no matter what you do or how you do it, are going to bitch, moan and cry because that is what they do.  To those f'ers out there who can't get a grip on reality and need to be force fed a shit sandwich just to see how it tastes to the rest of us; kiss my hairy ass!

Have a happy and a healthy,

xxx ooo,

Me 

Escape and Evasion

Now, due to my unnamed friend's allegiance with the dark side, a chance encounter with this person is not favorable.  How long will I be in "Michael Weston (Burn Notice)" mode here?  

Lost to the Dark Side

I ask myself, WWYD (what would Yoda do)?  I have lost a friend to the dark side and believe that the best thing for this particular soul is to fall completely.  I have made failed attempts to normalize this person on many occasions.  I am tired, and he is resilient and has alienated many people.  Maybe this long fall will reveal who his real friends were/are.  Good luck on your journey, I think you need it.  Oh and, send a shout out to the Prince of Darkness for me.

Load up B4 running w/Shanna

Had a great run yesterday with my friend Shanna.  She is an actual athlete where I just dabble.  I was actually planning on running long (10 miles), but she talked me into 14+ish yesterday.  I was a bit off schedule and totally forgot to eat lunch and had a pretty small breakfast; smaller that I would have had if I were going to run more than 10 miles.  Anyway, we started at around 1215pm and by the time we got to 12 miles, I was about to eat my wrists.  I burn more calories with her because we talk non-stop, and usually run faster than I would by myself.  We stopped at her van, which looks like the kind of van you would warn your daughters about, to get some calories.  Shanna has a bunch of sponsors, so it is like going to a tiny race expo in there.  I got some little race jelly beans and off we went.  We finished and weren't able to stay and chat about the run due to the crazy fat guy there that was talking to himself about doughnuts and wizardry.  

Medical Humor

I was listening to Scott Hamilton talk on the Today show about how he tries to find humor in everything.  Scott uses this technique/way of viewing the world to cope with the many hurdles in his own personal life (ie. prostate and brain cancer).  I tend to take life too serious and have been trying to apply this technique.  I figured that if it works for super serious shit like cancer, it would have to work for me.  It actually works when you remember to use it.  My problem with this is that by the time I try to find humor in a situation, I am already so pissed off that it would take Richard Prior, Jim Cary, and Dave Chappell on crack to make me see humor in it.  I just don't know if I can integrate a humor chip into my, very full, mother board at this juncture.  I am afraid that if I did, I would be laughing out loud at things and people, like those guys on the subway in New York. 

NEWS BREAK: {holy shit, the chick in the booth next to me, at Day Break, just blew out the biggest fart and pretended that it never happened.  Now that is some funny shit.}  

Anyway, I digress.  Maybe that is the trick.  I just need to go full f'n bozo and start laughing at all this b.s. OUT LOUD!

Juice/Fruit Fast

I recently tried (emphasis on tried) doing a three day fruit juice fast.  This was not a new years resolution nor would I suggest it be.  The first day you feel nice and clean; almost righteous over all those carnivores you can snub your nose at.  Day two quickly begins to get old toward lunch.  By dinner it is an experiment rather than a cleansing ritual.  I came home from work late on day two and tried to go to sleep.  No sugar plum dreams; more like chasing down a wild boar naked with a knife in my mouth.  I woke from my dream and went straight to the refrigerator and slammed down a protein drink followed by a giant ham sandwich.  One day yes, 2-3 days and say hello to Mr. Poopie pants.  Not to mention the wonderful array of smells my body emitted.  Oh, did I mention that if you are a long distance runner you can forget it, because your body goes into defcon 3 if you try to run more than about 20 minutes?  On a brighter note, it did teach me the importance of a well balanced diet especially for athletic types with vivid imaginations.

Rock on.