Shades of LISTEN TO ME FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST!

I never thought this would happen to me, but I actually think that I have become a languageist.  Similar to a racist, but only for language barriers. Or Xenoglossophobia, fear of strange tongues.  What ever the definition, it does not change the fact that I am losing it.

I have also noticed a trend for our foreign friends that answer our technical questions on help lines about computers, services etc.  The trend is that if I just keep repeating what I said in my stupid/almost mentally challenged version of English, the person who actually speaks the language will understand me somehow.  Little do they know, the person on the other end is plotting how they could possibly move their particle through the phone lines and wrap them around their tiny throats.


Equality for all.  Love and kisses/peace.

Funny Guys

Well, I don't like to give personal details, but I will say that being in law enforcement for the last 11 plus years has not been without its share of "funny guys". One of my most favorite and still annoying behaviors is that of the nervous civilians that notices or hears that you are a cop and feels as though they have to make a humorous comment. "I didn't do it." or "He did it" Hehehehe, NOT. I mean, if I were a proctologist and at a party, would the same jackass say, "Hey Bob, better watch the Doc, he might probe your prostate when you're not looking." Hehehe. I can only assume that it is because these homyacks have so much testosterone that they have to emasculate me because they are not the big dog in the room anymore, or they have been to the pokey a few times. Funny stuff, I think I will stick with the cuffs.

Out of it

Oh how I wished we still had medieval rules/code of conduct. I thought this to myself as I handed the cup of hot lava to the barista at Barnes and Noble. “Please will you pour some of this out, I didn’t want to pour it in your trash can and it is very hot.” It grabs the molten coffee from me with a scowl and pours some out handing it back to me with an eye roll. I took the coffee with my off hand and drew my broadsword with my weapon hand. The point appeared millimeters from his neck. “You need to learn some manners young servant boy.” He froze in his tracks and begged, “I am so sorry my liege, I promise to serve with enthusiasm and fervor from this day forth.” I returned my broadsword and returned to reality, having a strong grip on my iPhone. “Let that be a lesson to you”, I said leaving the counter with my coffee. He replied with an, “Oooo kkk…”

I really need to cut back on the pain meds.

Look Closely

Look closely and you will see what I like to call the "I don't give two tits what people think about my appearance" attitude. It makes me wonder what or when this section of the brain snaps, pops, or just simply melts into a thimble of pudding. I mean, I see people everyday that should really not ever leave the house, but they at least make an effort to dress it up a bit. C'mon, at least throw on some sweats and proper shoes. Are you kidding me?


"Crap, I didn't get my Sunday paper! Fuck it, there probably isn't anyone at the busiest grocery store in town on Sunday morning. I will just throw my robe over my nasty old naked body and go grab a paper there."

As funny as this was to see and photograph covertly from the floral section, please don't fool yourself, you are a mentally unstable individual and should definitely keep doing this because it made my freaking day.

I love the word "Delicious"; make me smile.

Shape Shifters

The shape shifters I speak of are the ones that pull up to the ATM etc. and try to reach the panel but are either too far away or are like me and have short arms. My favorite part about this are those few wizards that push against the door with their arm fully extended like they are magically going to be able to partially pass through the hard plastic and steel and reach the elusive ATM. There are usually a few tries at this before a look is given at the door like it is the door's fault for not changing its molecular make up for this futile attempt.
Even worse is that I actually sit there and watch hoping that this person in front of me is able to pull this physics experiment off.

What I would really like to see is the expression on someone's face when they are actually able to pull this off.

Do or do not, there is no try. (Yoda)

Coffee Shop Meltdown

Well I have been trying hard to figure out how to allow whomever reads this sad rant of mine understand and feel my pain. Picture me, the object of patience, the only person at the counter at my favorite coffee shop. I had actually gotten up a bit early this morning just to be able to get my favorite coffee and get to work. The sweet elixir that I so enjoy, is already being whipped up by the barista that knows me and usually gets my order started before I reach the front door. The smells and the sounds of my lovely beverage are proving to be Pavlovian.
This is when it happens; as you would expect since I am writing about it. It starts with these two beautiful people; you know who you are. Those people that think that there are two time continua theirs and everyone else. Oh, they start by going to the side of the counter; brimming with confidence wearing their perfect hair. This was tolerable until they started talking to the help. Talking to the only person working the coffee bar. This is when their world and ours mingles. I have noticed that this only happens when they want something, or one or both of our kind are drunk as hell and still want something. Anyway, both the female and male beauties and the barista have some small talk about their flip flops or something. It just sounds like WAWAWA "peanuts" talk to me. My normal 1.12 minute wait turns into well over 5.27 minutes. Finally, barista is able to phase into my parallel time line and see that I about to hit my flash point. She begins to pour and is pulled back into the land of the lovelies. This adds an additional 1.1 minutes of "Linus and Lucy" and she finally breaks free again after a laugh and a hair flip. She steps back into ugly and brings me the coffee from the mountain, places it in my wretched hands; which is when I depart the common man.

This only actually took 1.1 minutes due to the rip in time from glam to sham.

Kisses,

Me

Lost and Dumb Found

You never think you are going to come across a 14 year old little girl in the back country of the Rocky Mountains until it happens to you. Not only 14 years old, but with no adult, no food, no water, and high altitude sickness impending. She was obviously tired and probably getting cold/hypothermic due to the rain and dropping temperature.

The only question she had of us was not of aiding her in her deadly search for her family, or food and water. She simply asked, "Are you guys Christians?" The answer was obvious to me; in my head anyway. I actually had to think about the question, not because I was questioning my Jewish upbringing, but because of the shock that this was her top priority. I looked at my friend with that funny tilty head thing that dogs sometimes do. I wasn't sure if she was asking because she was going to run off if I told her that I was not a Christian or if she was taking a survey during her last day on earth. Luckily the guy I was backpacking with was a Christian which must have trumped my Red Sea Pedestrian background making it alright to be rescued and not left to die or be sacrificed at the hands of the Pagan Jew.

Damn, foiled again!

National Security

I am sure that many of you have had the pleasure of visiting the US Post Office. I just love that God damned place. I got to the Post Office early this morning. It was me and another family of three in front of me. They were Hispanic and the patriarch was speaking Spanish to the Hispanic Postal worker that was assisting them. It was like they were all family. There speech was quiet and quick; yet pacifying. The Postal worker was so cordial and friendly, I could hardly wait for my turn. They finished their business and left as quietly as they came in.

My turn. I compare it to waiting to get on a ride at the amusement park. The excitement is palpable. I had a letter that was already stamped and ready to go and a little package the my wife had marked Media Mail. The middle aged Postal worker asked me what was in the package. I didn't realize that I was boarding an aircraft or entering a high security area. I said I don't know, I am assuming it is some type of media. This is when she went "high order" on me. (High order: High order explosives are explosive materials that detonate, meaning that the explosive shock front passes though the material at a super sonic speed. High explosives detonate with explosive velocity rates ranging from 3,000 to 9,000 meters per second. They are normally employed in mining, demolition, and military applications. They can be divided into two explosives classes differentiated by sensitivity.) She changed her demeanor to something that I can only compare to a SS shock troop saying, "Are there any letters or notes in this package?" I told her that I didn't know, I am guessing it is a book since that is what she usually sends in media mail. The clerk stamped the package and put it in a special pile and told me, "This package will be opened and inspected." I was waiting for the UZI toting Postal Agents to appear and perform a quick body cavity search but was let down when the Postal worker said in a stern voice, "$2.34 please." I handed her a five dollar bill slowly just in case I was being watched for any sudden movements. Worker: "Do you want me to take it out of the $5?" I just gave her a puzzled look and said, "Yes?" She took the bill and made change. I took the change gingerly and walked out like I was at the Soup Nazi's store from Seinfeld.

Sleep well citizens, the county is safe from bogus media mail.

But I'm a nun

Does the fact that you are clergy or a nun give you diplomatic immunity from being and idiot.

I only ask because I was taking my mother to the hospital to have surgery today, in busy traffic where she lives. It was lunch hour in a large busy city and I was trying to navigate traffic while my mother drove from the passenger seat. Well, as we got close to the Hospital, I got the, "Turn here!" from the co-pilots seat. I pulled into the circle drive and immediately saw the orange arrow painted on the ground pointing in the opposite direction. Too late to stop due to traffic, so I drove on in. This old woman, driving a small compact car, threw her hands up and gave me a look that could have burned a hole through the thickest piece of heat resistant space shuttle tile. She kept the stare and tracked our vehicle like a tank turret. I shot back with a well articulated, "What the fuck" which a blind person could have lip read. I soon as I hit the "K" in fuck I saw it. A nuns habit. I felt bad for about 1 to 2 milliseconds. She's not immune to the driving rules of engagement. I was taking fire and had to defend myself. She continued to fire on our vehicle with her power stare even after my warning shot. I think sister fuck up was waiting for God to come down and smash me to oblivion. I was hoping he would come down and say, "What the fuck?"

I got mom to her surgery, and have not heard from the nun or the Lord.

Saving the Blind

I will admit, I am a bit of a softy. I would not go as far as the term "Liberal", or "Tree Hugger", but I do have some common sense of reality and know that not everyone is a piece of proverbial shit. But, like someone once said, "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness." I work in a profession that seems to be laden with so called "Conservatives"/Republicans”. I, myself, don't really label myself anything mostly because I don't care and also because I don't know enough about politics to fill a thimble.

I do not mind that I have to talk to people who are homeless, or close to it, and have young kids who are victims of violence. This goes for the mentally challenged (PC for retarded) people that are preyed on as well. These people need protection as well as the rest of the population who take their safety for granted. I don't give a crap what political direction you like to go; I have not seen either camp take crime seriously in this country -- that is unless it happens to them. Then it is a frickin major issue.

You could have probably guessed that I work in law enforcement. I have been doing it for over ten years. My colleagues have not had a raise in over six years. I love my job, but as you can see we are not so important to the tax payers. Know why? A lot of this bad shit has not happened to them. Yet...

Most of the people I work with do this job because they love it. I totally get becoming jaded after being exposed to what we have to deal with on a daily basis, especially when you feel like the community has forgotten you. I don't get people who have no clue as to what is going on in their own country. Especially when they are supposed to be educated and well read.

My message to those of you who think that there are not people out there suffering violence every day or who are homeless and starving, who think that they might not be the next target of some asshole waiting to take advantage of them.

WAKE UP!!!!

The Dis (C'mon, really)

THE DIS:

I'll be with you in just a minute. Sorry, I have been really busy. Man, we never see each other anymore. Where have you been, I've been calling? Did you change your number? You're a hard person to find? We really need to hang out more. Let me call you right back. "You have reached the sprint/pcs voice mailbox of another asshole that won't call you back." (Text), "Did you just call me?" Hold on. Standby. Are you coming? Man, I must have just missed ya. It's been crazy.

Fuck, maybe it's just me. Damn.

IN MY HEAD

What is that piece of paper for? Oooo, I like this font. (Pause to listen to Soma FM lounge music). I do love Mexico. Can't wait to get there. I hope no one notices I have had the same red swim suit every time I go to this place. Why is my phone forwarded? What shall I blog about. I really need to clean the shit off my desk. Oh shit, there that is. MMMMM, cherry lime aid, reminds me of high school. Jesus I'm old. Uhhh, godda pee. I can hold it, c'mon. Nope, gotta go.

So Ya Feel Strong Do Ya? Think again.

Got up this morning feeling healthy and strong. Not bad for a 40+, I said to myself as I did a little stomach flexing in the mirror. I shaved up, brushed up and had a healthy breakfast while listening to some Alternative/Indie Rock on Pandora. Kissed the wife, who was still in coma sleep, and headed out for a quick cup before the short drive to work.

I pulled into the office parking lot and charged up the stairs to the second floor. As I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, I could hear hacking and coughing coming from the office door area near by. A co-worker from another section was standing in the doorway coughing up lung butter all over the place and looked like an extra from "Dawn of the Dead". I asked if he was ok? He says, as he is spewing particle of death, "Man I wished I could get rid of this shit". I just walked as fast as I could while holding my breath. I must have looked like one of those flamboyant speed walkers; you know, the ones with the leggings etc. I almost passed out while trying to reach minimum safe distance from the "Hot Zone". My mind took over and my brief "Clark Kent" feeling this morning turned to shite. I was infected. I could feel the virus teaming its way into each individual cell. Soon, I would be craving brains and human flesh. Fuck!

I thought about it more and more, realizing that I too have come to work a little sick. But when your ass is spraying plague all over everyone, I do believe summary execution is in order. Like Spock quoted from John 11:49-50, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one." So, go home because we don't want your ass here; believe me, we got it covered.

ASSHOLE!

Spring Break 2010

Never underestimate the adventures you can have in "Big A" (Amarillo) on spring break.

I motored up to Amarillo on Saturday to meet my little brother and his family for a little get together.

We met at my Dad's house where my nephew, Axel, (aged 4), promptly went to my stepmother's closet and put on her high heels. I admired his grace and skill as he maneuvered through the back yard avoiding every dog land mine while chucking rocks into my dad's pond. Sofi, my niece, was playing with her Star Wars figures and dragging around the bright pink feather boa that my wife gave to her; the force is strong with her. I have no doubt that this boa will be in Axel's inventory soon.

Dad was very excited about taking us all out to his favorite Sushi/Japanese steak house restaurant where we would all enjoy Amarillo's fine assortment of raw fish morsels and Japanese delights.

We arrived and began to look for a parking space in the nearly full parking lot. My brother Bryan was driving my dad's SUV along with Cat, his wife, the kiddos and me. We eyeballed a spot and as we were about to round the corner of one of the rows and pull in, we came bumper to bumper with an Um-pa loom-pa driving an Aston Martin DB10; top down of course. This guy was straight from the Jersey Shore cast complete with slicked jet black hair, tight fitting Banana Republic pen striped shirt, and giant gold watch. He gave us the "I will let the lower income bracket proceed" head nod, and sped off past us to find a perch for his chariot to be admired by all. Once inside, we were greeted by a Japanese women who told us, "You wait in bar, 30-45minutes OK."

I guess that was going to be the end of the Japanese experience, because once inside the walls of the forbidden restaurant, we were handed off to what I can only described as the bull-dike floor manager. She was a large human complete with head set, tight fitting blue button down (tucked in), and tighter black flammable pants. We moved to the bar,where I could see my Dad and stepmother on the other side of "checkpoint charlie" and the bull put her hand up gesturing left and right shouting, "Keep this area clear for traffic!" as she bulldozed her way through the crowd with her arms full of menus.

We waited, for what seemed like hours. The bull was barking orders in her head set, which was odd because she was the only one with a head set. The Um-pa loom-pa was entertaining the Jersey shore near by and Axel was doing a rendition of a Greek plate smashing ritual by knocking Saki glasses off the bar and onto the floor. It was perfect. I thought the bull was going to pop an artery.

We were finally going to be seated and they led us to a table with the giant grill where you could watch your food being tossed around etc. Well, for some reason or another, this set off the head parental unit, Dad. He had asked for a plain table. I guess you could say he lost his shit. I believe the next words from him were, "Fuck it, we can go to McDonald's for all I care." Bryan just looked at me and said, "Here we go." I knew exactly what he meant and went into damage control mode. I got us out of there quickly, but not before Dad would burn his bridge with the owner's wife. I am not sure what he said to her, but she had a "Remember Pearl Harbor mother fucker" look on her face as we exited the front door.

Cat quickly directed us to the BBQ joint next door. Once we all got inside and the Maitre d' saw what she had in store, they put us in the hoosegow room complete with jail bars and a jail house door.

I was worn out and we enjoyed our food and went our separate ways to get some sleep for the night. I stayed with Dad and Kelly (step mother) and Bryan and his fam met my mother, who came in late, at a hotel for the night.

The next morning, we met Bryan downstairs at his hotel to eat breakfast and visit. This place was packed with people on their way to go skiing. We were getting breakfast from a buffet line and I guess Bry had unintentionally cut in front of a hungry patron. This guy actually had the same shirt on that the Um-pa loom-pa had on from the previous night. He tells Bryan, "Are you really in that big of a hurry?" Bry tells the guy that he was sorry and he was trying to get some food for his kids and that he didn't mean to ruin his Spring Break. The man had a funny, deer in the headlights look for a moment then stormed off, looking back occasionally in disbelief that he had just been smacked around by a pro. He made a few more passes by our table and you could see him trying hard to conjure up a comeback, but he had been whooped.

The rest of the trip was pretty nondescript. We saw my incredibly shrinking 98 year old grandmother and I froze my rear off while riding my motorcycle back to Lubbock.

Watching the Crazy

I must attract them, the crazies and their crazy. Only I would be able to find a body building MHMR client at 6:30 AM. It was as if John Babbitt had a long lost brother with a burr haircut, thick glasses, and oh, don’t let me forget to mention the bike coaching shorts revealing a rather impressive yak/camel toe.

I caught a glance from my workout partner who spoke with her eyes saying, "For God sake, don't make eye contact." Of course it was way too late for that little covert message. I was already ass deep in crazy land. Babbitt is muttering under his breath to me, but still loud enough to be heard, something about finding some 100lb plates. He was in a bit of a frenzy while on his quest for the elusive 100lb plates. I told him that I have no idea where those would be and that he should try over there; gesturing as far away from my location as possible. He wondered off for a bit all the while talking to himself about weights and plates and Jesus... Well, he found the 100lb plates and was carrying one in each hand, and would probably carry one in his mouth if it wasn't so busy yapping crazy.

He went back for two more 100lb plates and proceeded to load up 400lb plus the bar weight on the squat rack. I really wanted to see what the result of this was going to be. I could only imagine how much material I would have, for weeks to come once I was able to witness this feat of strength. It was about to happen, crazy was pumping himself up and then a staff member came over. I could tell she had to build up her courage to confront helter skelter, but I have to give it to her. She was concerned that he was going to hurt himself. I was getting upset because I really wanted to see the show; complete with grunts, farts, pant splitting, turning red, stupid cross eyed face shit. Crazy said, "you can't hurt this body" or something like that, but in crazy sanitarium speak.

He finally gave up on the 400lb squat tard show. I am confident he will be back and I will probably be there to see the next chapter of his amazing weight room adventures.

Have a happy and a healthy,

Me

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.