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.