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.