I will talk about it on the next podcast but I wanted to drop a note to let everyone know my Patreon page is up and available for you to support the podcast. Click the below link and see the tiered offers for supporters of the Saga. https://www.patreon.com/SagaofSteveRogers
So my doctor says i need to wear compression socks…and they look amazing. NOT!!!! Since my diagnosis with diabetes I have been to the multiple doctors offices…a lot of doctors, and a lot of times. I recently noticed my ankles were swollen. really swollen. I mean Fred Flintstone like swollen.
Not quite this bad but this is really close.
And they hurt a bit too. The pain isn’t constant, but it is not comfortable to say the least. I cannot recommend Googling leg vein issues. I tried to find a picture like the one he showed me of what my leg veins look like just now and I saw some levels of nastiness I can never unsee. Not grandma porn bad, but pretty close.
In all fairness I have not been kind to my feet over the years. I am a fair bit overweight, in case you didn’t notice. I also have broken toes more than Evil Kenevil broke, well his everything. ok, maybe this is a slight exaggeration, but it has been a lot.
I am not a vain person by any stretch of the imagination, but wearing these silly ass socks today with a pair of shorts I felt like I was the bearded lady at the circus. And I live in Arizona, so not wearing shorts is not an option. Also thanks to my friend Dexter, my sock game was elevated while I was in New York. The bar is pretty high. I Googled “cool compression socks for men” and this is the very first image.
Really Google? That’s the best you got? Maybe I will start a sock company for old, fat, poor leg circulation guys that have been recently diagnosed with diabetes, a complete change to their diet, no sugar beverages, have 7 kids, 4 dogs, 4 cats, 2 ex wives and ho’s in different area codes that do a podcast since therapy is really expensive and are a bit anal-retentive about cleanliness and have a fair smattering of OCD and an aversion to finding something sticky anywhere…ever. Is that too specific a demographic? Maybe I will leave it to Amazon.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
So, when I built out my studio last year by enclosing one of our garages, we decided not to add ducting for the central air from the house to that space. Our thought was, since we didn’t pull permits and have this done “BY CODE”, we are just going to rip down the wall we added when we are ready to move out and call it a day. That ‘day’ is no sooner than 9 years away, but I am kind of a “live in the moment” kind of guy. To start with, I thought a fan would be good enough. I was wrong. Then I bought a portable AC unit and used that and the fan together. It is cool enough on most days (when is is not 120˚c degrees outside). The problem is, I built a recording studio….you know, to record stuff….audio stuff…..like with microphones…and a mixer….and sound software…and, as it turns out…a portable AC unit and a fan are not quiet. And did I mention this is an audio recording type situation? I think I might have, but I am not sure.
I present the DeLonghi Portable Air Conditioner 12,500 BTU’s. It is rated for rooms up to 400 sq. feet. DeLonghi says:
Cools Any Room
Window-mounted air conditioners can help beat the summer heat, but their cooling powers are confined to a single room. This powerful unit is wheel-mounted, so it can roll through the house to combat hot, muggy weather in whatever room you’re using. While watching TV or sleeping, switch on the quiet mode to chill rooms without disruption.
I assure you, they are 100% incorrect that it “COOLS ANY ROOM”, to say nothing about the “quiet mode”. Maybe it is just not made to cool rooms that are hotter than hell to begin with. Maybe one persons quiet is another persons loud as all F#*K. All that being the case, it worked fine last year. This year is a completely different story.
In Arizona, this year it was hotter than last year. We also have not had rain, as of yet, in the city we live in. The cities around us, all of them, every last one, no exclusions, I really mean all of them, have had rain this year. We had a friggin monsoon the other night that caused flooding in many places. You heard me, flooding. Here at Casa de Steve? Bone dry and hovering around 110˚ most days. My poor lil DeLonghi could not maintain. I decided to try to port some of that sweet 73˚ house air out to my studio. But how to achieve this? Steve, do you possess the necessary knowledge or abilities to perform the aforementioned task? 100% no, but I know people.
A couple months ago a gentlemen, who is a listener of my podcast (and also Saturday Morning Samoflange by my dear friend Mr Expanded Universe, Matt Wilkins) reached out to me and we began talking about podcasting. He had started his own podcast, and I was lucky enough to be on an episode with he and his wife. He also happens to be a handyman as one of the many hats he wears. He tells me he used to work in HVAC, and the task of ducting that sweet 73˚ house air should be as simple as making rice krispy treats is for my Amazing Amy. That makes me happy, since Amy is a wiz in the kitchen. This sounds like a no-brainer. We pick a start time of 7am, so we can begin before the super hateful temperatures really begin.
Now, let me say at this point, I am totally going to be his “pass me the wizbang ferclempto spanner” and “go get me a cold beverage” boy in this endeavor. I am totally on board with that. What I didn’t think about is that directly above my studio, in what I thought was the attic crawl space, is my daughters room, not an attic. Long story short, AC cannot be done that way and I have to either live with the heat and noise of a portable ac unit, or live with the heat and the noise of a portable ac unit. Totally up to me. My friend felt really bad, but there is nothing either one of us could do except get in our Delorian, drive 88 miles per hour and stop the designer of my house from being so effective in his use of space… stupid architect.
Maybe next year I will pull a permit and add a window and a wall mounted AC unit. The Amazing Amy, being a glass is half full kinda female, has said that what the Saga of Steve Rogers has is a summer studio (my walk in closet) and a rest of the year studio. Till then YOLO…it’s back in the closet for this guy.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
That’s the advice my Amazing Amy gave me after I took last Friday as a vacation day to make this Memorial Day Weekend extra awesome. I spent most of it in the bathroom with, what can only be described as, explosive diarrhea…your welcome.
The gastrointestinal delight lasted for 5 days and ended with me in urgent care and taking yet another sick day from work the day after a holiday weekend. The urgent care doctor gave me a plastic catch bin to sit between the water and my bum to catch the aforementioned explosion and three separate sample tubes to fill and return to them to run tests on for whatever parasites may have caused this. True to form, once I get home my body decides to accept the 5 days of the Pepto, Imodium and Maalox and stop all passage from that orifice all together. And just as unexpectedly as it began, it ended…not with a bang, but a whimper.
You may be asking yourself why I am telling you this. Why would anyone submit their horrible fecal terror for the world to hear about, to laugh at or ridicule me for? Why? Because I care. Learn from my mistakes. If Amazing Amy, or whatever you call your much better half, tells you that according to her tracking of events, when you try to take a longer weekend your body doesn’t like it very much and you are likely to suffer some Illness that will turn your expected joyous time away from work into a shit show, listen to her. She is smarter than you by far.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
The mice are bored to death.
My Amazing Amy has been gone since noon Wednesday, having taken all 5 girls with her on a craft- focused road trip, and I am bored to death. It is quiet and I am utterly lost. Don’t get it twisted, I love how things remain where I left them and things are in the place they belong (like the remote for the living room tv that was once discovered upstairs in the kids bathroom of all places), how I have not had to yell at anyone or mediate a fight over the Disney Channel or Minecraft, how the sink isn’t overflowing with dishes not washed off or dishes coming out of the dishwasher still covered in food because they went in with dried on food and Faith, my 13 year old doesn’t bother to look at the dishes she puts away to see if there are “food remnants ” or the counters and the random sticky spots that have no reason to be sticky at all; but I am bored nonetheless.
I do have the 4 dogs, 4 cats, 3 guinea pigs and a teenaged boy still here that all seem to be acting like the rules don’t apply while “mom” isn’t there to regulate, so there is that to look forward to. I am also confronted with a house that is too big for one person to keep clean. With the 8 animals that are able to roam free there come random mystery stains that really are not much of a mystery. No need to warm up the Mystery Machine and round up Scooby snacks, we know what they represent.
I know delegation is the key, but with no one to delegate to, I found myself feeling that the cleanliness of the house was not really all that important. If you know me at all you know I am all about order. I couldn’t go to bed one night a few years ago because I noticed one of the remote controls was not in the wire basket on the coffee table where it belongs and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it as I lay in bed. It took me about 30 minutes to find it and I remain to this day convinced it was moved by Ashton Kutcher and I was being Punk’d. Amy is forever telling me to “let it go”, so I think she would be proud of me, but also a little sad it took her leaving the state and abandoning her husband for me to achieve this. Overly dramatic? I think not.
The last thing is the responsibilities I was ill prepared for. At 2:24am Friday night one of the dogs woke me so he could go outside. Amy would usually takes care of this and I continue to sleep uninterrupted. He didn’t pee or poop, he just seemed to want to see the patio, shake his head really fast back and forth, stretch his back and yawn and then come back inside. It is now 4:51am and while Elton Dog went straight back to sleep, I am watching clips from The Daily Show on my Facebook feed and listening to him snore and chase an imaginary bunny in his dream. Ugh!
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I just wanted to write a quick post to describe my night. I just set up my website via WordPress and it has been kind of a PITA. If you have never used it I encourage you to get an idiots guide to WordPress from Amazon.com first and then, after trying to fix a minor issue for hours, get someone smarter than you to help. Since I am the smartest person I know, that isn’t an option for me. Needless to say, my minor issue is still ongoing as I write this. If you can help, holla at cha boy.
I am watching my Anaheim Ducks (no longer called mighty unfortunately) against the Nashville Predators. It was pointed out to me that there are a LOT of empty seats in the Honda Center (it will always be The Pond to me), but my Ducks just tied up the game. QUACK QUACK!!
I am sitting at the table enjoying the sound of silence as the 4 youngest girls are away this weekend. They go away every other weekend and Amazing Amy has also announced a road trip starting this coming Wednesday and ending Sunday. I am convinced, after seeing the itinerary, that Monday is more likely, but I am told to stop being a pessimist. I will be home alone with Alejandro, probably getting my ass handed to me playing Injustice 2. I am not much of a gamer, but I enjoy when I do play.
Last thing before I go finish the game is today I had a device stuck into me today that will measure my blood sugar over a 4-day period and then my meds will be adjusted. It is the size of a jump drive and has a little needle that is inserted into my stomach fat. Aleea said it was the most disgusting thing she had ever seen while Violet was not phased at all. “I have a really high tolerance for gross”, was her comment. What a glowing endorsement.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
In my single life I bought an X-Box 360. I didn’t have many games and I rarely played it, but it was mine. When I moved in with my Amazing Amy, I traded it all for the X-Box One, a newer, faster, better version of a system I would rarely play. I bought a couple games I thought everyone would enjoy and I bought 4 controllers. Since then I have bought many new games, some with the intention of playing them myself and others to play with the family. 3 of the original controllers are broken due to neglect by the kids. I was lucky enough to get the Microsoft Store to replace 2 at no charge. The other one remains a hardly ever working thing I never used and probably never will.
If I am being honest I don’t like video games. I am not good at them and the kids often laugh at me and make fun of the total lack of skills I have when I try to play in front of them. I was first made aware of my lack of skills when I played Halo online and was repeatedly murdered by grade school kids and then humiliated by them T-bagging me while I lay shot, bleeding out and dying. That will make you realize game play has passed you by with the quickness. I also loved hearing the high pitched tones of, what I can only assume is, an elementary school child telling me to “take that bitch” while he simulates a sex act he couldn’t possibly fathom. That’s fun.
So like I mentioned, I bought some games for others, but some I bought for me. I downloaded them to my X-Box, and some I played, albeit poorly, and others I simply downloaded because I bought them and, at some point in my future, might be getting too big for my britches, feeling a bit overconfident and need to be chopped down a few pegs by a toddler. Well I can’t now because the games I bought and downloaded have been removed from my game system and replaced by what others want…on my game system. I get that I bought it “for the family” and I also get that I hardly ever play it. So why am I so bent outta shape by the fact that everything I want to be there isn’t?
Let me pause this little self examination to say I love my family. I feel like they are mine and I am theirs. I have cried for and with them. I have stayed up thinking about the things they say, not knowing that I am hurt, and cried. I have felt like they care as much for me as I do them and I have felt like they couldn’t care less about me, sometimes in the same day. I can honestly say I have prayed for them and I have prayed for me to be better for them. I have been saddened by them. I have been so angry at them I want to shout at the top of my lungs. I have also thought how empty my life was before them and how I thank God that he allowed me to join them. If all that is true, then why am I so upset my silly games were deleted?
It is childish, I know, but I was genuinely upset to see that all my stuff was gone. It all still exists, it is in the cloud (whatever and wherever that is) and I can download them all again, but it isn’t just the X-Box. It is the toolbox my wife bought me for Christmas (or maybe my birthday) that is supposed to be locked and I find it opened and tools all over the house. It is the cereal bowls that never seem to get really cleaned because no one washes them out before they put them in the new, thousand-dollar dishwasher we just bought. It is the filthy grime left in the brand new microwave we just bought when people can’t be bothered to wipe it out after they heat spaghetti and the sauce explodes all over the place. It is the names carved in the table and the way every single light in the house is on when no one is even in the room. It is way you can do everything they want for the entire weekend but you tell them to go to bed Sunday night because school is Monday and you are a piece of crap. The obvious answer is that they are kids. Kids are selfish and their minds are like the Janet Jackson song, “What Have You Done for Me Lately”.
None of that changes the fact that I am feeling like I don’t have anything that is truly mine anymore, and that I am a bit of a selfish asshole for feeling this way.
When I spoke with Amy about this she told me it is completely normal. That is something I am rarely accused of being.
I think the biggest thing for me is not being able to have things I would have had as a single man. I am not talking about an endless stream of supermodelesque vixens strolling in and out of my life, each one stealing just a little bit more of my soul. I am talking about cereal I like t eat. I am talking about Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food Heath Bar Crunch (before either Ben or Jerry decided they didn’t need to continue to make one of the best ice creams ever…but I’m not bitter) or Vanilla Double Stuff Oreos. I’m talking about microwave popcorn or orange juice. I am talking about the Britta pitcher of water that actually has water in it when I want a drink.
Amy (I have decided that since she is a permanent part of my life I will use her actual name and stop referring to her by the tongue damage she did to me on our second date) tells me I am normal in this as well. Well, most of it; some is just me being old man Rogers (oh, I will continue to refer to myself as Steve Rogers…just because why not. Muwhahahahahaha)
This time more than ever I need your comments. Please and thank you.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it
I am going to try to keep this one short…I promise nothing. I was recently shown a bright, shining example of revisionist historical story telling. I will spare you the details, but I will say that it fools almost no one. If you say, for example, “all I did was report to the police I saw a man shoot up a school yard and they arrested me for punching a baby”, it just makes you look like an idiot. In the history of everything ever that was ever a thing, no one has ever reported a crime, having done nothing illegal themselves, and been given the penalty for the crime they never participated in and were simply reporting that someone else did. It is simply not a thing.
If you have a friend that tells you they have done absolutely nothing illegal, but then, received a penalty greater than the person would have received for the actual offense, they are lying. You should shun them and remove them from your life. Just saying.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I was about to write another sad, mopey tale of my life (I have one in mind, but it is still a bit raw, so I will let it simmer a bit longer), but Amazing Amy told me I was being a bit of a “Debbie Downer”, so I figured I would try to amuse for a while. Opinions will vary.
It is a good time to be a nerd. In 2015, we had the resurgence of “Star Wars”, an amazing episodic “Daredevil” and “Jessica Jones” (with a side dish of Luke Cage as a teaser for his own show), as well as an Amazon.com original series based on the Harry Bosch books I have loved for years. We saw the emergence of the multiverse on TV and saw a star-crossed Thanagian couple find themselves, once again united, a shape changing Martian Manhunter and a group of “Legends” fighting the immortal Vandal Savage across time.
This year we will have not one but two epic clashes between superhero titans that have been years in the making, two different movies with Benjamin Geza Affleck-Boldt as Batman, a new Joker and his main squeeze Harley Quinn, and even a new Harry Potter book. We have no less than 9 network television shows based on comic books not to mention the amazing things we have already seen and those yet to come on Netfix. They have even cracked the code on how to make Aquaman not an orange chainmail wearing octopussy and made me care about thecinematic version of Wonder Woman. What glorious times we live in indeed.
My love and I will celebrate our unionwith a viewing of the first of the aforementioned titan clashes, “Batman V Superman”, with 120 of our closest friends. (Not sure who I’m trying to fool-we have nowhere near that many friends. We will fill the seats with friends of the kids…but whatever) Kevin Smith will direct an episode of his new favorite show “The Flash” and it will air a month before my wife and I see himtape his podcast “Fatman on Batman” live at a comedy club in downtown Phoenix. I am also pretty sure I will see “The Adam Carolla” Show live again this year, and we are seeing Jo Koy on Valentine’s Day after a lovely dinner with my Amazing Amy.
I also attended my 3rd Amazing Arizona Comic Con with two of my step-kids, and met one of the authors of my childhood (ok, they didn’t really have words when I was a child…cave drawings were more our jam, but just roll with it), Chris Claremont. He was at the far end of a row of young, supposedly hip artists doing semi-nude covers of female comic book woman that, if they were real and someone drew them like that, would probably do horrible things to their genitals with their heat vision or claws or whatever abnormality made them comic book vixens in the first place. He sat at a table with nothing on it except a handful of markers, a cup of some formerly hot beverage, and a man that should be hoisted on the shoulders of every single fanboy in that convention center. Instead he sat all alone playing with his iPhone, trying not to be embarrassed he was there. I approached.
“You are Chris Claremont” I said as if he didn’t know that. He pointed at the sad banner hanging above him and told me he knew that already. I spent a few minutes telling him how he created the fairytales of my childhood and he let me know that I was closer to his age than I really cared to admit. He asked me my 3 favorite stories of his and let me know that one was “serious crap” but that I was correct that the other two were epic works to be respected. I thanked him for everything he did and I was glad he didn’t take the opportunity to point out he was still doing it. I got the feeling he was a bitter old man, but I did enjoy the interaction and have to say I saw a smile peeking through his hardened veneer. I was reminded of the time Bronx told me to never meet my idols. “They will let you down every time”, and he was mostly right. Mostly.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it
So one of my best friends on the planet almost died … and I was completely unaware. I will explain, but first, an announcement.
I have decided that since the cast of characters will no longer be a rotating slideshow of disappointment, I will just use real names going forward for people that are constants in my life. This is a complete change in policy at the Saga, and I am aware that no one other than me even cares a single bit. That being said…
I am about to be married to the best example of a partner I could have ever imagined. I am not pandering; it is just the case. (Truth be told we married already in a small ceremony at her best friends house a little while ago, but the reception is in what I am referring to) in an epic baller move my Amy suggested we should have our reception at the movie theatre and have it with a screening of the epic clash of titans, Batman V Superman Dawn of Justice. Can you see how amazing she can be? We sent invitations to those closest to us and some of mine happen to be in other states. One was the aforementioned friend, who was actually the best man at my second wedding. Small world.
I should back up and mention that I have 4 people I would consider “best friends’. If you are new to the Saga, you might have missed this which might explain how important my friends are to me. Since I don’t have his permission, I will continue to use Bronx for now. He sent me a nice, detailed Facebook message explaining the details of the last two years of his life and the struggles he has gone through…while his “best friend’ was completely unaware. I hope everyone has a better best friend than I am to mine.
I am not saying this to get anyone to tell me how we all loose touch with those we love from time to time. I totally get that life happens; that while having the best of intentions and sincerely caring about those we love, we get sidetracked. I am not oblivious. I also know that old adage about everyone’s phone having buttons on it. How many times has (fill in the blank with any name you feel applies) been online in the last (fill in any length of time you feel applies)? I use to ask that very same question when my father would go month after month without calling. None of that makes it ok for me to go so long, to be so self absorbed and distant, that I had no idea someone I profess to love was in a coma and closer to the other side than this side.
I cannot begin to tell you the many ways Bronx has shaped my life. He might not even be aware that so much of the man I am came from conversations I had with him. I can’t stop crying as I write this section and I swear I mean this with all my being…I failed him.
I am going to stop here and post this for two reasons.
1) It is Super Bowl Sunday and my family are all busy working on various snack dishes and I am writing and crying.
2) I promised myself if I posted something, I would never remove or edit it. If I don’t post it now, I might just delete it and write another silly tale of how my life has flipped, turned upside down (you are no friend of mine if you don’t get that reference).
I promise to continue this another time. Just need to step away for a minute or two. Any errors in this are totally mine. I prefer to post this and not have it edited. My editor, and lovely wife, might talk me out of posting this.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it
Have you ever met someone that didn’t have levels for different things? I mean everything is a level 1 or a level 9 with no middle option. Well, I married one of those people and I bet you can guess which number she is stuck on based on the question. Yep, Frenulum is always on 9.
She is an amazing person and I honestly love her with all of my being. That being said, I wish she had degrees of importance. I don’t mean this to be offensive or hurt anyone’s feelings trust and believe. I know there are a few people that would say it might be better if I had more of a motor and more enthusiasm; more motivation to get up and go. I will say, in my defense, I have had less energy in the last few years due to my undiagnosed (and therefore untreated) sleep apnea, but Frenulum “made” me go for a sleep study and now I sleep with a super sexy CPAP machine and I feel like a new man. I am a new man of 50, but a new man none the less. I have more energy and less “leave me the hell alone” than I have had in my entire life. That being said, I would love nothing better than to continue my pursuit of “doing nothing” for one weekend-an entire weekend- without being asked “How is your day of doing nothing going? Are you ready to go to Home Depot (or fill in the store/ errand of your choice)?”
My wife works for the second largest bank in the US (this is actually inaccurate unless you refer to data from over 4 years ago, but I enjoy using outdated information to try to provoke my loving wife) and is a hard worker. She has raised 7 kids, mostly by herself, and I respect her swag in a big bad way. Of late she has taken to driving Uber in her spare time from said job, kid raising, new house buying and furnishing and new husband training. She wakes up most days @4am or so and drives before work. She then comes home to make sure the kids are off to school and then heads to her office. She leaves late in the afternoon and more often than not, drives for an hour or two before coming home and cooking dinner, helping with homework, and making fun of various and asundry “asshats” from either bank or Uber and starts the cycle anew the next day.
(Just as a side note; I read my progress to this point to my baby and she, with a look of righteous indignation on her adorable face, said “I don’t think I am at a 9. I think that is a complete mischaracterization of the situation” That, true believers, is why she is a level 9… muwhahahahahahahhaha)
How about a few examples Steve you say? Well, don’t mind if I do.
1. We got the approval to move into our new house (a 2900 square foot McMansion in Chandler Arizona that you will probably never get to visit, let alone stay the night in…second muwhahahahahaha) on a Friday @ 3:30. We had the entire house moved with the exception of the stuff we couldn’t fit in my truck or her (not so) mini-van, but 9:30 that evening. The rest was all done by noon the next day, and the house was completely set up and ready for Sunday dinner and the ritualistic “GO CARDINALS” chant Sunday @1. My baby just said “(hashtag) efficiency” and drank a “safety Coke”. This is what my baby calls it because “Having it here and consuming it whenever I want allows the rest of you all to live in safety”. We all lived to see another sunrise. (as an aside, 2 weeks before the house move she sent me to Texas for a 4 day, 3 night visit with my best friend “LucasFilmLimited”. This served two purposes. A) I got to see my friend and spend some much needed time recharging my depleted battery away from the kids and animals. B) It allowed her to work straight thru packing and organizing away from the unrelenting bitchfest that is me during the pre-move packing. She had the entire house packed when she picked me up from the airport.
2. This past weekend I had arranged to help a friend with moving some furniture. I like this person a lot and was happy to help, but I really might never get a truck again because no one ever asked the middle aged guy with the Corvette to help them transport a dresser across county lines. Just sayin’. We also were having a new dishwasher delivered because the old one was called “The Re-Tardis” by my wife. The reference is to the time machine used by Doctor Who, The Tardis, being bigger on the inside and our dishwasher, somehow, being smaller on the inside. #shegetsme. I had to remove the old one before going to help my friend. I also watched 5, count them, 5 YouTube videos on how to install a dishwasher and avoid the many pitfalls others have faced themselves. I told my wife I would be home as soon as possible and would install it when I got home. (aside #2: We had tickets to see Jay Mohr, another comedy icon I was blessed with tickets to see, that night at 7. To be there at 7 we needed to leave @5. Foreshadowing: didn’t happen). When I texted while driving, using Siri I assure you, to ask if the machine was delivered I was told the installation was almost complete. I was told she and her oldest, the future chemical engineer, were just about ready to test run that baby. Not having seen the same videos I did in preparation for the installation, and not being wired to allow herself to relax and enjoy a quiet afternoon luxuriating on the new couches in the McMansion, patiently awaiting the triumphant return of your hero, Frenulum and #1 daughter fell hip-deep in the quagmire of pitfalls I mentioned. Long story short, most of the things I spent undoing for the next day were the aforementioned pitfalls. #inefficiency.
(Frenulum is editing this and would like to point out that this is an inaccurate representation of what happened. But- if it makes me feel better, she will go with it)
3. Every Sunday we do a family breakfast. Most days we all have cereal and if you are a follower of this blog you are aware of my propensity to enjoy a sugary cereal in the morning. Sunday is always a production, and I look forward to this. I love the way, since I arrived here, the family all sits together and the TV is paused or turned off completely, in stark contrast to the eating in front of the TV on the couch that they use to enjoy so much. #upgrade. #levelup. #hashtag. LOL. This weekend was no exception. When breakfast was done my wife relocated to the new couch. I walked in, still wearing my gym short I sleep in, having added an old ratty t-shirt so as to not have anyone loose said breakfast at seeing me naked. I have sleep crud still in my eyes and haven’t brushed my teeth or washed the night before off my body and she asks, “So, are you ready to go”? Go where, you might have asked. To buy trees to plan t in the yard of the new house because she “wasn’t feeling” the old one out front. I had forgotten she dispatched one of the 7 to remove the tree the day before during, what I loving refer to as the “dishwasher debacle of 2015”. We have been in the new house a grand total of 3 weeks and my wife, the rolling stone attempting to ensure she “catches no moss”, is rolling. We didn’t buy a tree that day, but only because we are looking at a bill of about $1300 to complete this little transaction, that is now a 3 tree package. #slowyourroll. #ipromiseyouitcanwaitafewweeks. #Ikillallplants #whythehellamIhastaggingsomuch?
I will end tonight by saying I did remember about halfway through I never mentioned the details of how I became Mr. Steve Rogers and Frenulum made an honest man out of me. I will get to it at some point, but this just seemed to flow from my chubby little sausage fingers as they sang across the keyboard of my laptop. I guess you could say I was driven to write this little tome about my beloved. Baby, as you read this to help an undereducated brother out with editing his random brain droppings, please take this in the spirit it was intended. (and by that I mean to say it is from the heart and with all sincerity that I tell you I love our life, our family and my walking heart with two feet (I am talking about you in case that wasn’t obvious) with every fiber of my being, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it
So I got married and became the step-father of 7 kids, bought a house, met one of my personal comedy heroes and stopped being a trainer since we last spoke. What have you done?
Well I haven’t actually stopped training yet, I keep getting asked for “just one more class”. At this point it has been 4 and a half months since I accepted the job of Team Leader, and I am now scheduled to start the 9th of November. That is almost a month and a half since my team was created for me, and has been sitting with someone other than me watching over them, helping them, and bonding with them. Bitter sounding? Maybe a little, but they are gonna be the best team ever once I am able to be in my job… trust an’ believe. What, you want to talk about something else? Ok, let’stalk about the house.
Frenulum and I bought a dream house. It is 4 bedrooms, 3 ½ baths, has a 3 car garage, granite countertops, and is 2900 square feet. This is my third house, and I paid more than the other two combined and then multiplied by 2 for this one. Not bragging, just a fact…and I am scared to happiness. I friggin love this place. If my friends and family were asked, they would tell you I am not a materialistic person (at least I hope they would), but I am so proud of this place. It is amazeballs, and I am blessed to share it with my new wife…and 7 step kids. What, personal hero next? Well, if you are sure. I met Adam Carolla and attended a taping of his award winning podcast. Tell you more? Well, ok.
Frenulum is the love of my life and cares more about her man than he truly deserves. He mentioned once or twice his adoration of the unibrowed wonderment that is Adam Carolla. I listen to his podcast every day. He has about 6 that he does, and I try to listen to them all. Some believe that Benjamin Franklin’s famous words “Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn.” are words to live by. I prefer “Does this make me money? Does this make me happy? If not, why am I doing it”? Can you guess thenasally droning, former earthquake rehabbing and carpet cleaning author of that little gem? That’s right, The Ace Man.
7 years ago he did what every one of us dreams of doing every time our (so called) bosses treat us like something stepped on in a dog park; he told them to kick rocks and created a pirate ship of his own, reporting to himself. He was one of the first people to successfully monetize the podcast format and many have tried to copy his success, mostly to their failure. Newsflash bitches, THERE IS ONLY ONE ACE MAN!!!! Have I cupped his testicles enough yet? Back to the podcast. My baby bought us tickets to see a live taping of the flagship ACS and I had one of the best nights in years, only second or third to the first time Frenulum let me get all over her sideboob and the day she made an honest man outta me. She also bought me a copy of his last two books (signed by Adam with me there, and a shirt to shrink and eventually be given to one of my step kids. Step Kids Steve? How can it be? We thought you were never getting married again? How did such a thing happen?
If I am being completely honest it was a whirlwind and I cannot possibly do it justice in the time I have left tonight. I will just go ahead and say that I am the happiest, best most loved man in all 50 states and quite possibly Puerto Rico. (That reminds me I have a PR story I never told you. Remind me please. I will tease that it involves a PR strip club and the winking brown eye of a dancer/prostitute. Nuff said for now) I will have to give you the details of the marriage another time. For now…
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
So it has been a while since I just scrapped the brain pan clean like an old, weathered cookie sheet before you cook for others and want to make a good impression. I think I am due.
• Why is it I sound like Adam Levine when I sing but only if the music is loud enough? I know he is slightly better looking, but I can hit those high notes too. The struggle is real people.
• I have been told I exhibit a total lack of apathy. I cannot let little things be little and big ones be big. I have similarly been told to not ask follow up questions of the children. Those were two things I am going to struggle with for a little while (and will probably write about in greater detail in the near future), but I often say “Feedback is like an ugly sweater from your grandmother. You either embrace it and wear that shit or stick it in the back of the closet and let it rot. You just don’t let her know which you’ve chosen. ” The struggle is real people.
• I have learned that there are four meals in a day: Breakfast, lunch, SNACK and dinner. I was first introduced to this new meal when Hulk Smash, quite possibly the angriest and maybe misunderstood 7 year old on the planet, asked her mom, “What’s for snack?”, not to be confused with “we didn’t have snack today” which is often heard when I try to be apathetic to their plight at not having “snack”. Not a snack, but simply snack. The struggle is real people.
• I was recently informed that we will never be eating at Cracker Barrel since it is “all slavey” and should just go away. Slavey, not to be confused with being “all rapey” like our old female dog is when she holds down the new kittens with one of her front paws and attempts to hump them. The struggle is real people.
• I recently bought an X-Box One, upgrading from an almost ten year old game system. I had it in my bedroom upstairs for the first week or so but moved it downstairs so the kids would leave the room. I now find myself resenting that I cannot play when I want and that everyone can beat me at Mortal Kombat X, including both 7 year olds. I have bought games I really want to play, but fear the judgmental snickers of the children, and I also feel badly since playing would take away the only TV they have access to. First world problems. I am even contemplating purchasing a second system so I can play whenever I want. The struggle is real people.
• I have written about my addiction to sugary cereals in the past. Since merging households with Frenulum there are 3 cereal containers in the cabinet and those are where the “currently available” cereals reside. One is currently filled with 2 month old Raisin Bran Crunch. I feel like a detainee in Guantanamo and not being allowed to pray in the manner I was raised. Recently I asked for Captain Crunch and was given a look of displeasure because it was not currently on sale. We purchased a couple boxes but I only got to enjoy the Captain one time before he departed down the gullets of the children. The struggle is real people.
• My love has given me numerous reading assignments. One was “The Fault in our Stars” which I finished while enjoying a tasty lunch prepared by the sandwich artisans at Chick-fil-a, and I cried like a silly, heartbroken school girl. I next tried to read “The Secret Life of Bees” and “To Kill A Mockingbird”, which were both failures of epic proportions. I was then assigned the less uplifting but quite possibly the sickest and funniest book in years, “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened”, which I highly recommend. I assigned her a series of books about a gorgeous female serial killer and her tortured (quite literally) paramour, the detective charged with her capture. I am without any depth whatsoever. The struggle is real people.
• There is something about summer vacation that turns (somewhat) normal children into unrelenting pains in the rear end. Some decide that the boredom is too much to bear and carve their last name in the new $1600 table. Others lower the temperature on the refrigerator to 48 degrees in what I assume was a bored attempt to create a new level of punishment from Frenulum, and still others take to hibernation during the daylight hours like vampires of old (not these shitty, smarmy glittery things kids call vampires) and mostly come out to sulk and act all sullen and disgruntled with their lot in life when the sun goes down. One went so far as to mention “I hate when the maid (the part I heard in my head was “That I don’t deserve or appreciate”) comes to clean and we are here. It makes me feel weird.” The struggle is real people.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
So, a co-worker of mine passed away recently and it is making me feel a bit weird. Let me explain, but I need to tell you first that I might be unkind to this person in my writing today. Not because I am an evil person, but because I am not a believer in revisionist history. I will tell the story as I tell every story, from a Steve Rogers POV with a tiny smattering of artistic license. Feel free to go away if that is a problem for you.
I had never met Monroe (not his name as always is Saga policy) when I began hearing stories of his lethargy and outright laziness. The stories ranged from simple laziness to outright sessions of sleeping at work in some hidden room I imagine was similar to the George Costanza bed underneath the desk in Seinfeld, but less comedic and more of a sad reality. While I have never slept at work, I will say I felt a mild resentment at this stranger for a) being able to sleep at work and b) for being paid by the company my future hopes of a retirement are tied to while doing so.
I heard his voice the first time on a conference call with my team. My team is spread across sites in many states, so our meetings were virtual and over the phone. He sounded tired to me but maybe that was just the comedian in me wishing I had someone on the team I could share my snarky thought with on instant message. But alas, as was first identified by Ms. Aaronson in the 2nd grade report card, I don’t always play well with others. Tee hee. I think I resented him right away, (Is that wrong?) him being all “Monroe’s here”. Whatever, Sandman. Sometimes it is easier to hate from afar. Other times it isn’t.
We worked (I use the term loosely in his case) on a project or two, but never had occasion to really get to know each other til he had occasion to come to AZ to help us train a class or 7 in late 2014 through summer of 2015. In that time, he and I had a handful of lunches and I regaled him with talks about my newly evolving family life and he mentioned his daughter as being the same age as Flower, the 13 year old daughter of my fiancée (did I not mention that before? Well I will talk more about that another time). He listened with his pupils a little dilated and I am 100% sure he was saying a silent prayer in his head that his daughter not ever be on Snapchat or some other similarly evil spawned piece of social media. You and me both sir, you and me both.
I saw quickly, more examples than I wished to, of what others have perceived as laziness, but I came to think of as him being burnt out. He, as I soon learned, had been in training for over 15 years (sound familiar?) and had begun to take on a less than perfect attitude towards his chosen career. He once told his SME, (stands for subject matter expert and I assure you in some cases the title is accurate, and in others the title ranges from unwarranted at best to an abomination in others), “It is my job to train. It is not my job to make them learn.” I can think of nothing that is farther from the job description if I tried. It IS our job as trainers to eliminate obstacles to learning for those that want to learn, so I guess he might be correct if taken literally, but I can only assume he didn’t mean it that way at all. (On a side note: Am I not totally in love with the long, but not run on, sentence? Yes I am.)
His last visit to AZ he seemed out of sorts, but I never mentioned it or asked. I was basically indifferent. He was just here to help me because I couldn’t be in two places at once, as I looked at it, and I was probably resentful that I knew when he left he would be back sleeping again in short order, and I was going to be starting a class as soon as humanly possible. The classroom looked like there was a fire drill and they just never returned after he left. I was pretty upset and was going to mention my displeasure to our mutual boss, when I heard he was going out on FMLA and would not be returning for the class he had scheduled in a few weeks. I was both pleased and a bit concerned as I was then told he was being sent to Texas as “Doctors in Monroe, Louisiana were not equipped to help him with their outdated technology.” Curious.
I was given a new schedule and new people to come help with training, but one day I saw he was logged in our instant message program, and I was relieved. It was two days later I received a text that we had a team meeting at 6:45am and it was mandatory. While taking role of attendees I heard my boss’s boss’s name and I swallowed my tongue a bit, wondering if this was to be my fourth lay-off from the biggest bank in the world, only to find Monroe had passed away overnight.
On a more serious note:
You might be asking why I am writing about a person I had an obvious level of disdain for. As I mentioned I have a burgeoning family and a new fiancée. I am in a really good place both mentally and emotionally for the first time in so long I care not to give it a time frame. I love them all and am looking forward to a life with them all in it. A long life. His passing made me question my own mortality, and I feel like shit because of it. I took the passing of a husband, father, brother and provider for others and made it about me…and I can’t stop.
I’m imagining a world where it was me that passed. I wonder what the conversations would be like between those that knew me, those that don’t at all, and those that think they do. Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer got to attend their own funerals. I wonder, if I was a fly on the wall, what mine would be like. Who would cry, who would be honest and who would lie. Who would say nice things and who would say, “He was (insert random nicety here), but if I am being honest he was also a bit of a (insert random crappy comment here) _.” How will I be remembered? I want to see each of my stepkids’ walk down the aisle. I want to hand the boys some nugget of wisdom that I hope will matter to them if not that day, then some day and the girls hand to some very deserving (and hopefully law abiding) suitor and watch them grow into the amazing adults I know they have inside them. I want what Monroe will never have, a future.
I am crying as I write this (not really a shock to many of you, my bride-to-be included, as she has seen me cry during cartoons, so tears during this heartfelt little ditty should not shock her one bit), and I am going to end. I want Monroe to hear this in his afterlife and know I cared about him deeply, if not correctly, and I wish him a happy eternity. In a few of our talks I gleaned he was a very respectful Christian and had a deep love of God. From what I have heard his family will be looked after until they can join him, just hopefully not any time soon. Nap while you wait for them sir. I know you are missed.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Punishment
So Frenulum is the master of friendly torture. Not like that, pigs, let me explain…
With being a single mom of 7 kids she has had to give out punishments from time to time. And by from time to time, I mean daily; sometimes multiple punishments to the same person in the same day. Layered punishment. I wasn’t even aware that was a thing. Trust and believe it is.
I am going to do what I do best…create a list of bullet points. Enjoy.
· Standing in the corner is an oldie but a goodie. We once had the ten year old stand in the corner. She was told not to move ‘til she was told she could. We went shopping and then to a movie and she was still in the corner when we got back. I fully expected her to be sitting when we returned, and told Frenulum so. She said under her breath “she better not be”. She was right.
· Just the other night one of the seven year olds was riding her scooter in the street and two blocks away; both are no-no’s. She was given one of the old standards as well; go to bed with no dinner. I thought that was outlawed by the Geneva Convention. (Google that and laugh along with those that remember Hogan’s Heroes)
· A particular favorite of mine as a kid seems to be having a resurgence; writing lines. One particular line writing incident was something that probably deserves its own blog, but I will shorten it here a bit. Ten likes to lie. I mean she likes it like I like pizza. She likes it a lot. She was caught lying and was given lines at around noon one day while the kids were off school. When Frenulum arrived home from work @4:30 she was greeted with “I’m done mom” and was handed a bundle of paper. This is odd since the kids usually use notepads for writing, but these were printed pages of the line typed 5000 times. (mind you, typing was not the punishment) Ten proceeded to tell her mom she typed it out instead of writing it to make it neater, or some random lie. When told typing was not the directions, she said she wasn’t told she couldn’t type it, and that typing was also writing. Bold this one is (in my Yoda voice). She also said she didn’t copy and paste it. But when confronted with the math that she couldn’t possibly have typed the sentence 5000 times in the allotted time, unless she was about 6 times faster than the Guinness World Record holder for speed typing, her reply was “well maybe I am”. Needless to say she didn’t get away with that.
· A new favorite of mine is food punishments. Flags was put on oatmeal punishment. That means he had oatmeal for every meal ‘til his time was served. Frenulum is also the master of the menu, so the rest of the family had all of his favorites while he had oatmeal. He hates oatmeal. When Flags and Flower were punished for the tablet incident in the last blog, they were given a combined punishment. Flower had to write lines while Flags had oatmeal. He was on oatmeal ‘til she finished her lines, and since she was mad he dropped the dime on her, she was writing slowly. Really slowly. Because no one should enjoy punishment we switched them at the midpoint. Muwhahahahahahahhaha (tapping fingertips maniacally). I never want to be on her bad side. EVER!!!!!!
I will end with the point sheet. I have removed the real names of the younger kids and replaced them with XXXX. This had gone away, but is also about to be reinstated. A person is given a number of points for their punishment. In addition to one of the above, they need to work their way back to zero via the below tasks. Frenulum is a mad scientist of punishment. Seriously never want her mad at me.
CONGRATULATIONS!
You have been grounded because you:
Lied
Took food/drinks without asking
Didn’t do a chore
Talked back
Fought with Siblings
To get off of your grounding, you must earn _____ points by doing any of the following:
Write a nice letter to someone in the family– must be a page long 10 points __________
Prepare and cook dinner 30 points __________
Clean and organize the pantry (EVERY shelf) 50 points __________
Clean the fridge (inside) and freezer 50 points __________
Clean all downstairs baseboards 50 points __________
Wipe down all ceiling fans (EVERY ONE) 50 points __________
Sweep and Mop the garage 30 points __________
Sweep the driveway and back porch 25 points __________
Clean out microwave 10 points __________
Clean oven 30 points __________
Carpet clean every stair (use small carpet cleaner) 75 points __________
Help XXXX read for 1 hour 50 points __________
Windex all first floor windows OUTSIDE 35 points __________
Clean out the curbside garbage bins (soapy water…) 75 Points __________
Vacuum all carpet in the house 30 Points __________
Walk the dogs for a minimum of 30 min 20 points __________
Clean out all inside garbage cans (soapy water…) 25 points __________
Help XXXX read for 1 hour 25 points __________
Practice math with XXXX for 1 hour 30 points __________
Practice spelling with XXXX for 1 hour 25 points __________
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
So these kids are crazy.
The other night I woke up at 1am. I went downstairs to get a drink of water. I noticed before heading downstairs that the door to the boys’ room, which is directly across from mine, was empty and the light was on. They seem to not realize that there is an energy crisis in the world. It simply doesn’t exist in this place. I turned off the light and noticed the light was on in the older girls’ room as well. I looked in and the 13y/o, I’ll call her Flower, was watching a movie on her tablet. We exchange pleasantries and I head downstairs.
I arrive to see the 13 y/o boy (he shall not receive a name till one of these stories focuses on him) but the 16 y/o, I’ll call him Flags (he is in the Winter Guard at school and spins a flag a lot), is not there. 13 is doing what he does, playing X-Box online with his friend Care Bear. (His name isn’t important to the story. I just like calling him that without him knowing.) I ask where Flag is and he tells me that he just went upstairs. I tell him that he wasn’t up there and I am assured I am mistaken. I fill my glass (who am I trying to kid; it is a plastic “commemorative” cup from the Arizona Cardinals) and head back upstairs. I look in the boys’ room again to be sure I am not wrong and I ask Flower where her brother is. She tells me he just went downstairs. I feel like I am being punked and almost ignore the entire thing and go to bed. Unfortunately I don’t.
I go back down and tell 13 his brother has disappeared again, this has happened before, and he needs to help me find him. Flag now sticks his head out of the younger girls’ room, which is on the first floor, and tells me he is there. I ask why he is in the 7 year old’s room and he tells me Flower needs a charger for her tablet and he is looking for it. I tell him that neither of the 7 y/o have a tablet and to get out of their room and go to bed. I tell all of them to stop all their garbage and go to bed and I head upstairs in a somewhat annoyed state. I sit and take a drink of the now not as cold as I want it water and realize there is a huge issue. Three of the kids received tablets for Christmas. All 3 have them removed when this happened because of one issue or the other. No one should have a tablet in the entire house except Frenulum and me. Shenanigans are happening and I will get to the bottom of it…first thing in the morning and I go to sleep.
I wake at 5:30 as is customary and I go down to get a bowl of cereal. I bring it with me and I wake Flower and Flag and I get them out in the hallway. I ask them for the tablet so I can see whose they are using and who is getting their life changed by a new and unusual punishment. I am told that it has been returned to Frenulum’s car. They opened her car, retrieved the tablet, used it till just before I woke up and then returned it to her car. I ask who took it and Flag says Flower did it. She proceeds to tell me he took it the night before and she took it last night. I tell her to go get it and wake Frenulum. “Baby, wake up. You are gonna want to hear this”, is the way it began. I will not go into too great detail because quite honestly I am still pretty mad and disappointed in the entire situation. I will list a few key points that spring to mind lest you, the Saga faithful say “Steve, we all did this type of stuff. Judge not lest you be judged”. Trust and believe we never did some of this stuff. The technology simply didn’t exist.
• They each had created Facebook accounts. They had reached out to their parents, birth parents that have had their parental rights severed by the state, and added them as friends on Facebook. More on that later.
• One of them had created accounts on both Chatroulette and Chaturbate. For the uninitiated amongst you those are websites where people can chat and masturbate via webcam. All perfectly acceptable for 13 and 16 year olds. Both claim the accounts were not theirs but I assured them that Verizon did not pre-load that software on all tablets they sold, so one or both were lying.
• Flower, being a master criminal, had created an online persona for herself where she was a 24 year old recent ASU graduate and an aspiring model in the Arizona area. She used this profile to create an account on a secret shopper website where she would review stores, both brick and mortar and on-line, for points. Those points would then be converted to credits to use on Amazon.com to purchase things she didn’t want purchased on the family Amazon Prime account like leggings, yoga pants and make up. I assume most of those were for the above mentioned website interactions, but I am only guessing.
• When confronted with this, Flower dropped the dime on Flags for receiving a gift from their birth mother. She also decided to dime out another of the kids, not mentioned above, for also receiving a gift from their birth mother. She explained that the gifts had been retrieved from the mailbox and hidden from Frenulum and the rest of the family. Master criminals indeed. On a side note if you decide to do a crime and are looking for accomplices, a crew as it were, avoid these children. They will turn on each other faster than the clown posse in the opening sequence of The Dark Knight. “No, I’m supposed to kill the bus driver”indeed. Muwhahahahahahahahaha.
• They each had multiple email accounts as well as profiles on every single form of social media you can imagine. If they spent one iota of the timedoing nefarious stuff on their school work they would all be on the honor roll instead of repeating grades and failing classes.
• A video I can only assume was sent via one of the above site was also found on this tablet. It had a gentleman rubbing oil on himself rhythmically at the start and ended with him urinating into his own mouth. I am not going to be a hypocrite and say I have never viewed adult erotica, but the operative word is adult. And Top Top Bottom aside, I have never partaken in anything related to scat or urine. How is any of that a turn on? As Ralph Garmin from the podcast Hollywood Babylon is known to say “What the serious fuck people”?
I would like to say that if I was a kid in today’s society, these would be just the smallest percentage of twisted activities I would have partaken in…unless there was the slightest chance my mother would have found any of it. Disappointing my mom was the worst punishment I could possibly receive. Ever.
I would like to end on a high note. The same weekend this happened one of the 7 year old girls was helping me build a bookcase. She asked me if I was ok with her calling me something other than Steve. I said sure, but asked what she might want to call me. She got real quiet and asked if she could call me dad. She said she wished I was around all the time. I told her that I lived there now, so she got her wish. She explained she meant when she was younger and walked over and gave me a big hug. My cold heart melted and I swear I rolled tears. I told her I would be happy for her to call me that but that she should talk to her mom first to be sure it was ok with her. That conversation happened, but to date she has not called me dad. I know I will cry like a newborn baby when that happens. ‘Til then I am simply Steve.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
So I started dating an amazing Lady. (She is actually named after the wife in Gone Girl, but since I never use real names here I will call her Frenulum.) Google it, I’ll wait. That’s right; I named her after the connective tissue that connects the tongue to the inside of your mouth. I call her that because on our second date, when we were exploring each other’s mouths’, as adults that are fond of each other are oft to do, this young lady was so into yours truly that she tore mine by the most aggressive kissing session I have ever experienced. I will explain later, I promise. The thing is she has kids. I have none. I have been married twice for a total of 26 years, a close call that turned out to be a total fabrication to try to get papers on your hero, but I have none. She has lots of kids. I mean more than the Brady family…and I love them all. All seven of them. SEVEN!!!!!!!
I met Frenulum online. Shut up naysayers. I can hear the groaning in my head. “But Steve, didn’t you meet all the crazy ones online”. I did not. I met #1 in a Domino’s Pizza restaurant (if it can be called that) in Ft. Lauderdale and I married her. I met the holiday girl, named such because her name is an actual holiday (and I promised I wouldn’t write about her so I will stop there) at work. I did also meet a metric ton of crazy of all shapes, races and sizes (not a weight reference I assure you) online, and I am aware of the best indicator of future behavior is past activity. I am, after all, the shepherd. Whatever. I am a hopeless romantic and I am supremely happy.
I will start back at the first date and move forward. We went to BJ’s Brewhouse at the Chandler Mall. She was late. I hate late, but she was beautiful and came bearing gifts, so she was forgiven immediately. Homemade gifts at that. Homemade caramel gifts. I wasn’t her man yet, but somehow she knew the way to my heart was through my sweet tooth. She was late, not sure if I mentioned that or not, but it was because of a Girl Scout meeting that ran long. I found out that she was a den mother, or scout goddess or whatever the actual title of the leader of a bunch of cookie selling urchins is, and all I could think was SAMOAS. Thin Mints are most people’s favorite, but those people are wrong and that leaves more coconut, caramel and chocolaty cookie goodness for me.
The night ended early and there wasn’t as much as a good night kiss. I was sure she was not interested, as is often the case with me. I am not playing “Woe is me”; history will bear me out in this assertion. I decided to throw caution to the wind and ask her if she wanted to watch a UFC fight the next night with me at my place. She accepted. I think we might have had pizza before the fight, but I might be remembering this wrong. All I know is by the end of the night I was bleeding from the mouth and the Frenulum was torn. WOOHOO!!!!!!!
The next thing I will say is she is the kindest, most giving person on the entire planet, bar none. The relationship this one replaced, the year and a half mistake, was only over for weeks when I started seeing Frenulum. Time isn’t the measure it might be because that relationship was dying for a long time, I just fought the good fight for way longer than anyone else would have in my same position. Trust me, one day I will write that story, but not yet. I want to stay in my happy place. The reason I say Frenulum is amazing is she gave me the single best birthday present ever, my best friend.
The weeks before my birthday she asked me what I wanted. I explained as I always do when asked what to get me that I am fine. I don’t want for anything, ever. If I want something, I get it or I get over it. Not bragging, it is just the case. I like taking care of myself every once in a while, sue me. Frenulum was not satisfied with the answer and asked for my best friend, (not sure what I am to call her anymore. It used to be CBP, but that no longer applies. Maybe AllyKat will work, but that is too close to her real name to be ok. Oh, did I forget to tell you my best friend was a girl? An amazing, beautiful, awesomely caring girl that means the world to me) AllyKats contact information so she could “ask her advice for ideas of something to get me”. I gave it to her as I knew AllyKat would tell her the same thing, and all would be good. In a few days, as we sat on my couch in my apartment, Frenulum asked why my guest room was such a disaster and had no room for a guest at all. Long story short the entire room was cleaned out and she decided I needed a guest bed “in case someone ever decided to visit”. Can you see where this is going? Being a man and therefor simple, I did not. I declined the bed and a small disagreement ensued. Small and not really a disagreement to be honest, but we had a fun, snarky back and forth in a mattress store that still makes me smile when I thing about it.
The week of my birthday she asked me what I wanted for my birthday dinner. I told her one of my favorite meals ever is meatloaf. Make all the faces you want, I love it and you can get bent…lol. She told me that Thursday, two days before my actual birthday, would be the best night to make it. I was to come over after work and dinner would be ready for me with the entire family, minus one, as the oldest had to work that night. Between you and me I don’t think that one likes me very much anyway, so it might be better that way. I came and dinner was great. As soon as we finished she told me we needed to go to the airport to pick up her sister, who was coming in to town a few days early for a work trip to visit with the family. I tried to beg off but with the meal sitting in my stomach, and a happy, fat boy smile across my face, I didn’t push too hard. Off to the airport we went. Can you see where this is going?
We got to the airport and walked to the arrivals area. We were surrounded by dozens of people with flags and banners of welcome to America and the like. It looked like a meeting of the most non-ethnically diverse group in the history of time. They were all white, upper-middle to upper income group and not a single ethnicity other than that. Stepford families and creepy as all heck to be sure. We also saw John McCain come walking out and he was met by his daughter. He was all alone and we both wondered aloud why the man that was one mistakenly chosen VP candidate away from the highest office in the world was traveling without any security, but we didn’t dwell on that for very long because Frenulum advised her sister was almost to the gate and we should stand up and look for her. My first thought was how I was supposed to find someone that I had never seen in my life in a crowd, but I kept that to myself.
We stood and I watched person after person come walking out. I saw Frenulum’s face register a huge smile and I followed her gaze and saw the woman she locked eyes with. I was taken right away with how much her sister looked like my AllyKat. I saw her sister look my way and start towards us. She locked eyes with me and I heard “SteveySteve” (actually she called me by my real name, but I am editing it because I can) and I began to cry. Frenulum had booked AllyKat, who I hadn’t seen face to face since we left New York a couple years before, a flight to Arizona for my birthday. When I say I cried, I mean it. It was like Old Yeller crying. I held her so hard she had to tell me to let go. There is video of this moment, but it is for us alone. You wouldn’t want to see it anyway. (I will tell you, with no concern for my ego or image, I am crying as I write this.) I was the happiest man in the world and also the luckiest ever. When Frenulum saw me cry and I told her how amazing she was she simply said “You deserve to be treated like you matter. I am happy that every woman in your past has made it possible for me to be the first.” I cried again.
I am going to stop there as this story of my Frenulum is ongoing. This is the first time I have written about a relationship while it was ongoing. I have high hopes for this one. I don’t want to jinx it, but I am happier than I have been…ever. Oh, by the way, we are moving in together as I post this. WhatWhat.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it……
So I have decided everyone but me is a horrible driver. As most of you know I have moved to Arizona. People here are the worst drivers I have ever seen by far. I was thinking this through before I began to write and I wondered if this might be because of the “everyone wins” attitude that is pervasive in today’s society. Everyone is the most important person ever as well as the most interesting person on the planet. It could also be because people are all high on the “medically necessary” usage of a formerly illegally smoked plant product.
In the vein of full disclosure, I recently rear-ended a car while I was driving to work. I guess the best way to describe it is driving while distracted.I have a weird OCD thing where I roll things between my fingers all the time, but especially while driving (it is calming to me so stop judging). If you look on the floor around the garbage can in my office it is littered with tiny pieces of paper. I roll them till they begin to look dirty or bend and are no longer “perfect” and then they must be discarded and I start over.
I have a bunch of T-pins (they are push pins but are shaped like a T at the top instead of having a little colored or clear plastic bulb on the top) in my cup holder I roll while driving but always when I am alone. I was rolling one of these and it dropped on the floor as they do because they are super tiny and thin. I reached down to pick it up and SMASH!!!! But I digress…
As I mentioned we had a bad storm a week or so ago. It doesn’t rain here very often, but when it does, people drive like they are in a funeral…slow and blinkers. They will also sometimes stop under the overpass and wait out the rain. Seriously? It’s rain people. It doesn’t rain fire or rocks.
Another thing is people just go where they want. There is no waiting for someone to slow and waive you in to the flow of traffic. The blinker is an “indicator” you want to make a move, not a hall pass to simply do it. And to be clear, if I let you in, the thank you wave is not optional. It is expected and good form. If you don’t give me one, and you look in your rear-view mirror, You will see me saying something horrible about your mother or telling you how no one likes you and you should drive off a bridge. I’m just sayin’.
I have noticed a strange thing where slower traffic doesn’t know to keep to the right. That is something I knew before I drove. There are signs in Florida to tell everyone this is the expectation. Here people drive the exact same speed almost in a straight line across all lanes of traffic. They also don’t seem to understand what blinking lights mean when I flick them as I approach the blockage in the artery of the highway of life. Get out of my way. And in case you didn’t know, it is ok to go up to 10 miles over the speed limit in almost every major road across the country.
And when did it become ok for 18 wheelers to drive in the far left hand lane. I also know there are signs saying all trucks need to stay in the right hand lanes as well. I understand that they are bringing much needed consumer goods to the mass retailers I and others frequent, just get over andoutta my way.
Stop texting while driving. I am not going to say I have never done this, just be smart. Wait till you get to a stop light or use Siri. She isn’t smart or perfect, but neither are you.
A few quickies: People, learn how to merge. It is a major issue and will help the rest of us avoid the biggest contributor to road rage. If you miss your turn and figure it out at the last minute, go around the block and come back. Blocking the straight lane you are in to get into the turn lane makes us hate you. It is perfectly legal to make a right turn on a red light. Trust me. We have school zones here that are not just in effect during school hours. Stop That!!! There is no reason I need to slow down because of a closed school during the summer or at 10pm on a weekend. Stop for school busses. There is nothing that important you need to speed around a bus and endanger a child. A turn signal, as I mentioned before, is an indicator. Use it before you change lanes to let me know your intentions. Google the proper etiquette for 4 way stops. Lastly, if I am not driving fast enough for you, and there is a lane to the left of me clear, you can and should go around me. Riding my tail isn’t necessary and not going to make me love you or want to help you get where you are going.
P.S. Snow birds and people that cannot see except between the steering wheel and the dash because they are shrinking…take a cab. Get off the roads ASAP. (that was from Kimmi Ro)
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
A while ago I wrote a set of rules for men to follow in a public restroom. While it might be time to get the world at large onboard with that, I think a more pressing issue is to get everyone onboard with a set of movie rules. These should absolutely go without saying, which is why I am having to say them. Get onboard!
These are in no particular order as to me, they are all equally important. Feel free to adopt these immediately and share them with those you hate. (Your loved ones should already be onboard or you shouldn’t love them anymore. Just my opinion.)
1.
Leave your child (Google the definition if you are unclear) home or in the free (or a small fee) service they offer in most larger theatres. I am sure you feel we all want to share in the teething or colic event your lovely spawn is currently experiencing, but you are wrong. And if your child is of an age where teething isn’t an issue, but is still young enough that they still need assistance when they make a BM, don’t bring them to an R rated movie. Also, PG-13 means that human beings under the age of 13 probably shouldn’t be in attendance.
2.
Feel free to sneak snacks into the theatre with you. (I certainly do) Feel free to not bring a foot long Subway sandwich with you into the theatre. The smell of your tilapia dish you brought with you, or a lovely crab cake burrito, isn’t what we all signed up for. The rule of thumb should be if it smells, eat it in your house.
3.
If you have some form of disease (Ebola, syphilis or the common cold) stay home. If a movie is worth seeing its time in the theatre will last longer than a cycle of antibiotics.
4.
This is something that the theatres have even had an ass-full of but STAY OFF YOUR CELL PHONE!!!!! If you are so important that the world needs to have your tweets or status updates, go outside the theatre.
5.
It is ok to talk quietly to the person next to you that didn’t get the intricacies of the latest superhero opus. It is not ok to have a conversation where you are heard louder that the THX or Dolby digital sound coming out of the $60,000 sound system the theatre invested in. Conversely, if you are too stupid to understand that the person next to you probably hasn’t see the movie already and lacks the necessary insight to answer, “Why did he do that?”, go home and watch a Keeping Up The Kardashian’s marathon. To be blunt, SHUT UP!
6.
Pee before the movie begins. If you are among the acorn bladdered you know this about yourself. Don’t get the giant tanker sized Diet Coke and waittil the middle of the movie to step on my flip flopped toes while you slide your gigantic ass in front of me during the car chase scene in Fast 12. Pick an aisle seat so as to not disturb the rest of us,or get a catheter.
7.
If you have seen the movie already, like I have been known to do on the occasional Transformer of Batman flick, don’t say the lines along with the actors on the screen. No one likes you. Just stop breathing, or walk into traffic, and save the rest of us from having to ask for your death.
8.
Shower before you come and use a deodorant/antiperspirant. Also don’t use perfume/cologne to cover your stench. We can still smell you.
9.
Please say you are sorry if you slam your humungous hips into my popcorn bag. Also, the movie times are published in the newspaper, online at Fandango, or the Flixter app on your mobile device. Don’t come in after the movie has begun with your 17 person party and expect to find seats. And just to be clear YES THESE SEATS ARE TAKEN.
10.
Lastly, most movies now have a scene during or after the credits. Either wait for it or get out of my way because I stayed in my damn seat because I wanted to see it…not you blocking the screen.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
It has been quite a while since I have written. I have been a neglectful blogger. That will change, I assure you. (Or maybe this is another promise to you, the faithful, which I will eventually break. Only time will tell.)
I have had a pretty horrible week. My apartment was hit by lightning Monday night. I didn’t realize the damage that was done, but more on that in a few. I am from Florida. I am use to rain. In Arizona, it rains like twice a year and they freak out like it is the end of the world. I knew it had been an ugly night because the power went out in the middle of the night and the thunder woke my kids. I didn’t know how bad the rain really was until the next morning. GOOD TIMES!!!
I heard the rain as I was getting ready for work, but like I said, Floridian by birth, so I paid it no mind. I walked downstairs to leave early as I had a new hire class that day. I got to the bottom of the stairs and saw a huge puddle I would need to jump in order to get to the parking lot. You might not believe this but I wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider while in high school. I was not trained by the world famous Flying Graysons and I apparently lack even the basic leaping ability to clear this stupid puddle. Splish splash, I was taking a bath…well at least my ankles were. GOOD TIMES!!!
I shook it off and started towards my truck. I looked at the ground and it was surrounded in all directions for a good 25 feet by water. I couldn’t imagine the water was as deep as it was. Me being the smartest person in any room I happen to be in, it never occurred to me to remove my shoes and socks, roll up my pants and walk slowly to my truck. In my non-spider enhanced agility I took two running steps and jumped. Splish splash Part II. GOOD TIMES!!!
I went to work and the day got better. I got home and noticed that my wi-fi was not working. I assumed the router/modem just needed to be rebooted. It did. I also noticed the light was out on my network cloud drive. I tried to reboot it to no avail. It was a toaster. I had no idea this was just the start of the electric remnants of the storm. I will make a long story short(er) and just say I lost a tv, the aforementioned network drive and my cable box. GOOD TIMES!!!
My second thought (the first one was copious amounts of profanity intermingled with a sad glance at my soon to be dwindling bank account balance) was that I have renters insurance and I would be fine. I have had it since the second ex Mrs. Cole decided to keep the house and I departed the great southern Mecca of Atlanta for the fertile land of Jacksonville. I have never had occasion to file a claim and wasn’t even sure how one goes about proving home electronics were damaged in a storm at all. Obviously with car insurance you can drive or tow the damaged vehicle to an establishment that handles such things. What do you do with tv’s? Well apparently you just go buy a new one yourself and never file with your insurance company at all. GOOD TIMES!!!
First off, I discovered I have a $500 deductible on my renters insurance. I was then informed, only after I asked, that there was no guarantee that filing a claim wouldn’t result in my rate increasing on both my car and renters insurance, or even the policy being dropped altogether. It seems you are supposed to pay money to them on a regular basis but never actually use the coverage that the policy provides unless you are prepared for the financial repercussions that “may or may not” follow. GOOD TIMES!!!
I hope you all are doing better than yours truly is this week. To quote the recently departed Casey Kasem, “Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars”.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
The day after the anniversary of 9-11 I saw a man get shot by the police.
I was running late for work that day. I guess that isn’t totally 100% true, I planned to be late so I could go to Target and buy the new Star Trek movie on Blu-ray. I woke at the same time as always, 5:30. I checked my emails (no replies to my POF emails expounding on the many ways I am an amazing catch and really shouldn’t be on this damn pond at all.) only to find the usual spam and Groupon offers I am not going to avail myself of. I updated my podcast downloads. I said good morning to my 2 lovely cats. I scooped the multiple dumps the aforementioned cats left for me. I took a few vitamins and prescribed meds with a glass of orange juice. (ok, who am I kidding, I live alone and I drank it from the carton) I ate a couple bowls of cereal, probably something with marshmallow surprises. I took a shower as usual while listening to the Adam and Dr. Drew Podcast on my iPhone. (There is this awesomely placed shelf that ends just outside of the curtain)
It was the day after Pink Shirt Wednesday and no longer HUMP DAAAAYYYYYYYY!!!! I love that commercial. I dressed and left much later than usual. I went to Target as planned. I picked up the movie and then I decided to browse. I picked up a few other items, said hello to one particularly attractive Target employee and went up front to check out.
I stood behind a man in a suit that was buying a belt to wear, and he removed the tags and slipped it through the loops of his pants. He looked like I wish I looked in a suit. He was young, tan, tall, buff and had amazing hair. His suit was obviously off the rack and the shirt looked like it was ironed by someone that didn’t know how to iron, but I envied this guy none the less. The cashier flirted with him and I wanted to push him from behind into the garbage can and run out the door laughing maniacally. What I did was smiled at the cashier’s disappointment, swiped my debit card and walked slowly to my truck.
I drove up a different road than I usually take. I have only been in Arizona for 4 months and I am still figuring out the lay of the land, but I knew how to get to work. I took a route I had driven a few dozen times, but I was unaware of recent construction. The delay caused me to arrive in front of my building at @8:20. I was stopped at the traffic light. I have never made this light in the 4 months I have been here. Not once. Today was not going to be an exception. Red light.
As I sat there waiting for my green arrow I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I glance to my right and I see a police officer running in the crosswalk with his weapon draw. He stops right in front of the Chili’s on the sidewalk. He raised his weapon and locked it in the shooters position. He was looking straight at the door of the restaurant and was shouting something I couldn’t hear. In retrospect, I should have turned off the podcast, lowered my window, something. Anything. What I did was sat there in shock.
A police car approached from both directions of University and blocked the forward flow of traffic. I sat there watching like it was a tv show or a movie…except it was 100% real. The officer continued to shout and a man walked from the front of the restaurant down the sidewalk about half way towards the officer. There were 2 other officers but I stayed focused on the one I had seen in the crosswalk. He continued to bark at the guy, who was fiddling with something in his hands. WHY THE HELL WAS HE DOING THAT? I may not be the smartest person you have ever met, but I know if the police have a gun drawn on you and they tell you to blow yourself, you better have mad yoga skills.
The officer continued to give orders and the guy continued to fiddle with whatever was in his hands. He drops his hands to his sides, obviously having made a decision, and charged the officer. He took one or two steps and the officer shot his gun. I counted 3 shots, but I am not 100% sure. The man dropped instantly, pitching forward. I remember thinking three things at that very second. 1) I am reasonably sure I saw red on his white shirt as he fell forward. 2) Why did he fall forward if he was shot in the chest? 3) Real life isn’t like a scene from a movie or TV show. Not even a little bit.
The next 6 hours are a mess in my mind. I drove away because I was freaking out. I pulled into the parking garage of my work and I called my friend (not sure what to call her anymore other than Pookie). I told her what I saw and we prayed. I called 911 and told them what I had seen and gave my information. I walked into work because I didn’t know what else to do. I sat at my desk for about 2 hours just staring at the dirty cloth walks of my cubicle. At some point I left and went home. I drove past the scene to leave and I remembered that I remember hearing helicopters overhead. I went home and laid down and tried to sleep. I heard my phone ring but couldn’t will my arm to raise and pick it up. I saw the caller id and didn’t recognize the number. I listened to the message and it was a detective. He came and took my statement and showed me some pictures. I read later that night that the guy had survived, but was in intensive care. He died a week later, the day before I am writing this.
I hope that anyone that reads this will pray for the families of both the man who lost his life as well as the officer and his family. He may have had all the training available, but he also ended a life. It was him or the guy who I later learned had a box cutter in his hand, but that isn’t the point. Most officers go their entire career without ever discharging their weapon. He isn’t one of those.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…
So the other day I was listening to The Howard Stern Show, as I do often. I am sure I have written about how I think he is an amazing interviewer in the past. He gets celebrities to reveal things no one else could. Bradley Cooper said it is due to the fact that Howard has the ability to make you forget you are being interviewed, and it seems like 2 people just shooting the shit. I tend to believe him.
This day in particular, he was talking about a show on his secondary channel, Howard 101, called PLAY LIST. This is where a show staffer comes on and plays songs that have meaning to them, then explain why, and play the song. It was an interesting concept and I decided to do my own Play List … so I present Steve Rogers Play List. Enjoy.
These are in no particular order and I will post a link to YouTube if one exists.
• Cult of Personality by Living Colour. This was a game changer for me. At the risk of sounding Racist, I had never seen an all black rock band before. I don’t think anyone had. These guys opened for the Rolling Stones on the Steel Wheels Tour, and they stole the show. I wish they had stayed together because these guys were everything that music lacks today. They were hard rocking, had a strong moral fiber, and could actually get people to spend money for their CD.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TinLbeXKivw
• Hey Jude by The Beatles. My mom told me this song was about her. I can’t hear it without shedding a tear. She was the best mom ever. We didn’t have money. We didn’t have a great car or a great big house. Hell, most times we didn’t even have each other, but I had her and she had me. I miss you Jude.
//www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDdI7GhZSQA
• Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree by Tony Orlando and Dawn. This is one of those songs that we would all sing on those wonderful family road trips. I am still not really sure what it’s about, but we loved it because we got to curse near the end of the song and our parents couldn’t get upset…it was the song, not us. Any excuse to use profanity and get away with it was a Win Win in my book.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBL2kzKg4nY
• Numb/Encore by JayZ/Linkin Park. This was a song on a CD given to me by a co-worker at FNANB. I had heard of both The Jigger Man and Linkin Park, but I would have to say I wasn’t a fan till this CD. After this CD I became a fan of both and have all their music before and after. This remains one of the most played songs on my iPhone to this day….check it if you don’t believe me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXnR8y89TvI
• She’s a Lady by Tom Jones. Growing up my parents went to Vegas every year together. Knowing what I know today I am sure it was more my dad than my mom, but whatever. My mom came home and told us a story about how she and my dad had seats on stage to see Tom Jones and he gave her his scarf. It was this white silky thing that she swore she could still smell him on. She also said his pants were so tight she could see his junk, but I don’t think I needed to know that.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvmyTZEqlo8
• Fooling Yourself by Styx. I first heard this song on an album (That’s right people I am old; Deal with it) borrowed from my next door neighbor Jimmy Jamel. He told me how awesome it was and I had to agree. I am sure you could Google search images of the band from 1977 when this was new and see what they looked like. I wanted my hair to be as long and perfect as Tommy Shaw. It didn’t happen, but I tried.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzqeuH0AVKk
• One More Night by Maroon 5. I know this is a new song but I am stuck in a totally one-sided bromance with Adam Levine. He is an amazing interview (search YouTube for his Howard Stern interview) and a pretty MF. I can admit when a man is good looking and he is.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwK7ggA3-bU
• Rappers Delight by the Sugar Hill Gang. This is the first song I remember of its kind and I was blown away. I can vividly remember singing along with this song with a spatula from the kitchen as a mic and acting like I was on the stage to an audience of one, my dog.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKTUAESacQM
• Bawitdaba by Kid Rock. It is rap, rock, country, southern rock and whatever else you can think of all blended together for one perfect song. Love him or hate him you cannot deny he has stood the test of time. We miss you Joe C.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OrNS2zbTZg
• In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel. I loved this song in the movie Say Anything and the fact it was my wedding song from my failed marriage doesn’t take away from how much I love this song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3kFPBtc9BE
• Basket Case by Green Day. This was another one of those songs I can’t help but sing along with every time I hear it. You don’t want to be in my vehicle when this comes on. I re-enact a love concert right there in the turn lane. And I do a mean air drum solo. I do struggle with whether I should make the whore a female or stay true to the original.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUTGr5t3MoY
This list is in no way complete and I wanted to add a few more but realized I was rambling on and most people never even click on the links anyway.
WhateverdudeIstartedthisformeandIamstickingtothatpolicy!!!
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
So I was telling you the story of my interview when we last were together. In case you forgot or didn’t read part one, shame on you. Stop now and go read it. To recap I was about to be laid off by my employer in Atlanta after 8 years. I had an interview and then a presentation to deliver and the topic was Customer Service Excellence. Ya’ with me? Good, then back to it…
So I knew that most reasonable people would expound on the virtues of CSE, (that’s right, I shortened it. Wanna make something of it?), maybe have survey results or statistics to back up their belief that CSE was important to any business that wanted to be successful. But me being me, I decided to take a different tact. I decided to sell a total lack of CSE as the way to go. I was being ironic, tongue in cheek if you will. I wonder how that will go over in the Lone Star State. Take a guess.
I created a company I called, you guessed it, “Our Way Pizza”, where you will get it our way. I created an entire back story of a cranky old man founder that created the company to follow his core belief; his way was the best way. I used a picture of the old cranky man puppet of Jeff Dunham named Walter as the founder. I created a new hire packet that was essentially a training manual for how customer service should look if you wanted to be an Our Way Pizza employee. I also created some pie graphs that showed 78% of people want to be led and prefer to have decisions made for them. I was super proud of myself for thinking outside the box. I was expecting that everyone would get how clever I was; how I could take the exaggerated absurd stance, and use it to actually sell why CSE was so important. That didn’t happen.
I flew to San Antonio and rented a car. I went to check into my hotel, dropped off my luggage and wash my face (gotta clean that airline smegma off my face) and headed to the site. I got there early, as I am oft to do, and I figured they would be so happy to see me that they would move my presentation up, let me present, get my premise, and raise me up on their shoulders chanting my name over and over, hiring me on the spot. What happened was they let me sit in an unused training room for 2 and a half hours while they interviewed NO ONE AT ALL!!!!! I sat in there and did what I have been told I do best. I over thought the entire thing as time dragged. And did I mention it was Texas? Have you ever been to Texas? “But Steve, it’s a dry heat”. IT IS STILL HEAT AND HEAT EQUALS SWEAT AND SWEAT STINKS AND DOESN’T LOOK GOOD AS IT SOAKS THROUGH YOUR WHITE DRESS SHIRT THAT YOU WORE ON THE PLANE BECAUSE YOU ARE STUPID AND WEREN’T SMART ENOUGH TO WEAR A T-SHIRT AND CHANGE INTO THE DRESS SHIRT ONCE YOU GOT TO YOUR DESTINATION, DUMMY!!!! Oh, and they weren’t going to get it.
So I finally was told to come in the room and set up. It took me like 30 seconds to set up because I was all amped up on Snickers and Dr. Pepper. There wasn’t a seat for me up front so I stood there like a jerk for 14 minutes and 30 seconds as the trainers that I expected to praise me shortly, trickled in. (No, I didn’t actually count the time. It is an exaggeration. It is kinda what I do.) They all came in and sat there stoically, not helping me one single bit. As a trainer, more often that not there is one person in every class that stands out as the jerk. I can identify them pretty readily and that person becomes my focus point. I basically train the class to that person. I know once I have that person buying in to what I am selling, I have the rest of the room. I had a room full of blank faces staring back at me…and they weren’t going to get it.
So I began my presentation like I was meeting with potential new hires for “Our Way Pizza”. We went over the training packet in conjunction with the PowerPoint that I created. I was so proud of myself. I am a trainer, not a designer. The skills for one are not the same as the other. I am a delivery machine. I excel at delivering the message. I can break your design down and make it better. I can tell you where your material jumped the shark, but I had never created anything from scratch before. After we completed the introductory packet and my description of our founders’ vision, I had everyone form a circle.
I brought a Koosh Ball and planned a fast round of responses to possible customer complaints to pizza our way. The Koosh ball would be thrown to someone and I would pose a scenario. A customer called to say his pizza was cold, your response should be, “You should just be glad we delivered it to you at all”. If a customer complained that the toppings were not what they ordered, “We decided to send you what we felt went together better.” or “You got what we wanted you to have. It is better this way”. If one of the participants used an answer that was not “Our Way”, I told them that they might not be the right person for the job, but I would give them a second chance to display our core values. I asked one person to sit out for the rest and just observe, in the hopes they would be able to get the “Our Way” philosophy by watching those that were successful at it. Sometimes I would say that an answer was close but I was sure someone else could do better and they tossed the Koosh ball to someone else for the same scenario. I thought this was fun, interactive and innovative. I was sure that no one else would push the need for CSE by way of a business plan that sold a total lack of CSE. I was sure that they would get it. They didn’t.
I closed out the session as new hires and told them they were all hired and would be outstanding additions to the “Our Way Pizza” family. I told them to go out to the restaurant floor and make our founder happy. I thanked them for their time and they clapped and we ended the “new hire class”. I them asked what questions they had, fully expecting them to ask me how soon I could join their team. What I got was a little different. I was asked if I honestly thought that CSE was not important. I was asked if I really thought a company could survive with a philosophy counter-intuitive to everything we all knew about the customer experience. I was asked if I understood the meaning of Customer Service Excellence and did I understand the idea was to promote it, not say it wasn’t important. They didn’t get it, or me at all. They attacked me with stupid question after stupid question and then thanked me for my time and dismissed me to allow them to talk amongst themselves and decide my fate. I was pretty sure they had made it clear they didn’t get me, and I was equally sure they were not people I would be happy to work with every day going forward. I did, however, like paychecks on the 15th and the last day of the month, so I was willing to accept their lameness.
I had dinner with my friend that was a trainer and the only one that got it as far as I know. He told me that he fought for me, explaining that it was brilliant in his mind. He said they didn’t get it and he was pretty sure they were going to offer the job to an outside candidate. AN OUTSIDE CANDIDATE????? Seriously. I ended leaving the company for about a month. I received a call offering me a job back in the home lending area as a trainer and the saga continued….and they didn’t get me either. Lololololololololololol.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…
But you didn’t have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don’t even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn’t have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don’t need that though
Now you’re just somebody that I used to know
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don’t even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn’t have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don’t need that though
Now you’re just somebody that I used to know
As I might have mentioned I am looking for a job. A part of this process is interviewing. Lots and lots of interviewing. Today I was reminded of an interview story from a few years ago and I thought it seemed like the perfect time to tell this story.
I am a trainer. I train. I was working in Atlanta and the company I work for was closing the site where I worked. (could I use the word work one more time in that sentence? Probably not). I was doing anything I could to stay with the company, including looking to relocate anywhere in the country that I could keep training. I am an amazing trainer. This is not hubris. It is what I am good at. When I was first hired at my current employer I had a horrible new hire experience. The trainer was really never there for us. I don’t just mean physically, although that was the case most days, but he was not interested in our training at all. He had personal problems, which he let us know about as a way of letting us know he didn’t suck at his job. We were just not his priority at the time. I completed my training and had no clue what I was doing and thought I would be fired at any moment. I decided when I got into training I would never let that happen to a new hire I trained…and it never did.
I was hired as a collector and I became damn good at it. When I went to training, I mostly trained collections. So when I began looking for a training job to continue my career with my employer, naturally I wanted to keep training collectors. There was not an opportunity for me (well there was one that I screwed up big time…BIG TIME…but that is a story I am not quite ready to tell yet). I was offered an interview for a customer service trainer in Texas. I had never been to Texas and only knew one mexican, but paychecks on the 15th and the last day of the month are a great motivator, and I began the process. The first part is always a phone interview and those are pretty much the same. “Tell me about a time when you blahblahblah” or “Think about a time when blahblahblah happened. Tell me how you blahblahblah”, etc. You get the point. Well as a trainer there is another layer of this process. Dance Monkey Dance.
“We know you have been training for over 8 years and have a proven track record of success that we can see. We still want you to fly out here and present a training class to 14 fellow trainers you have never met that all want their friend here locally to get the job that you are interviewing for and they all hate you because they are some of the same people that your class results are better than and you have been compared to on a semi-regular basis. (Am I not the master of the run on sentence? Are you not entertained????) Those same people will judge you and decide whether we will offer you a seat at the table”. Ok, maybe I am remembering this a little differently because of the outcome, but stick with me true believers. This one is pretty funny.
So in some of these T-3 (train the trainer) situations you are given no topic and you can do whatever you want. Other times you are given a topic and told to present on it. Any creative person would prefer the former, but you can probably guess which type this one was…yep, and the topic was Customer Service Excellence. I am going to step away from this story to tell a tiny side story…I hope you will indulge me. I assure you it is worth the sidebar.
When I first was asked about being a trainer, at my employer, we were told to come up with a presentation, but we could do whatever we wanted. I asked a few of the other potentials and they stupidly told me their ideas…trusting goats that they were. I wouldn’t do anything to sabotage someone, but I was sure amused with the subjects they chose. Now remember this was a call center I worked at. Some of the topics were PHONE ETIQUETTE, or CUSTOMER IDENTITY VERIFICATION STEPS.Sheep. I chose to teach how to assemble and disassemble a Berretta 92fs Stainless Steel semi-automatic handgun. “Who’s House????? Tom’s House.” I did my presentation for the training manager and 2 HR managers. All 3 were women. Needless to say it was quiet room while I presented. At the end I tied it together with a statement on how with a job aid, a little hands-on and coaching with their trainer, in very little time they would be able to do something they never thought they could. The same thing for the new hires I would train. They would probably be a tad nervous, as were the 3 ladies on that day I assure you. But with a little help from me, the training materials and the system, I would get them where they needed to be, just like I got myself there 8 months before. Long story short, they loved my creativity, my thinking outside the box style, and I got the job.
I am going to stop here I think to catch my breath. I promise to finish this story before the end of the week. LOVEYOUMEANIT
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I have been told that there is rampant speculation that the last post was not a friend of mine, as listed in the first paragraph which most either didn’t read or don’t believe, but it was my story. It isn’t mine at all. I took the story and made a few edits for punctuation and grammatical issues, but other than that….NOT MY STORY. I thought it was funny, so I asked him to share it here. I see now that I should not do that, no matter how funny I think something might be perceived. Live and learn.
I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming already in progress.
Ahh! Me so horny!
Ahh! Me so horny!
Ahh! Me so horny!
Me love you long time!
I am going to start this out by saying this is not REALLY a part of the Saga of Steve Rogers. This is what I guess we can call a guest submission. I have taken certain steps to make sure that almost no one will be able to figure out who this is. If after reading this you feel motivated, GET YOUR OWN BLOG!!!! I heard this story a couple times over the years I have known this person, and I begged to get it here. You are welcome. ENJOY.
This evening started as every other evening, with me feeling horny and lonely. This led me to an adventurous evening to say the least. Walk with me, won’t you?
My day began as usual, however, I had been backed up for at least two days. This simply means I need to unclog the pipes, also known as “waxing the eel”, “petting the gopher”, “milking the tit of cream”, “ pumping for white gold”, “or shaking hands with Mr. Bate”. However, for one odd reason, mainly the creepy feeling I get when I say shaking hands with Mr. Bate, I decided to visit the house “oh god”. I’m not a religious person, but when I go to massage parlors I seem to call Gods’ name, so we will refer to massage parlors as my house of devotion. Now in case you did not know, 95% of all basilicas are happy ending stores. The way to tell the difference is if the abbey says acupuncture on the window, it is probably legit. I don’t visit those; I visit the house of nirvana, because I require a certain amount of attention to my crotch area which some women are not willing to address. I should point out that nothing is wrong with my crotch area, or what is kept neatly packaged in it, but some women require more than one date, and probably a meal or two at restaurants that have actual waiters and maybe even cloth napkins, to agree to get to know my man meat. For many reasons, being thrifty is one, I refuse to spend more than the usual amount.
This evening was different however. As I approached my favorite house of worship I was cocked blocked by co-workers who happened to be coming out of the grocery store next to it. This quickly became a problem, because I was too concerned with my personal image as a respectable person of society, and also my “non tool” status at work, to walk past them into the jack shack. Therefore, I had to quickly divert my attention to them and was unable to enter the holy gates of Jinglee’s massage house. I came up with the excuse that I was on my way to a restaurant a few doors down, in the hopes that they would not want to come along, and I could divert to plan B (finding another church of chocho). My co-workers however, were obviously unaware of the high levels of man juice which were backing up in me when they decided to say “oh we will join you for dinner so that you are not alone”. This was a major problem. I now had to postpone my baptism in mother Jinglee’s vajayjay until after dinner. Judging from the fact that I time these pretty damn good (it is just bad form to go for a “wacky smacky” before the street lights come on), I ran the risk my boys would not get to see the glory of light. Oh well, I decided to join them so that I would not be referred to as a deuce at work. We continued to a different part of town, I don’t remember why we didn’t eat at the place right there, and had a great dinner, even though I rushed thru it. As soon as I was done, and without my co-workers finishing, I came up with the excuse that I needed to run some errands, so I paid my bill and left them there.
This turned out to be an area where I could find several other shrines. I immediately found one with the name rainbow in it, which I saw as a sign that God would not punish me this way again and decided to enter. This turned out to be an interesting thought as you will quickly see. As I entered I was approached by the head nun (also known in some parts as mamasan). The head nun escorted me to a private room as she asked how long I would stay for mass. I decided that this was going to be a quick visit and only paid for 1/2 hour (tab begins – $40). I proceeded to get undressed and laid down on the massage bed. In came this hot Asian babe that started with a genuine massage, but soon had me engorged and gave me the best hand job I had ever received (ok maybe the best I had received in a long time). During this time, I asked her if she did out calls to my place to finish this confessional session we were having. She said yes since it was at the end of the night and I was her last client. I asked her if she wanted to join me now. She agreed, and after I got dressed we headed back to my place. I told her I would give her the tip once we arrived at my place.
Once we were in my car she slid over next to me, completely ignoring the possibility of Click It or Ticket, and began squeezing and teasing. This soon elevated to a full blow job and what we will call Load #2. When we arrived at my place I started to undress to finish this worship session with her tits. She had one of those tattoos that goes from stem to stern, if you catch my meaning. I am not usually a tat guy, but it looked hot when combined with her enhanced knockers and amazing ass, something most Asians don’t have, BOOYAHHH! This misguided nun however had different plans, and asked me to pay her first. Bitch! So I paid her $100 (tab is now $140) she quickly got undressed and mounted me. She then asked me if I minded if she smoked. Now being that she was already on top of me and I was planning on expressing my devotion in her ass, I decided it would be fine (guys will allow “just about” anything when getting laid). As I thrust my hips up to get deep into the spirit of things, she turned and pulled a CRACK pipe out of her purse.
Now, I’m not necessarily against smoking; heck I don’t even mind the occasional usage of pot, but this was completely unexpected. I don’t smoke crack and this went against my better judgment. Unfortunately, the promise of being able to confess my guts out in her was very appealing, so I agreed. She continued to light up the pipe and suck up and unbelievable amount of smoke. I know this because she then continued to place her mouth in front of mine as if kissing me, and blew the smoke in my mouth. She then mentioned that this one bag of crack was worth about $100. She blew through that one quick, all the while I fucked her, and I immediately realized why drug dealers make so much money. She was well into her second bag when she decided to place her vajayjay in my face to have me eat her pussy. I am absolutely not doing that and when she realized my reluctance she pushed on my head towards her butt hole. This caused my top lip to touch it and that got me angry. Now it might have been the drugs affecting me but I decided I was going to get back at her for that, even though I’m a pacifist by nature. After her second bag, I asked her if we could move from the sofa to the bed for an extra tip. She agreed but first she needed to use the restroom. This allowed me to go thru her purse and pull out my $100 from her purse. (tab is back to $40) I have never stolen anything in my life, however, at the time it seemed like the only logical thing to do.
When she came out we got on the bed and finished the communion on her inner most regions (that means anal in case you were wondering). By this time, she was so stoned she could barely speak properly. She lay in bed for a minute and then decided to leave. We agreed on $200 more so I took out the $100 I had taken from her and counted it to her twice forward and backwards to make her believe it was $200. (actual tab $140) She thanked me and asked if I wanted to do this again, while she stumbled thru getting dressed. Probably now, darling.
Recap: $140 for message, handjob, blowjob, sex, anal, and about $300 worth of second hand crack smoke.
Down side: as my friend mentioned, the anus is where aids lives, so I was worried for several weeks until I was tested. That was the only time I thanked God for getting something negative.
Down side: as my friend mentioned, the anus is where aids lives, so I was worried for several weeks until I was tested. That was the only time I thanked God for getting something negative.
That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.
Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na,, na, na, na, na, Batman!
Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, Batman! Batman, Batman, Batman!
I am crying as I write this. Maybe I am not supposed to say that, being a shining example of males everywhere, but fuck you, I cry. Deal!!! I had a shitty one last week and got some pretty bad news at work. It isn’t the end of the world, as one person told me that I was resilient. (He made this determination based on what I wonder) And if I am being totally honest, it really is only bad because the timing sucks, but it was bad news none the less. I decided that to cheer myself up I would go to see The Dark Knight Rises. I have been a Batman fan since I first stepped foot on the planet, starting with the Adam West episodes, in re-runs, I would watch before school every day as a kid. I have talked about my escapism tools before but Batman was one of the first. I will talk more about the Bat, but why was I crying????? The deaths that took place at the midnight showing in Colorado are why.
I don’t know anyone that was shot or killed. I don’t think I know anyone in the entire state for that matter. I only know that each one of those people shared one thing with me….they wanted to see the Bat. I am not going to retell the story here as I am sure you know enough of the details, but it took til today to have any impact on me at all. I was listening to a podcast review of the movie and Kevin Smith started the show with a minute of silence for the victims. He continued after the full 60 seconds had passed (I checked) and began to talk about the killings first, before he did 3 hours on the movie itself. Kevin said that those people were just looking to escape their own world, if even for a few hours. Those people wanted to be taken to a fantasy world where things happened on a grand scale, where things happened and your heart raced, and then the 2 worlds collided. They had no idea that their lives would end that day. No more speeding tickets, no more credit card bills and burnt toast. No more being cheated on and no more cheating. No more ice cream or birthday candles. No more sunsets or puppy’s breath. No more snuggling with someone you love and no more Christmas lights. No more fear and loathing or Love and Rockets. No more anything. And that made me cry. Sue me, Steve Rogers has a heart. This may sound silly to you but it also meant no more Batman. Those people bought tickets to a midnight movie, during the week, and it is over 3 hours long with previews. Those people cared about Batman and will never see how perfectly it was done. And I Cried Again.
I use to have a bath towel around my neck held there with a safety pin for as long as I can remember. I have blocked out huge chunks of my childhood, but I remember those towels. And I remember how I always knew that the Dynamic Duo would get out of whatever nefarious-slow-moving-train-while-being-tied-to-the-tracks type end the villain of the day had in mind for them. I knew there was a Bat Something in their utility belts that would be the perfect thing to get them out of the predicament they were in, and I still couldn’t wait to see it. I knew the Bat Phone under the cake cover would light up red meaning that Gotham needed them once again. I knew they would tilt that brass head of some bald dude back, and flip the switch that moved the book cases aside and allowed Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson to remove their masks and become who they really were, Batman & Robin.
As I got older I realized that Batman was not real (that one was hard for me to wrap my little mind around) and that if there was a billionaire whose parents were murdered in front of him (as I learned via the DC Comics was how Bruce became Batman), he would probably not set out to right wrongs and make the world a better place. He would probably end up on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew. Reality bites.
My reintroduction to the world of the Bat was from the mind of Tim Burton. Now let me set the stage for those of you too young to remember, there wasn’t always an internet. We had to wait for Al Gore to invent that. There wasn’t the access to information that we cherish (despise) now. We only knew that the guy that made Beetlejuice was going to make a Batman movie with the guy from Mr. Mom. I was astounded at how dark his Batman was. No cartoon bubble with the words POW or ZAP in them. He made a Batman that we could all respect (even if he would later go on to destroy other favorites of mine like Planet of the Apes and Willy Wonka), and I loved him for it. He went darker in the second one, so dark that Warner Brothers took the reins away from him and we ended up with a blond caped crusader and then the ClooneyBot, but I was thankful for each of those. They were my generations Batman. He was flawed (hell, he slept with Kim Basinger and we know she is a fruitloop) and even added nipples to his costumes for no good reason. He had Bat Iceskates and dodged rockets shot from the back of killer penguins, but he was mine. He flew a state-of-the-art BatWing jet that he used to snip the string to a bunch of balloons with and was taken out by a single bullet from a ludicrous handgun, but he was mine. Every bad guy figured out his “secret identity” and, if memory serves, he drove a Ford Taurus in the first Burton movie, but he was mine. Then came Christopher Nolan.
Nolan took the Batman from the soundstage to the real city. There are flaws with each of his 3 movies (not as bad as Greedo shooting first) but he gave the new generation a Batman they could embrace. His Batman was filled with anger and self-doubt. He was trained by thieves and assassins, and when we first see him as an adult he is in prison. It wasn’t til Ra’s al Ghul told him to destroy his place of birth that he decided on a path of righteousness, and to become the dark defender we needed him to be. In the second movie he was faced with his worst fears coming to life. He lost the woman he loved, and the only way to stop his newest foe was to do the one thing he could never do, take a life. I won’t spoil the last movie (is it the last), but I will say that there are a few scenes that made me well up. I wasn’t a Bane guy and really couldn’t care less for him in the books. Nolan made me care for him with the way he combined his hulking mass and the passive, soothing voice that came from a man that was just following his own set of principles to its logical conclusion. It is an amazing third act not to be missed and I will see it many more times (I am at 2 as I write this and will probably go this weekend) I just wish those 12 people that lost their lives, the 86 that were injured and their families, and even those that are afraid to go to the theatre, could know that I shed tears for them. My thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those who lost loved ones and those that are still fighting for their lives. Don’t let one madman change you. THAT would be crazy.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Today I was told I am being laid off by my employer of over ten years. It is not a good thing by any stretch of the imagination, but since I have the ability to relocate anywhere I want (or don’t want but can get paid at) I will be fine.
Over the past year I have been rethinking my stance on religion. I will write about that later this week, but I will just say that I trust that He has something in mind for me.
I am hoping this will solve a couple issues that have been vexing me of late. I will keep you updated. Till then, prayers are appreciated and checks should be made to my real name…not Steve Rogers.
The things that make you go hmm
Things that make you go hmm
The things that make you go hmm, hmm, hmm
The things that make you go hmm
Things that make you go hmm
The things that make you go hmm.
I was recently given some sage-like advice. You might find this hard to believe but I don’t have a filter. I will often react to the words or actions of another without thinking of the repercussions. Depending on the situation it can be hilarious or disastrous, and on more than one occasion, both. If you know me personally this is not news to you. If you just stumbled across this little journey of mine and this isn’t the first entry you are reading, this is not news to you either. I have begun to listen to podcasts at work. I have never been a big music guy. If we were together and I am choosing the radio station, we will probably be listening to Howard Stern on Sirius. For me it doesn’t matter if it is a repeat, best of compilation, new show or something related to the Stern World like the Wrap-Up Show, I am there. Recently Adam Corolla from The Man Show and Lovelines was on to promote his new book “Not Taco Bell Material”. The title referencing how he was declined employment at the fast food chain with the reason being he “just wasn’t Taco Bell material”…but I digress.
So a little over 2 years ago Adam was fired from CBS Radio and he started his podcast. It was originally run out of his house, in his office, but has grown so much he received a Guinness Book Of World Records award for the most downloads of a podcast ever. He has surrounded himself with a funny crew of people and his show is now on my daily listen file on Stitcher, an app for listening to podcasts. I have even gone to the archives to listen to older shows. Adam is irreverent and hilarious (2 things I look for in my man crushes) and has an everyman kind of attitude, unlike many others that are multi-millionaire pseudo-celebs and have forgotten where they began. He is a man’s man and even has separate podcasts about home repair and car repair. He does all his own repairs and even remodeled his own house. Before he became a radio/TV personality he was a carpenter and he remembers what it was like to be broke. Also, when you work for yourself no one can fire you.
The other day he was talking to Allyson Rosen, his version of Robin Quivers, the news reader on the Howard Stern Show. The main difference is Allyson is super cute and very funny in her own right. Adam and Allyson were discussing something in her personal life and Adam reminded her that before she reacted she needed to think of 2 things;
1) Is this going to make me money?
2) Is this going to make me happy?
He went on to describe that the answer to those 2 questions guide his decisions on a daily basis as much as possible. To say this was a cathartic moment for me would be to minimize its impact.
In his book, Adam describes his upbringing and how his parents were chronic under-achievers. He actually said that being goal-oriented and focused is not a Corolla trait and I laughed out loud. Adam’s father, upon divorcing Adam’s mother, moved in with his ex wife’s mother because he couldn’t afford to live on his own and she took pity on him. This is just one example of the lack of effort Jim Corolla put into his life. Adam’s mother was equally unmotivated and at some point he had to draw a line in the sand and say that on this side, he had to break the unambitious, uninspired, prosaic and even pathetic approach to life. Using the 2 questions above helped him become the man he is today. This may surprise some of you, but I honestly believe God has a plan for me and I just haven’t gotten there yet. Maybe the two questions will help me evolve a little further and become the man I could be… I can only hope.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I’ll be watching you
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I’ll be watching you
Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I’ll be watching you
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I’ll be watching you
(JUST IN CASE KARIN IS READING THIS, I DID GIVE HER THE BLOG ADDRESS, I AM NOT REALLY STALKING YOU…BUT ISNT THAT WHAT A STALKER WOULD SAY? LOL)
So I ended with Karin wearing solid colored shirts for a whole year because I made her self-conscious. In the year between book signings I began to read Karin’s website. She had a contest where the first person to say a certain word would win a $25 gift card. I don’t remember what the word was, but I waited and no one else knew it so I raised my hand and she chuckled. She actually said, “Of course you know it.” and gave me the gift card. She read a page or two of the book, told us what she was planning for the next book, and opened the floor to questions. I am sure I asked a question but I don’t remember it as I write this. I waited till everyone else got their book signed, and went last. I stayed talking to her for probably 15 or 20 minutes. She told me about her writing process, a few authors she thought I would like, and I told her about an incident that happened when I went to a book signing for John Sandford (real name John Camp), another of my favorite authors.
My Sandford experience was the exact opposite of my Karin Slaughter and Michael Connolly interactions. (Maybe I will write about Connolly another time but it is not a long story at all.) Sandford arrived late, was dressed in a suit, and had a few people with him. He didn’t read part of his book but went straight into his resume, seeming to focus more on his journalism career than the fiction authoring that we were here to hear about. I love his PREY series, and read them to this day. What he did tell us was that his son had been writing a separate series of books about an artist/thief named Kidd. I was devastated. I didn’t ask a question, but when I got to the front of the line to get my book signed I did ask who he thought would play Davenport, the main character in the PREY series, if a movie was to be made. He said, in all his arrogance, that he didn’t really care if they ever made a movie but if they did he pictured Rob Lowe. ROB LOWE?????????? I told him that I pictured William Peterson, the main tech Grissom on CSI. He looked straight at me and told me he didn’t own a TV and had no idea what CSI was. The final slap was when I asked his to take a picture. He stood and told me to flip the book upside down. I asked why, chuckling like he was joking. He stopped and said that there were 2 people on the planet that had a picture with him and his book right side up and I was not going to be the third. NICE ATTITUDE, huh?
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| Great author. Shitty human being. |
Back to Karin, when talking about her writing process she asked me if I wrote. I told her that I did in school, and I had a few ideas for stories, but I hadn’t done anything with it at all. She told me to stop the crap and write. She said I shouldn’t expect to be the next Stephen King or even to get published. She said that to write with a goal in mind would be the end of my writing. “Just write. Do it. If you come next year and you don’t have a sample or a short story for me to see, don’t come because I won’t sign your book.” For the next year I stressed about this. All I could think about was her being disappointed in my writing. I was so stressed I deleted the short story a dozen times and never finished it. When the day of the next book signing came I was worried. I really needed to get my book signed. I was both happy and sad that she didn’t mention it when I got up there. I started this blog a while ago now and I am proud of it, and disappointed by it, depending on the day.
I will end with the signing of her 13th book CRIMINAL, last weekend. Karin answered questions and let us know that she has been in negotiations to bring the Grant County books to film. She told us about the crazy questions she gets, like if she would be opposed to the stories taking place in Scotland instead of South Georgia. She said she was actually pulling for a TV series rather than a movie, but it was all tentative. She said she didn’t want to lose control so she was holding out, and the fan boy geek in me cheered. When it was time to sign my book Karin remembered that I had moved to Florida and asked where my ex-girlfriend (she who I cannot write about) was. I just shook my head no, and she said she was sorry to hear that. I told her about the blog and how I had spent the better part of the last year in New York, now living in the Buckle. We chatted for a few minutes, the crowd had now grown to well over 150 people, with the entire process being filmed for Barnes & Noble TV and a local TV show, but she took the time to thank me for coming and said she would see me next year. Yes you will Ma’am. Yes you will.
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| Time to hit the gym fatboy…lol |
I don’t think of myself as a stalker, more like a super fan. I use to keep paperback copies of her books to give to random people when I was telling them how awesome she was. Since they never get returned I stopped, but I do tell people that if they read her first book and don’t like it, I will pay them for the book. A money back guarantee from a fan is unheard of. She is just that good.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
I’m just an average man, with an average life.
I work from nine to five; hey hell, I pay the price.
All I want is to be left alone in my average home;
But why do I always feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone, and
I work from nine to five; hey hell, I pay the price.
All I want is to be left alone in my average home;
But why do I always feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone, and
I always feel like somebody’s watching me.
And I have no privacy.
Woh, I always feel like somebody’s watching me.
Tell me is it just a dream
I was called a stalker recently. Years ago that would have been one of the worst things you could ever say to another human being. I have been called much worse in the past few years, so I am not as hurt as I might have been…especially because it is kinda true.
As I have mentioned here, I am an avid reader. I wrote an entire blog about how that began for me as an escape, but here I am at 40-something and still escaping my reality on a regular basis. My favorite author, bar none, is Karin Slaughter…and yes, that is her real name. (I am going to go against the “no real name” policy because she is a best-selling author around the world, and hope at least one of you will become a fan.) She is a thriller writer, who lives in the Atlanta area, and is a best selling author in many countries around the world as well as the only list that really matters, The New York Times Best Sellers List of Fiction…and I have gone to her book signings for the last ten years straight.
I was married to #2 who, as far as I know, never read a book after she graduated high school, and is the one that introduced me to Karin. I am an animated reader. When I read I react to what is happening. I gasp, and go all bug-eyed, and I would tell #2 what caused me to suck in all the air in the room. She would listen intently, and I guess she actually listened because she knew what I liked to read. On one particular Sunday #2 was reading the book reviews in the Atlanta Journal Constitution and said she though I might like the book in the review. I asked her to read the review to me because I am the laziest person on the planet. The review described her third book, A Faint Cold Fear, as an emotional rollercoaster ride, one that will take you through all emotions and blahblahblah. When she read the name of the author I told her to stop. I told her that, in my opinion, a woman cannot write like the review described.
At the time, I used to read only a few woman authors: Patricia Cornwell, Sue Grafton and Janet Evanovich. I liked their books but considered them “airplane books”. If I left them on the seat on an airplane, I wouldn’t really care too much and could easily move on to the next book on my shelf. I decided to give her a try anyway, but was not going to buy the newest book. I went to Half.com and bought her first book, BLINDSIGHTED, in paperback, for about a dollar including shipping. I didn’t care if the book sucked for a dollar.
The book arrived and I was not overly excited. I really had low expectations, but I also couldn’t wait to be able to say how the reviewer was wrong. The first chapter begins and we are introduced to Sarah Linton. She is the town pediatrician and county coroner as well. Sarah’s ex husband is the town sheriff and her family is also from this sleepy place called Grant County in South Georgia. Think Mayberry, only sleepier. The story begins with Sarah going through her daily drudgery of snotty kids and dopey parents. Sarah goes to meet her friends for lunch and finds one in the restroom eviscerated. The graphic description of the violence perpetrated on this woman had me cringing. I actually gasped, drawing in massive amounts of air, with my hand unconsciously drawn to cover my mouth. I was in love. I immediately ordered the second book and found out that Karin was doing a book signing 5 miles from my house for the book the aforementioned review was on.
I had finished the first 2 books and couldn’t wait to begin book number 3, A Faint Cold Fear. I left work a little early and drove to Chapter 11, a now defunct book chain in the Atlanta area. A sad side note, the book store filed Chapter 11 and closed down due to the onslaught of Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com. I arrived early (as I was taught to be on Lombardy time by my former employment at a pizza chain that rhymed with Momino’s) and walked around the smallish store, looking out the front door every time a car pulled into the parking lot. I guess I was expecting a limo or a Town Car with an entourage, but what I got was her pulling up in her own BMW SUV, parking right in front of the store and walking in with no pomp and circumstance at all. There was a tiny table with a few of her books stacked on it, but I was extremely disappointed that there wasn’t a red carpet, press with cameras or maybe even those ladies from Coming To America throwing rose petals at her feet. WHY DIDN’T PEOPLE KNOW WHAT I DID??? They soon would.
I waited as a few house fraus from Alpharetta walked up to her and got their books signed. I kept staring at her like a mental patient, listening intently to her interactions with the few others that, like me, got it. She eventually walked over to me and said, “Hi, I’m Karin. Would you like me to sign your book? ” I think I just nodded my head but soon began to speak…and I told her how I became familiar with her. I got to the point where I told #2 that I doubted any woman could write like the reviewer in the AJC described. She closed the book, unsigned, crossing her arms and said for me to continue. I went into the explanation about how when I read the first chapter of Blindsighted I knew that I was about to be taken on a roller coaster of excitement and I would cycle through every emotion possible. I told her how I ordered the second book online and even bought the first one in hardcover so I could have the entire set signed. She smiled at me and said I was lucky I brought it full circle, and she signed my books and thanked me for coming.
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| You can see she got all dressed up for the day. lol |
I took a picture with her that day on my Blackberry and I was hooked. I have been to her book signings every year (with the exception of the year I had just moved to Jacksonville and separated from #2) and will continue to as long as I am capable. #2 worked in a photo lab and printed the pictures I took so I could get her to sign these at the book signings each year. One year I was waiting in the front row of a larger group of readers, maybe 50 folding metal seats and a few people standing in the back. When Karin arrived she looked at me and saw my face, instantly registering that something was wrong. She stopped walking and asked me what was wrong. I said nothing while clutching a manila folder with the picture, that I had taken the previous year, for her to sign. She asks again and I just shake my head no,no,no, and she said she wasn’t going to continue till I told her what the problem was. I sheepishly said I thought that she was wearing the same shirt from the previous year, and a few people. I am sure my face was bright red as I don’t have a poker face. Then she told me to give it to her and she held out her hand. I slowly stood and handed her the folder. She opened it, and I turned toward the crowd, embarrassed that I had put my author hero/crush on blast. It turns out the shirt was not the same but very similar. Jump forward to the next year, she arrived and looked around for me before she walked to the front of a much bigger group, maybe 75 to a hundred people now. She locked eyes with me and showed me she was wearing a solid colored shirt. She walked to the front and before she even said hello, she told the crowd the story from the previous year and then told them I had ruined her for the entire year as she couldn’t wear the striped button down shirts she loved so much for fear of seeing me around town. How cool was that????
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| The striped duplicate shirt. |
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| The year after i “ruined” her fashion choices. |
I am going to stop here and continue in another blog. See you in a few.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
Time, Time ,Time,
see what’s become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities.
I was so hard to please.
Look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.
Don’t pretend it’s just me…..
• When you see a guy walking with his chest all puffed out, head held high, walking with a female at least one or two steps above him on the hotness scale and carrying a tray of food, you wish he would trip.
• When you see a girl with a summer length dress and high heels walk briskly past you and you pray for a giant breeze.
• When you see a woman with a lot of tattoos and piercings and you giggle thinking what she will look like as a grand mother, and trying to explain how it all started with an under the influence bet and then the addiction took hold.
• When you see someone filling their plate with a gigantic mound of salad like the mashed potato sculpture in Close Encounters, drowning it in Ranch dressing and salt and then thinking they are eating healthy. You know you want it; just get the bacon cheddar burger, dude.
• When you see the kids wearing the pants falling off their torso and the boxers pulled up high and they don’t know that it is an old prison signal for “I am a catcher and open to you sticking it in my rear.
• When you see a kid staring at you and their parent is otherwise engaged. I always want to stick my tongue out at them or jump like a am going to leap across the space between us and smack them and they cry.
• When you hear a guy talking to a girl and he is treating her like a greasy pizza box and you wish the girl had enough self respect to slap him and walk away or do an old school movie move and throw her drink in his face.
• When you see a crappy movie in the theatre and you feel like you are owed something like your money back, but we don’t feel the same way with a video rental or on-demand.
• When we feel totally justified with sneaking candy into the movie theatre but we make a face like someone sharted when we see the person in front of us pull out a Subway $5 Footlong out of their backpack as the lights are dimming.
• When you hear someone with a British accent we automatically assume intelligence and Orchestra music but when we hear a southern accent we assume ignorance and Country music. The exception is a Cockney accent like Sharon and Ozzy Osborn. Horrible.
• When you watch a movie like Scarface on the USA Network and it is edited to death we get mad, cursing at the television, but we cannot stop watching and waiting for the next horrible edit to happen so we can get mad at the poor word choice of the editor.
• When you hear a song by Adele or Alanis Morissette and you wish there was a girl that felt that way when you were no longer together but not so much that you are reminded of Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. Boiled rabbit stew anyone?
• When you work in an office and someone thinks themselves clever when they ask you if you got the memo about the cover sheets we are going to start putting on the TPS Reports and you want to staple their face with your red Swingline stapler.
• When you see someone with their tits sticking out so much you swear you see the beginnings of the nipple or pants/shorts so tight that they have camel toe and you can’t stop looking. Kind of like when they tell you not to look straight at a solar eclipse or someone beating their child in public, but you can’t stop staring…and they catch you.
When you no longer live in a place but have friends that still do, and they post on Facebook about some cool local event they are all attending and you are sitting in your boxers watching a Criminal Minds marathon, eating microwave popcorn and gummy bears while secretly hoping that the skies open up and there is a tremendous downpour on these people’s outdoor event that they would be perfectly happy if you were there with them, but you chose to move because you thought you had met “the one” for the 3rd time in your life but it turns out you were wrong AGAIN…WOW, I really need to work on my anger management issues. Love you my Jax friends. I swear this isn’t about you (even though it is totally about you. Lol).
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…
Eww eww eww eww Woman,
I can hardly express my mixed emotions and my thoughtlessness
After all, I’m forever in your debt.
After all, I’m forever in your debt.
And woman,
I will try to express my inner feelings and thankfulness
for showing me the meaning of success.
I will try to express my inner feelings and thankfulness
for showing me the meaning of success.
I had a revelation yesterday. I was talking to someone about the Buckle (seems when people hear I am not from the Buckle, they all make that face. You know the face. The one when you tell a friend your puppy died or have a communicable disease) and she asked me how I was meeting the women I have been dating. I admitted I was meeting them online and I was hit with a revelation. Women that are online dating are insane. Let me explain.
I see women get hit on all the time. I have mentioned that I have no ability to do this myself, but I see it daily. I flirt all the time, but coming right out and asking the person to do something with me, not gonna happen. I am too afraid of the look of terror in their eyes or the awkward lie that they are a (insert name for female lover). I prefer to imagine what would have been and think of her as the one that got away, rather than the one that I hate and wish was deceased or had a communicable disease. It is horrible to be my mind…but I digress.
I realized that good looking woman get hit on at least 4700 times a day. The “hit” may or may not culminate with a haphazard attempt to continue the adventure, but it happens. Women have the power in a dating situation. They have options. I am pretty sure if a hot woman just walked up to me in the Piggly Wiggly, or one of the 78 different dollar stores here in the Buckle, and made flirty, small talk and then asked me to go to Starbucks so we can get to know each other better, my answer would be yes. Yesyesyesyesyesyes. If a woman resorts to online dating it is because she is clinically insane or has no other options. She has lost all ability to integrate into normal society. She has to resort to the pond like the rest of us bottom feeders.
Also yesterday the 55 year old lady that butchered my haircut told me I needed to go to a dating website. She told me that you get what you pay for with online dating. She was a former smoker that had that wet cough and didn’t get the memo about coughing into your elbow. VAMPIRE COUGH, VAMPIRE COUGH. I also think she was hitting on me by telling me she took this job at the male oriented haircutting establishment to meet men. She then did a creepy laugh that culminated in her wet, hacky cough. Yummy. Do you think she had a point, though? Is it possible that with online dating you get what you pay for? Maybe I should join J-Date, Single Christians, Mormon Meetings, Cougar Life, E-Harmony, Zoosk, Match and Ashley Madison all at once. Sure, I won’t be able to pay my rent this month but I will give myself more options. (The sad part is I named all of those from memory and didn’t have to Google a thing. Pathetic)
I have resorted to asking people I meet at work to hook a brother up. They all say no problem but I have yet to get an introduction. I keep asking the same people; reminding them they are letting me down. I am so sad and depressing it makes me feel both saddened and depressed. I figure if I ask good looking women to help out they must all have dozens of smoking hot friends that are just chillin’ in the on-deck circle, waiting for me to sweep them off their feet. Come on baby girl, let’s go to the Monster Truck Show or eat at the Waffle House. Yee Haw!!!!! I think I will just focus on myself and my job for a while…til another Top Top Bottom girl comes along.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…
I’ve lied to you
The same way that I always do
This is the last smile
That I’ll fake for the sake of being with you
The same way that I always do
This is the last smile
That I’ll fake for the sake of being with you
(Everything falls apart, even the people who never frown eventually break down)
The sacrifice of hiding in a lie
(Everything has to end, you’ll soon find we’re out of time left to watch it all unwind)
The sacrifice is never knowing
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
To quote Gary “Baba Booey” Del’Abate, “My professional life is at like a 9, but my personal life is at like a 2”. Good times. I have had an amazing 2 months work wise. I taught to a couple hundred of my new co-workers and they were amazing. The reps were receptive and the classes went smooth. The managers couldn’t have been more complimentary. I got a great feeling from the classes face-to-face and I was pretty happy. I then took a weeks vacation in NYC (I am sure I will write about that soon…couple good stories) and returned to the class survey results forwarded to me from my boss. They were over-the-top awesome. I am glad to see that my personal delivery style does indeed play in the South. I can tell you I was more than a little worried about the manager feedback, but there was not a negative comment at all. So why am I not on cloud 9?????? I am still in the BUCKLE.
While in NYC I stole a fashion style from a co-worker named after a serial killer on Showtime. (I was gonna call him Captain Crunch…get it…Cereal, Serial…whatevershutupihateyou) He started to wear colorful socks every day. The sock color doesn’t go with the other clothes he wore and it became a conversation starter. I have not been known for my fashion sense…quite the opposite if I am being completely honest…and I though I would adopt this once he departed and I told him so. He liked the idea of me starting a wacky sock franchise and took me on a shopping spree to begin my collection. I bought over 20 pairs of socks to start and have added many more since then. I then threw all my old socks away. ALL OF THEM. I kept a few pairs of old white gym socks for when I wear shorts, but any other time I am wearing awesomely colorful, patterned, striped, purple, pink, bright red, orange or yellow socks. AND IT MAKES ME HAPPY. It also makes people in the Buckle angry.
I mentioned this fashion journey in an abbreviated version to one of my first classes, not one mentioned above, and I was told that it must be nice to “have it like that” to be able to throw away clothes. I also mentioned my disdain for a certain mass retailer named after the thing that holds up the roof on your house (figure it out people) and was told “some of us don’t have a choice” but to shop there, and I should be happy for the blessings I have been given in life. All I wanted to do was make them laugh. Good times indeed…but I digress.
As I am sure I have mentioned before, I am not one to care what people think. Of me, of themselves, of mostly anything really. If I have an opinion on an issue, it matters more than yours does. No matter whom you are, no matter what the subject, and no matter what my level of information is on that subject. It is just a fact and you should get over it if it hurts you to know this. I matter more than most. (insert raspberry tongue sound here) That being said (shout out to R.O. in Ohio…how’s the Bon Jovi belt sir?), I heard someone today mention my bright pink socks, and laughed, and it made me cringe a little. I actually don’t care for the person that made the comment one iota…I was just a tad shocked I cared at all. I left the room shortly after and sat trying to figure out why I was bothered. It didn’t take me long to figure it out…I am such a fish out of water here I am reacting to any negative press. I actually want people to like me????? What is happening to me? I need to get this whole “caring what others think” deal under control, PRONTO. I can’t have this seeping from RAM (short term memory) onto the hard drive. This just won’t do at all. No es bueno.
I am sure this sudden flash of emotion will pass and I will go back to being the only one that matters. Things are turning around for me here in the Buckle. I was told today I was sent here for a purpose and maybe the fire, from the excellent reception and feedback that I received, will push me to get back to being the best damn trainer that ever…ahh, trained??? LOL.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
[50 Cent]
I take you to the candy shop
I’ll let you lick the lollipop
Go ‘head girl, don’t you stop
Keep goin ’til you hit the spot (whoa)
[Olivia]
I’ll take you to the candy shop
Boy one taste of what I got
I’ll have you spending all you got
Keep going ’til you hit the spot (whoa)
I take you to the candy shop
I’ll let you lick the lollipop
Go ‘head girl, don’t you stop
Keep goin ’til you hit the spot (whoa)
[Olivia]
I’ll take you to the candy shop
Boy one taste of what I got
I’ll have you spending all you got
Keep going ’til you hit the spot (whoa)
So if you aren’t a “friend”, don’t read, or didn’t catch the post on my Facebook page, I stopped seeing the 50th woman since I separated from my ex-wife this past weekend. I have a lot of friends that have offered kind words, and I am in no way discounting all the amazing advice. I totally get that we all try on a bunch of shoes before we find the pair that is perfect. I get that I am an amazing person and a kind, giving soul with much to offer blahblahblah…(maybe that last one is a stretch). And that just like age, it is only a number. I am just a little stuck on the number. FIFTY FUCKING WOMEN!!!! In less than 3 years that is a super fucked up amount of failure. And please don’t waste your breath telling me not to look at it as failure. It is what it is.
Some of the “Filthy Fifty” were only the meet and greet interview that, because I am a. fat and b. not as smart as I think I am, usually involves a meal. Not a bowl of Rice Krispy’s or a light pastry. No, no, no, we are talking about lunch or dinner. Sometimes, because I am kind-hearted and don’t want to run for the hills and hurt a person’s feelings when they obviously have been deceptive and posted a picture from their twenties, I end up staying way too long. Maybe I need to be the prick some have accused me of in the past.
One person asked me if there were any commonalities between the FF. I said the only commonality was me, but in retrospect that isn’t completely true. For the most part all were met on one online dating site or another. I can hear many of you saying “ah ha”. There is the problem. You are “fishing” in a pond of crazy. You are the Shepherd of the Flock of Friggin’ Crazy. When are you going to learn that the internet is for two things…Porn and Howard Stern? So where am I supposed to meet someone? Bars? I don’t drink and they allow smoking in SC bars and EVERYONE here chain-smokes. (I don’t want to go off on my SC bashing rants I have been accused of again. I am merely stating facts) I am a big fan of live music, as long as it is good, but that has to be heard in a bar. A bar filled with smoke and the sad desperation that goes along with dozens of other people, most like myself, well past their sexual prime and couldn’t find a better place to be and hoping against hope to find a new set of hands to touch their genitalia. There is so much anticipation that this new person will know how to make our loins quiver like no one before them. It always ends up with me leaving red-eyed and stinky with a headache from all the smoke, and wishing I had those hours back to do anything else with. Good Times.
But Steve, what about asking a friend to introduce you to a lovely young lady? Wouldn’t that be helpful? Fuck yes it would, kind reader. That would be great if I knew anyone that knew anyone. The problem is I spend 45 hours at work on an average week. I am a corporate trainer so I have the gift of gab. In the training room I often joke that it isn’t Run’s House, it is Steve’s House. Outside of that room I am a pretty reserved guy, believe it or not. In my room I am king. I can talk about anything and to anyone. I am not affected by job titles, looks, money, status in life…anything. Take me out of that room and I am like veal. I just kind of sit there. More often than not people think I am mad about something. My face must be a total blank mess or maybe even worse, portray the inner-terror I am mostly feeling. Trust me; many of you have seen it, and it isn’t pretty. And I have shit where I eat a couple of times and it never ends up good, and often ends with me living in a state where I am the only person that gets that I am the coolest person on the face of the earth.
Ok Steve, what about walking up to a woman in the supermarket or in the mall? I have tried that and I suck at it. I will ask a stupid question about some random food product in the hopes some lovely shopper will decide I am the pale, portly man of her dreams and begin to fellate me in the produce section. What happens is I get the answer I already know, from a woman that has been hit on in every possible place on earth, and all she really wants to do is get her frozen Marie Callenders dinner and pint of Ben & Jerry Phish Food and sit in front of the TV and watch Leroy Jethro Gibbs smack Anthony DiNozzo in the back of his head and ponder what he would be like in bed, as she walks away thankful I can’t find the words for a follow-up question. WOW, that was an amazing run on sentence…hehehe. My follow-up is to accuse the same poor lady of stalking me as we pass each other on every other isle till she gets frustrated and decides to just go to 5 Guys Burgers and Fries and get the hell away from me.
Well what about going to a museum or an outdoor festival, Steve? Haven’t you told us you like those things? Absolutely I do. Two things; I am in Florence, SC so there are no museums and only one festival I have heard of for pecans. No shit, PECANS!!!! The second thing is I have even less game in a place surrounded by beautiful pieces of art that I do in the grocery store.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Paper back writer (paperback writer)
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It’s based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It’s based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.
I am an avid reader. Like most readers of popular fiction, I think that if I had the time to do it, I would be able to write an amazing novel; the next great American novel. Recently, I have been looking back and wondering where my reading addiction began.
My earliest memory of reading was being taken to the library on Bird Road as a child. (I also remember another library with a statue of a man named PINDER. That was my childhood name for fart and i loved that statue) I am not sure how old I was, just that I was young. (I love when people tell a story from their youth and say they remember their age specifically at the time. No you don’t, dummy) Many kids fantasized about dragons and swords, giant mazes where there was either a princess or a monster at the center of the maze. Others think about ninjas, or giant transforming robots, of being a race car driver on the circuit, or a teenager solving mysteries as you drive around the country in your green van with a scruffy beatnik, with his stupid beard and his amazing talking dog. I dreamt of all of those and more. I needed to.
Without going too deep into it, (but Steve, why change the way you operate now?) I had a need for escapism as a child, probably more than most. I found it anyway I could. I could probably write about my addiction to television and movies today and trace its roots back to these same escapism techniques I am referring to here. Kids picking on you, parents just don’t understand, can’t afford to do the things you want to do, the person you like thinks you smell funny, or you don’t wear the right clothes, boss doesn’t see how truly brilliant you are, or your (fill in the title of your current) significant other isn’t doing or saying the things you want; escape. Escape to a place where none of that matters.
I loved the library. I got to walk the isles of books towering above me in a seemingly never-ending labyrinth of awesomeness. I loved the catalog that had cards where you could look up books by category and author, and it gave you a code (anyone besides me remember the Dewey Decimal system?) to locate the book you were looking for. The codes were listed on the top of the shelf and then on each book. I remember there were book readings for kids, but I don’t remember sitting through one of those. I might be wrong, but I really wasn’t there for the spoken word. When I read, I hear it as a voice in my head. It isn’t my voice. It is the voice of the book. I wanted the book to read itself to me, not some lady that was using her voice to ruin my experience. Shut up, stupid. Lol.
I remember the stainless steel water fountains with their ice cold water and the shelf of newspapers on the hanging wooden stick held closed by a rubber band. I remember rack after rack of magazines enclosed in a plastic, clear covered binder type device that kept them safe and still allowed you to see the covers. I remember the micro fiche machines that you could use to look up old stories from magazines and newspapers from thousands of years ago. I remember the little card that was in the back of the book that they would take out and scan along with your library card to show who took what books. I remember the feeling of pride that I had my own library card in my own wallet. I remember the pressure to choose wisely what I wanted to read. I also remember the pressure to finish reading before the books had to be returned. At some point I stopped going to the library. I think most of us did. I wonder what it would be like to go again. Would I still get that tingle in my chest? Probably now, but who knows.
The first fiction novel I remember reading was either The Island or Wolfen. Both were movie novelizations of movies I wasn’t able to see and I couldn’t put either down, reading well into the night. I have fond memories of going to K-Mart (we didn’t have Wal-Mart or Target back in the day and I looked at going to a book store as a complete impossibility) and buying paperback books. K-Mart sold their books for below the cover price and I thought that would make it more possible to get management approval (my mom) for my frivolous purchase.
When it comes to reading a book series it started for me with Tarzan. I read every one of Edgar Rice Burrows’ Tarzan books dozens of times. I loved the art on the cover of Lord Greystoke in all his simian glory, usually engaged in battle with the nemesis of the week. I later switched gears and read The Man of Bronze, Doc Savage. Doc was, for me, the first superhero. The stories take place during the 40’s and he was surrounded by a band of men that would put Robin Hood’s stupid posse to shame. I later graduated to Robert B. Parker’s Spenser book series that led to the iconic 80’s TV series Spenser for Hire. I now read probably 10 different book series on a regular basis.
I still love the written word. I read almost exclusively on my iPad now, but I sometimes miss the feel of paper in my hands. I love that I can highlight a word some smarter-than-me author placed just to show that he has a vocabulary and have it defined for me. I love that I can click on a link that an e-book savvy author placed in their book now to take me outside the pages for additional story related information. I love that those reading a paper book have to get up and go to their pc and type it in to get the extras or ignore them completely. Hahahahahahaha, 2012 people.
I am looking to self-publish a short story sometime in the near future. It will probably only be available as an e-book, but I will also publish it here in my blog for those that do not have an e-reader. I don’t expect to make any money from it since I will probably put it out there as a free download. I just want to be able to search Amazon.com one day and find my name as an author. That will allow me to check a major bucket list item off. Wish me luck and be kind when you read it.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…
Just keep on breaking the rules
Come on, get ready to rule
Tough breaks in the neighbourhood
A hard case who’s up to no good
Living like trash, a society rash
Ready to break, and ready to dash
A bad deal and a real rough ride
You’re doing time on the other side
Come on, get ready to rule
Tough breaks in the neighbourhood
A hard case who’s up to no good
Living like trash, a society rash
Ready to break, and ready to dash
A bad deal and a real rough ride
You’re doing time on the other side
I have noticed lately that the “Guy Rules” need to be updated. This has nothing to do with South Carolina or me bashing people here…these rules that, unfortunately most are not following, are universal in nature. I am sure that some relate to woman as well, but I am gearing this towards the gentleman in my audience. These are in no particular order and will probably jump all over the place. It’s time to step it up guys and bring our A game.
· It is only acceptable to double dip when you are the only one eating. It doesn’t matter if you are alone in the room and no one can see you. It doesn’t matter if you are blocking the view of others or you think no one can see. It is just wrong. STOP IT!!!!!!
· Pull up your pants. Seriously. No one wants to see your boxers. They are underwear and by virtue of the name alone should be UNDER!! And if you are walking or running and you have to hold your pants from falling down, I am not talking pull them up because they are drooping, get a belt. STOP IT!!!!!!
· We all voted and carpenter jeans are done. You only need a loop to hold a hammer if you are building a house. If you are not working on Habitat for Humanity or doing a demo for Craftsman, don’t buy carpenter jeans. STOP IT!!!!!!
· If you are not in the UFC, and you aren’t, stop wearing Tap Out or Affliction shirts. If you want to wear the shirt you should have to get in the Octagon. STOP IT!!!!!!
· No more Ed Hardy. The dragon that starts at your neck and continues to your pants leg is a hot mess. STOP IT!!!!!!
· When you come into the restroom and there are 3 urinals, don’t go to the middle one. Pick a side so I don’t have to stand right next to you if I come in. And it I am in there, on one side or the other, don’t come up and stand next to me. Leave a buffer. STOP IT!!!!!!
· A few other restroom related rules: Pee in the toilet or the urinal, not the floor. Also you are wrong that it is ok to fart next to me just because we are in the restroom. Lastly, it’s called a mercy flush. Use it for the mercy of others. Don’t be a disgusting asshole your whole life. STOP IT!!!!!!
· Stop calling it a Man Cave. It is a sweat lodge with a flat screen and a chicken wing sauce stained old couch. It is the place where all the things you used to be able to have in you apartment before you got married go to die. STOP IT!!!!!!
· Don’t carve the logo for a sports team or a comic book superhero in your hair. Be a fan of whatever you want, just respect the rest of us and the woman next to you. STOP IT!!!!!
· Don’t try to be a bad boy because you think that is what woman wants. They should really be happy you are not a bad boy. Ask any female and if they are being honest they will say they want the bad boy till they get the bad boy. They always wonder why they get cheated on by the bad boy. And if you meet the person you are with by cheating with them, don’t be shocked when they cheat on you later. STOP IT!!!!!
· When it comes to sex, guys, it isn’t the one that doesn’t have to get up to get the wash cloth that is the winner. It is the one that GET’S TO PUT HIS PENIS INSIDE A WOMAN that wins you dumb asshole. And get up and take a fucking shower you nasty bastard! Lastly manscaping has gone too far. My editor asked me to add that she would rather have hair then stubble burn on her face from your poorly maintained nether region. STOP IT!!!!!
· Don’t be the guy on the new AT&T commercial that lies to the woman at the speed dating thing. If you only want to hook up, tell her. 9 out of 10 will tell you to pound dirt. The 10thwill let you pound her. Be honest. Lying cheapens the brand for all of us. STOP IT!!!!!
I will stop for now and give us guys a break. Feel free to message me a guy rule I might need to add or a girl rule that I can use when I start their list next week. Lastly, I have changed the format a little with adding a few links and only using one song. Let me know what you think. I am not married to anything and love to mix it up.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Hey Jude, don’t make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
Hey Jude, don’t be afraid
You were made to go out and get her
The minute you let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better
And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain
Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders
For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool
Earlier this year I published a blog about my dad. Many people commented that it was one of the best I have put out (not funniest…that distinction goes to Ho Knee). It was very introspective and cast a light, for me anyway, on some of the choices I have made in my life. Why I react the way I do about certain things. I guess it is only fair I give the same chance to my mom on Mother’s Day.
As with my father, I have things I wish I had said to my mother before she left this mortal coil. I wish I could tell her how it felt to see her kowtow to a man that treated her, and her children, like we didn’t matter. I wish I could tell her how it felt when she curled up in a ball for a period of time, and my sister (name redacted) raised us. I wish I could tell her what it felt like to be told my whole life that I am just like my father. The same father that left and married the woman he cheated on my mother (and us) with; the same father that cheated on that woman with another. Younger and younger. I wish I could tell her the empty feeling I get every time I see a butterfly (she loved them so much). When I am asked my “lucky number” and I use 8, which was hers, because I don’t have one of my own. I wish I could tell her that she didn’t need to be sad anymore. That 2 out of 4 “making it” in life was better than most families got. I wish I could tell her that I cry when I see a rainbow because I think she made it for me. And like with my father, I wish I knew how she felt about her son that grew to be a corporate trainer for the largest bank in the US.
Below are just a few of my Mother/Son memories. Please take them with a grain of salt and don’t judge either of us too harshly. These are also the stories as I remember them and if you are reading this and remember it differently, my bad!!
· When I was in middle school my mother went to my father, who had left a few years earlier, and told him he needed to take me and my sister to live with him. Not because we were unruly, although my sister would fall in that category, but because her new husband was dying. She said he had only a year to live and she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. I was sent to live with him and my new stepmother right away. The same one I heard called DRAGON LADY, since she destroyed our family, according to my mother. I slept on their couch for months while my sister stayed at our grandmother’s. I won’t go into the graphic details, suffice it to say it was unpleasant.
· I remember when I was in elementary school, my mom would sometimes bring me lunch from the 7-11. I remember standing outside the cafeteria waiting for her to pull up with my lunch. I remember a few times that my class was done with lunch and I still hadn’t seen my mom. I thought it was the coolest thing in the world that I got to have chips, cookies and soda for lunch, while other kids had to eat the stupid hot food that was all nutritious, and then had to have milk. MILK!!!! Suckers. Hahahahahahaha.
· I remember the time my mom sent me and my sister to visit with my oldest stepsister. I won’t go into the graphic details, suffice it to say it was unpleasant and one of the worst judgment calls in the history of the planet. Something I am still talking about on a couch to this day. Nuff Said.
· I remember the time my mom let my teenaged sister move her boyfriend into our house. He was probably ten years older than my sister and worked as a bag boy at Publix. It is good to be driven and have goals in one’s life, I guess. Not too long after, a friend of his came to live with us as well, and I had to share my room with him. Bunk beds with a grown man. Good Times!!! The boyfriend was later accused of trying to have sex with my mom and both he and his friend were made to leave. Shortly after that, I was moved to the garage so my stepfather’s nephew and his 2 kids could move in my room. The garage was not converted into a bed room. There was no paneling or air conditioning added. There was no carpet or even a bed. I slept on a couch on my side because it was too narrow for me to lay flat on.
· I remember my stepfather telling us all he was a war hero. He was in Vietnam and carried his whole troop out of a firefight one at a time, while his foot was blown off and hanging by a thread. Many years later, I saw the movie Forrest Gump and saw almost the same exact scene played out on the big screen. I am not saying he read the book as 1) I don’t know if the book was out yet and 2) I am not 100% sure he could read at all. I am saying that his stories were the things of childhood dreams. I have never met an adult that lived in more of a fantasy world than this man.
· I remember taking her to the movies a few weeks before she passed away. I don’t remember the name of the movie. I just remember the look in her eyes to be out of the house. She was on oxygen by then and, unlike now; it was not a common sight to see someone with oxygen walking around. We also didn’t have 200 pound toddlers, but who am I to judge. I remember her begging me to buy her a pack of cigarettes. She knew she was dying; we all did. She looked me in the eyes and said she deserved to be happy and Benson & Hedges Menthol Lights were what was going to make her happy. I bought her the smokes and she hid them somewhere to sneak them past the warden…my sister.
· I remember that my mom diagnosed herself with Scleroderma, the disease that eventually took her from us. She read an article in The National Enquirer about it and took it to her doctor. As far back as I can remember my mom was not healthy. She was always saying this or that hurt. I think her doctor thought she was a hypochondriac, but she was dying slowly. It must have been horrible for her to go through all she endured alone, til the end when my sister took over caring for our mom. You are a saint (name redacted). I know sometimes I see her as she was in the end, when I close my eyes, and I was only there on the weekends. I can only imagine what you see when the lights are off and the kids are asleep. You inspire me to be a better person… till you do something stupid and then I laugh at you till my side hurts. LOL. I love you more than words can express ‘Berta (Not her real name). I wish you nothing but the best.
· I remember when I introduced her to ex wife #1. She talked to me for the first time like I was an adult. She told me I was rushing into something that was not love and I would regret it later. She told me that #1 was a nice person but not the person I thought she was. She said that I should continue to live in sin and see that she was right. I remember being so mad at her that day. How dare she decide that now she was going to be a parent to me? She didn’t know anything. She was on her third husband and she was clearly the most unhappiest person on the planet. She had no idea who I was or what I needed to be a man. I WAS a man. I didn’t need her permission, or her blessing, to take a bride. This was not the 1700’s where the family decided things like this. I would show her. I wish I had a DeLorean that I could get up to 88 miles per hour, and a flux capacitor to…ahhh flux to take me “Back To The Future” so I could make the right choice. Stupid Marty McFly. More like stupid Steve Rogers.
· I remember the day she passed away. I was taking my nephew to an exhibit at the local museum that illustrated how superpowers worked (i.e.X-ray vision, bullet proof armor, laser guns, etc). He and I were, and still are, geeks to the Nth degree. I took him to his first Star Trek convention (I am sure he doesn’t remember it because he was so young) and just last week he was on his second trip to Japan to continue to live out his geek dreams. I got the page (this was before cell phones) and it had the phone number and the 911 repeated a few times. I remember him looking at me and asking if it was “Gram”. I told him I was pretty sure it was and pulled over to call. I was told it would be any second and that if I wanted to see her before she passed, I needed to hurry. I hung up and bought a soda and a bag chips and went outside to my truck. He looked at me and knew. We sat and ate the chips and shared the soda. I eventually looked at him and asked if he was ready to go. He dried his eyes and said he was. We got there after she had passed and the rest is history. That was the worst day of my life (so far) and I wouldn’t change a thing about it. I spoke with her before we left and she was so happy I was taking (name redacted) to the museum because she knew how much we both were looking forward to it. I would almost say she would be mad at me for not taking him that day. We went a few weeks later and it was one of the best days of my life. One of the top 10 to be sure.
Being the complete opposite from my father, you said you were sorry for everything, including things you couldn’t have possibly had anything to do with. You were as flawed as they come. You were also as perfect as they come. I think about you often (not enough, but absolutely not just on Mother’s Day), and I wish I could see your smile one more time. I see you when I smile and I see you when I cry. I drive past a tire store and, without even thinking about it, I look for your POS car of the week. I miss your spaghetti sauce and dish water icing cake. I miss forgotten cookies and the Youth Fair. I miss being your son and I miss your arms around me. I will always love you Mrs. Farlow Pitts Cole Psalto.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
When I started this little journey early last year I decided that once a post went up I would not go back and make changes to it. ANY changes. I would not correct spelling. I would not fix the font or color issues (thanks Coupon). I would not remove things if the offended or hurt people. This was written mostly for me and if you didn’t like it, Vamoose… What I wrote is what I felt at the time. It may have changed two seconds later. I may have forgiven you your trespasses or transgressions or I might not have. But this was what it was. I wonder if I should stop that.
I have made a few people angry in my time on your planet (shout out to all the exes who hate me now). I always said I didn’t care what people thought about me. That I “am what I am” and shouldn’t have to apologize for anything I say or do. That I didn’t say anything or do anything, go anywhere or be seen with anyone I would want others to know about. I have been amazingly honest in my writings, often to the point of personal embarrassment. I am not sure this was my best idea ever. Pretty sure it is the exact opposite. I might have been better off writing a blog about my love of butterflies or passion for sugary, kids’ cereals. It is hard to offend someone by saying that Captain Crunch cuts the roof of your mouth and maybe it shouldn’t be so crunchy…unless you are the CEO of Quaker Oats Company, in which case I apologize.
If I have offended you I probably didn’t mean it. Probably. I know there are a few things that I wrote with one or two specific readers in mind and I had a desired response in mind. I wrote about drama and I had 2 specific people in mind and I wanted them to hear me. I wrote about Coupon and I needed her to hear me. I wrote about TTB and I hope she didn’t hear me. But there are a few things I wrote and I offended people that were not the intended target. My bad!
Well the years start coming and they don’t stop coming
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running
Didn’t make sense not to live for fun
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb
So much to do so much to see
So what’s wrong with taking the back streets
You’ll never know if you don’t go
You’ll never shine if you don’t glow…
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running
Didn’t make sense not to live for fun
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb
So much to do so much to see
So what’s wrong with taking the back streets
You’ll never know if you don’t go
You’ll never shine if you don’t glow…
“What’s the deal with exes? I mean, hey. Why don’t they just go away? I mean, didn’t we break up? WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? And how about that airplane food? (As I channel my inner-Seinfeld)”.
But seriously, what is the deal? Maybe I am in a unique situation because I am in close (way too close actually) proximity to one of mine, but please….for the love of (fill in the deity of your personal belief system here), leave us alone!!! I think maybe when someone is deleted from your Facebook and phone contacts they should be forbidden from any further contact what so ever. Can I get a witness?
I have exes in many places now (none in Texas New York
Along those lines I find myself not being able to take a hint when it strikes me in the head like the baseball bat in The Untouchables (one of the best movies of all time if you ask my opinion, and you didn’t). As I might have mentioned here once or twice, I have been one or two internet dates. Ok, I have mentioned it dozens of times and I have been on dozens of dates. Don’t judge me!!! I belong to a free website now because I decided if the level of crazy is the same, why should I pay $120 for 6 months to be “matched”? As a male you are expected to be the initiator of contact. Another reason it is awesome to be a guy. You get to pay for the food/drinks/movie/coffee/concert/hotel room/whatever once you are deemed worthy. Herein lies the rub…
I consider myself a pretty creative person. I am astute and can craft a semi-witty email. I actually take the time to read a perspective flock members profile before I reply and I make reference to things that seemed important, if only important to them. It isn’t easy I assure you. Sometimes the profile is as simple as “I never know what to write in these things (a scary thought that this simpleton is either pluralizing a singular event or they are dumbfounded across multiple venues) but this thing says I have to write about myself”. There is also the ever popular “I am looking for an honest person” or “I want someone that is drama free”. Another favorite is “if you are just looking to hook-up, keep moving”. Last night I actually saw a profile where the genius just entered exclamation points (!) to fill in the necessary number of characters to allow their profile to be posted ostensibly to be replaced with actual information later when more time is available. I guess they need to get their profile of exclamation points up there for all prospective fishermen to see immediately. All I can say is WOW.
Where do I begin to rant on this?
- · If you don’t know what to write, then don’t. Walk away and go to a bar and kill a few more brain cells.
- · If we weren’t going to be honest with you we certainly aren’t going to tell you up front.
- · No one is drama free. Sorry. And if you found someone that was 100% drama free, they would be a horribly boring person. Drama makes the world go around. Ask for a small percentage of drama, but none? Not gonna happen.
- · The next one is separated by gender.
o LADIES. If we were just looking to hook-up, and you wrote this, we certainly aren’t going to tell you up front. I have heard from woman that guys will actually come right out and say this.
o GUYS. This is not a good look at all. It cheapens the brand. Stop it.
- · Keep moving is a misnomer of sorts. We are all sitting at an internet connected device of some form or another. We are not actually on pond fishing. Dummy.
- · Lastly…if I took the time to write the least you can do it write back and say you are not interested. It is common courtesy.
I will close with a few things that are on my mind. Nothing to do with the above rant or anything else even remotely connected.
Random Brain Droppings (stolen from George Carlin)
1. A couple years ago I posted on Facebook that I was in Target and realized I could buy anything in the entire store, pay for it with cash and not be impacted. I moved to SC last year (sort of anyway) and that went away. I could now do the same thing at almost any retailer, yet I remain a cheapo. I go to Target to get cereal because it is the cheapest place. I go to Stein Mart for work clothes because I can still get Nautica dress shirts, but they are $22 rather than $55 anywhere else. I also still sneak candy into the movie because it is crazy expensive there. As cheap as I am I am still taking dates to expensive restaurants because I like to eat good food. Strange.
2. I want Siri on my phone just to be able to have my phone call me Steve Rogers.
3. I think I am more excited about The Avengers than I am for The Dark Knight Returns. I have seen Batman in many forms (even one that was shorter that Vicky Vale when they danced) but I have never seen Earths Mightiest Mortals.
4. I, I, I, I…want the knife. Plleeeeeeaseeee? (I love you if you got the reference without Google. Hate you a little bit if you didn’t.
5. I have never seen one episode of America’s Got Talent but I will watch now with Howard Stern as a judge. Give it a try. He is America
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it……
Ok…I don’t know who reads down this far but if you have I need you to do me a favor. Go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3pTFFHzgOkand laugh your ass off. This kid is fucking funny as hell.
When it began, I can’t begin to know when
But then I know it’s growing strong
Oh, wasn’t the spring, whooo
And spring became the summer
Who’d believe you’d come along
Hands, touching hands, reaching out
Touching me, touching you
Oh, Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
I’ve been inclined to believe it never would…
So I now live in South Carolina
I lived in Atlanta South Carolina Florence Jacksonville Jacksonville Florence , South Carolina
On one of my visits here during my stay in New York Florence
I recently taught a class at work about service excellence. I always use Wal-Mart as an example of how not to provide service of any kind. This is a common example and I have never had someone object before. I got more than a few objections here. I was told that I just didn’t understand the South. When I informed the commenter that I was from Miami
As far as meeting people, there is not very much as far as social outlets. There is no Meetup group within an hours’ drive. I actually thought about starting a singles group here, but I hope to not be here long enough to use the yearly membership fee. Oh, did I mention that everyone here smokes. EVERYONE!!!!. Ok, maybe not everyone but there are enough at my work that do that they have 15 picnic tables outside to create a smoking area…and there are times when there is standing room only. YEEHAW!!!
My one friend here is the manager of a local band and he invited me to the first appearance after he took over the management of the band. It was at a “members only” club that is set up that way to allow for indoor smoking. I wasn’t able to sit through the entire set because it hurt my lungs to be in there. Granted, I was on the tail end of bronchitis, but I can’t imagine it would have been much better if I was 100%. I am sorry I couldn’t stay GG (you are now Gun Guy by the way) and I look forward to seeing them at a non-smoking venue in the near future. Shout out to Fallen Child. I love live music and if you have an opportunity to see these guys, check them out. They are raw and new, but very solid. Good luck GG. You need to get them back on stage. Maybe try to get the opener, T.J. Love under your management as well. He was really good too.
Ok, here is a reason for those in Florence to hate me…A Florence 10 is a Jacksonville or Atlanta 6 and a New York 5. There. How You Like Me Now, Bitches??? Let the hate begin. Love Ya.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it….
Still have not received any video links from my followers to attach (and maybe I don’t need them since I don’t think anyone even clicks on these) so here is a live and acoustic performance of My Immortal by Evanescence. Enjoy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_mdnDaweVw&feature=related
Whatis that old saying about grass and its color?
“Never mind
I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
Don’t forget me I beg
I remember you said
‘Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead.’
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead,
Yeah. ”
I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
Don’t forget me I beg
I remember you said
‘Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead.’
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead,
Yeah. ”
I am going to make going to write about some of the ladies I have dated in this little ditty of mine today. If you are offended, fuck off. I mean that in the nicest possible way I assure you. Maybe I should say procreate with yourself in another place? Better? Good, now that they are diddling themselves in the other room I can begin.
I have been married two times. I won’t call them failed relationships…let’s just say I didn’t complete the vow I took to Love, Honor and Obey till Death Do Us Part. Since #2 and I parted ways I have been in a series of relationships that I won’t call failures. Let’s call them unsuccessful couplings of people on the journey of life. Some lasted longer than others. Days, weeks, months, some as short as hours. Some ended by my choice while others were cut short by the other in the “relationship”. Some I am glad ended and others still sting a little when I am being 100% honest. Regrets? I’ve had a few. But the grass was not greener.
I will list a few of the ones I can remember in no particular order. If you are reading this and we went out and you feel slighted because I left you out please return to the first paragraph and follow the direction there. We will miss you….NOT!!!! Actually if you are not listed it is because 1) I am forgetful 2) I chose to exclude you for you own sake 3) I didn’t think people would laugh at you like I want them to or I simply don’t care enough about you ti immortalize you in my ramblings. Pick one and move on with your life. It isn’t that important. Well, maybe it is, but too bad.
· There was one lady who was too tan. She looked like cured leather and all she talked about was more tanning and Adam Sandler.
· There was the lady that was mad at me because after 2 hour of sitting across the table from me I had yet to look at her boobs. (I looked but didn’t get caught…hehe) She stopped me mid sentence and told me she was getting really pissed because I hadn’t looked yet. I kept eye contact the entire time she was chastising me. She pulled her shirt tighter and down exposing her ample cleavage and told me to look. I obliged her for about 3 seconds, looked back into her eyes and told her they were very nice. She told me I was wrong and that they were amazing, but she would take very nice for now. I did get to see them and more later that afternoon and they were pretty amazing. I never saw her after that afternoon…much to my dismay…and I still don’t know why.
· There was the lady that looked like Peter Brady in a turtle neck shirt and long sleeve shirt in the summer on the beach. A long story and I think I have told it a million times. If enough ask for it I might actually put it down on paper (sort of) and get my first POF.COM experience out there for your enjoyment.
· There was the lady that saw dead people. I shit you not. This isn’t even why we stopped before it really got started, but that is a story I am not ready to tell yet.
· There was the Top Top Bottom lady. She was into being smacked so hard on her boobs it left bruises and the TTB reference is to her smacking me on my member…at the top twice and then once at the bottom. The top was scary, but not without its perverse pleasures. The bottom took my breath away and almost made me raise a hand to a lady.
· There was the lady (almost girl) that was my first after I separated from #2. She was 18 and had a kid that was almost 3 years old. For those of you making “that” face right now I didn’t pursue her…not that that makes it any better. I have not talked much about this but looking back it was not one of my finer moments.
· There was the lady that took waterless showers, refused to let her kids use straws, had a “Coupon” for everything and once told me she had a class of, and I quote, “retarded kids” that day. We had a long talk about how that word may have a clinical definition, but was still not socially acceptable.
· There was the lady that (because I agreed never to write about her I will leave this whole section blank…..and if you think this section is about you, it is).
· There was the lady that made me watch not one but 2 Tyler Perry movies because I “just don’t get how amazing his movies are”. If she didn’t have a world class ass I would have left before the DVD could be removed from the case. Never saw it sans-clothing, but it was a solid little muffin of happiness.
· There was the lady that, no matter what we had done earlier that night, would wake up at 2AM on the dot and tell me it was time to “take care of her”. She is also the one that taught me the 2 Finger Cul-De-Sac Technique, so those out there that have benefited from her training..Shout out to 2AM . WHAT WHAT????? (Google it and wish you could do it as good as I can)
· There was the lady that was a fitness model. She is still listed on Model Mayhem and no I wont tell you name…(unless you ask nicely), but I assure you she is real and was really hot even though her modeling ended a good 10 years before we met. If The Bruin or Bronx is reading this they saw her pictures. As Howard Stern would say…ewwwfahhhhhh.
· There was the lady that spoke with such a strong Spanish accent I couldn’t understand everything she said…and couldn’t care one bit. Never saw her naked either but I look at her Facebook pictures every once in a while and think about her calling me Papi.
· There was the lady that sat across from me and made fun of my faded orange shirt for about 15 minutes once I opened the door by mentioning how I was not really fond of it. Hope you enjoyed the most expensive meal anyone will ever buy you, byotch. And your book is not popular fiction, it is vampire porn.
· There was the one that was oblivious to the fact that the waiter came to our table about 75 times and stared down her shirt the entire time. She drank a bit more than I am use to but if you are reading this…Holla at ya boy. I want another shot…body shot.
· There was the lady I kept telling to try my meatloaf at dinner that raised her voice to tell me she was “HINDI, you dumb ass”. Guess who has 2 thumbs didn’t get a good night kiss after eating what might have been one of her relatives reincarnated? This Guy. Lol
· There was the lady that was a naughty nurse and broke me to pieces after only a few months. I was fragile to begin with, but that one hurt too much to make jokes about. She isn’t reading this so I will say aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa This section was written this small and not single striked through, but double striked through. I probably should remove it, but I am going to wait for an opinion or two. I then redacted the entire statement, but I wrote it and did it so I know what was there and you don’t…(Insert the sound of a raspberry fart noise here).
I think I will stop since it is time for The Voice and my lady parts are itching for Adam Levine. Don’t judge me…that is a pretty motha fucka. I might add to this list later or I might not. I also might delete this entire, ill conceived post. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
PS…I am posting this without a proofreader. If there are errors…ahhhh. I did it on purpose, yeah, that’s the ticket.
I love this song a lot. I hope you enjoy it as well. Eminem Love The Way You Lie ft. Rihanna
“It’s not easy love, but you’ve got friends you can trust,
Friends will be friends,
When you’re in need of love they give you care and attention,
Friends will be friends,
When you’re through with life and all hope is lost,
Hold out your hand cos friends will be friends right till the end”
Friends will be friends,
When you’re in need of love they give you care and attention,
Friends will be friends,
When you’re through with life and all hope is lost,
Hold out your hand cos friends will be friends right till the end”
I don’t make friends easily. Many people have called themselves my friend over the years, but for me, a friend is someone I would take a bullet for. If you are reading this, and don’t know I would take a bullet for you, I wouldn’t, and therefore, you are an acquaintance. Nothing personal. Get over yourself. This is not a reflection on you in any way. If you are family, and there are so few of you, in the immortal words of his Purpleness Prince, “I would Die 4 U”. You are in a separate category. (Even Rob and Mary after the Brooklyn Cheesecake Incident)
There are 4 positions filled currently. I am not holding auditions for another spot currently. I am sure you are crushed. Lol. (And yes I actually laughed out loud.) I will say that one position is on hold and has, in the past been filled by (fill in the name of ex-wife # 1 or #2), but I am not currently holding auditions for that position either. (And no, a flock member doesn’t get that status. It is earned, but bestowed.) While there have been many flock members, there have, to date, only been 2 promoted (or demoted if you were to ask them now). I’m not planning on any future promotions, but never say never??????
Let me list the 4 in no particular order. I am going to have to create nicknames for 3 of them as I don’t think I have spoken about them here before.
· THE BRUIN…This guy started out as, maybe one of the biggest punks I have ever met. He was 17 when I met him and he was working for me at the video (former) giant with the torn ticket as their logo. He was in high school and was everything I was not at that age. He was popular, had a car, lots of friends and a girl friend that worshipped the ground he walked on. He walked all over her and she still loved him completely. One story that jumps to the top is one day he came in looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks. I mentioned this to him and he looked me right in the eye and said, “Well I was up fucking your mother all night long”, I told him my mother was dead and, without bre4aking eye contact he said that explained a lot about her just laying there. I wanted to kill him but I honestly laughed so hard a little pee came out. At some point he stopped being a kid and became my assistant manager. He grew quickly and was like a sponge when it came to learning business basics. He was promoted to manager in short order (I wish I could take credit for this but I am not THAT pompous.) He really was an amazing manager and made me raise my game to keep up on a daily basis. I left the company and he stayed a little longer, but soon out grew the company and switched his focus to the pet industry, something he was, and still is, passionate about. Ask him about salt water fish tanks and stand back. He now lives in Mass and I giggle like a school girl when calls things “wicked cool”, but this boy has become a man I respect. He wears many hats now. Father and boy friend. Son and brother. Manager and co-worker. And while we drifted apart here and there (thanks for missing my wedding sir!!! Maybe you knew something I didn’t), but to this day I would catch a plane on no notice if he needed me and I have no doubt he would do the same. We play phone tag and often leave expletive laden messages on each others phones, more often than not referring to each other as “my former best friend”, but I would step in front of a bullet for him. Love you sir.
· Bronx started out as a co-worker as did all the chosen 4, but I am pretty sure he didn’t like me at the start. We worked for the former pizza giant that had a 30 minute guarantee, and while I learned mostly everything I know about management from my time there, the best thing I ever learned was that Bronx is the best of us all. He is the one that will be silent when he should listen and speaks when you most need it. I know I have added to his life as well. I introduced him to Robert B. Parker and the joys of reading. I was like Nino Brown…the first one was free. The addiction it created has been costing him since then. (I have a goofy grin on my face as I write this because he will appreciate the New Jack City Bronx is the opposite. He doesn’t need you for anything. He is a fully self contained unit. A few years ago he was diagnosed with a serious medical condition. I heard about after he was hospitalized and most over the situation. He had a near fatal car crash after that and it was the same thing. He described it as “no big deal’. Master of the understatement, he has been living with the repercussions of the accident daily since then. When I need advice I call him and have been known to refer to him as YODA. He knows a lot about me and often will share only what he thinks I need at the time and never more than he thinks I can deal with. He and I have had our moments of distance as well and when I left the pizza company, I think it was over a year we didn’t speak. When I saw him I said something stupid to him and he turned around and walked away for another 6 months or so. When he was ready, we never spoke of either incident. He is like that. He also almost shot me one time with a Berretta 9mm, but that is his story to tell. I would step in front of a bullet for him. Love you sir.
· Hippie is the first female in the group and marks a change in my ability to meet a beautiful female and not picture her sans clothes. The first time I met her she was being introduced to me by our manager when she started working for the bank I am currently employed with. He gave me a brief description of her and said she would be joining our team. I asked where she came from before this, obviously meaning her training/management experience. She asked matter of factly, “You mean like today”? If that sounds like she is upidstey, you have never met her and that is your loss. She is my training inspiration. In any given training situation I often ask myself “What would (name removed by blog policy) do”? I often am not capable of doing what she would do because I am a man and have limited brain capabilities, but I strive for herness (that’s right. I created a word). When she was pregnant and we were walking up the stairs she asked me if her butt was getting big. I told her no, not that I was looking. She told me it was my responsibility to tell her if it ever did. She also told me the rule was “cute first” when I questioned the shoes she was wearing and why woman wore, what in my mind look like torture devices. She listened to me cry over Papi’s Caribbean food when I decided I was leaving #2 and told me that the teenager I saw right after was a huge mistake. She said I deserved better than both were willing to give and that, no matter how I felt at the time, I was a great person that should value myself higher than I did. She was correct on all counts, yet I still struggle with this to this day. I will end with Hippie by saying her husband is the perfect man for her. He is bigger than life, but I would say he personifies the term Gentle Giant. He is an amazing person and I no longer weep for the future of society since they have procreated and their son will one day run this place. I would step in front of a bullet for her. Love you Madame.
· The latest entry is CBP. She will probably be shocked (or maybe not, since she is way smarter than most I have met) to see herself included in this list, but she shouldn’t be. I met her in November and I already know she will be a lifelong friend. We have shared more tear filled conversations that I ever did with both wives and the above 3 combined. I am sure at times I am a burden to her, but she would never tell me. She is a constant sounding board for me. Her unwavering confidence, both personal and professionally is something I envy in her and strive to add to my personal arsenal. She has become my New York
I am sure I will get an email from at least one person slashing me for saying they are not a “friend”. Please understand I am not judging you lacking, I am judging me not worthy.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
In light of the recent release of their new album here is a link to an acoustic Van Halen set. Enjoy. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKkh9bgeo0g
“Start spreadin’ the news, I’m leavin’ today
I want to be a part of it, New York, New York
These vagabond shoes are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it, New York, New York
I wanna wake up in a city that doesn’t sleep
And find I’m king of the hill, top of the heap
These little town blues are melting away
I’ll make a brand new start of it, in old New York
If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere
It’s up to you, New York, New York”
I have been in New York for almost 6 months. As I have said before, I was supposed to be here 2 weeks, it just grew from there. I was not sure how I would feel about being here in the beginning. I am from Miami, lived in Atlanta for 10ish years and then moved to Jacksonville for a tad over one year. This place has a reputation for not being the friendliest of places. I will say that I have not found that to be the case.
Oh, sure there have been instances. I had a woman tell me to procreate with myself one day. She was a beautiful brunette (are there any other find…lol) walking towards me in the financial district one day after work. She has a thigh length coat unbuttoned and she wore a beautiful dress of a color that I don’t remember anymore. I do remember she was beautiful and had a sick body. I also remember she had a face like she ate a bag of lemons. As I watched her I saw she was doing the typical downward gazing speed walk many Gothamites have adopted and she was about to walk straight into me. I stop walking and she stops directly in front of me a few seconds later. She looked up at me and I said she should smile. I told her it was a beautiful day and I hoped she had a better day. She told me to make love to myself and walked around me…in other words I assure you. Not exactly how I pictured it going in my head I assure you. I thought she would smile at me and then we would fall madly in love, marry and have 2.5 kids. The would have been beautiful from her and fat and smart from me. Oh well, probably better the Cole genetics die with me.
I have mentioned that I believe my time here in Gotham is drawing to an end. I have been avoiding that at all costs. I relocated to South Carolina one day before I arrived in New York. I have no apartment. I have no favorite restaurant. I don’t know where I can go and watch the UFC fights for free. I don’t even have a desk in the site where I work. (They are supposed to build one for me but the site is over capacity and real estate is going for a premium.) I have no idea where I can be after the street lights come on and where I should avoid at all costs. I would say that Florence is a total stranger to me and I really am uninterested in knowing more about her. I am just being honest. I chose SC for the same reason I make many of my mistakes in life…a woman.
This past weekend I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. I am not sure if you have done it, but I highly recommend it. We stopped halfway and I gazed across the river and saw the Statue of Liberty. I turned the other way and saw the Empire State Building. I looked across and saw the lights just coming on in many of the buildings. I saw a couple standing half way across drinking champagne and eating strawberries (a true baller move sir. Guaranteed good night for him) and began to cry a little. I have been so caught up in my own little world and trying to make my stay here last, I almost missed the point. This time has been a gift from God to me. (I need my sister to close her mouth now. I am sure her jaw dropped. Lol)
I was given an amazing opportunity. I have been to the top of the Empire State Building. I saw the Macy’s Day Parade balloons blown up the night before Thanksgiving. I saw the tree in Rockefeller Plaza. I have been to Times Square a bunch of times. I was in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. I got to have my family (minus one unfortunately) stay with me over Christmas vacation and enjoyed that more than they will ever know. (I love you all. Never doubt that I wish we were closer and I wish I knew how to make that happen)
I have been on a subway and lived to tell about it. I lived in an apartment on Wall Street. Not in the Financial District/Wall Street area, ON FRIGGIN WALL STREET!!! I saw a woman change her dress half in and half out of a car on the side of a club. I have been asked for money more times that I can count. I got to hang with a guy from Jacksonville, his wife and their beautiful daughter. (Sir, you have no idea what that meant to me. The two opposing sides of you were fun to watch and I envy your life) I met people that changed my life and a couple that I will never lose touch with as long as I live. Hard to be bitter.
That being said I would like to have my cake and continue to eat it too… wouldn’t be me if I didn’t say that. I love this place and I will probably look for an opportunity that will bring me back. I’m not done with the Big Apple and I don’t think she is done with me.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
“I can always find someone
to say they sympathize.
If I wear my heart out on my sleeve.
But I don’t want some pretty face
to tell me pretty lies.
All I want is someone to believe.
Honesty is such a lonely word.
Everyone is so untrue.
Honesty is hardly ever heard.
And mostly what I need from you. ”
Please enjoy this acoustic version of Edge of Glory by Lady Gaga on Howard Stern. It made me a fan at least for one song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_GMgkcc2KM
Not sure how but my last post disappeared. If anyone has it on their pc, please email it to me. I will try to recreate it, but not gonna promise anything. FML!!!!
** You were the apple of the public’s eye as you cut the ribbon at the local mall
A mirage for both you and us. How can this be real?
We love your body in that photograph, your home state sure must be proud
The queen of the United States, or have you lost your crown
A mirage for both you and us. How can this be real?
We love your body in that photograph, your home state sure must be proud
The queen of the United States, or have you lost your crown
Well aren’t you Miss America
Don’t you Miss America
Won’t you Miss America
Our love
Well are you really who we think you are
Or does your smile seem to wear you down
Is the girl who you once were screaming to jump out
And the dream that you must live – a disease for which there is no cure
This roller coaster ride you’re on won’t stop to let you off
Well aren’t you Miss America
Don’t you Miss America
Won’t you Miss America
Our love”.**
I have learned there are 2 kinds of woman that are into me. Crazy woman and ones I will make crazy. I am not sure when I became the shepherd, but I am now 100% convinced it is who I am. I want desperately to change this, but I am not sure how.
Since I separated from #2 I have dated quite a few women. Some were better to me that others, but they all have one thing in common. They are no longer with me, mostly due to me choosing to move on. It takes me a while to figure it out, but once I do, take 2 steps back and don’t let the door hit you where the good lord….ahh, sometimes they are too easy. I have a friend here in NYC, let call her CBP, and she tells me I miss the crazy indicators early and when I finally see them I still hope against hope they will be sane. “Run as soon as crazy rears its head”, CBP said to me recently. Sage like advice from one with the powers of a Jedi over my weak little Storm Trooper self. I might learn one day CBP, but I am having a lot of fun meeting the future residents of Arkham Asylum across this great nation of ours
.
Truth be told, I would like to meet someone that isn’t insane and stop this treadmill a’rollin’. I began this journey thinking a little insanity might equate to some crazy fucking, and in a few cases, it has done just that. Mostly it costs me lots of money, precious time and blood pressure medication. Recently it cost me 2 vacation days, a weekend of feeling completely out of place and damn near cost me my friend CBP. You are irreplaceable ma’am. You are going nowhere.
Maybe buying this many meals for the single woman of multiple states, listening to the stories of how this one or that one did this wrong or, worse, how this person was just amazing and blahblahblah. I ask about your ex so I will sound like I care, which I couldn’t possibly care any less. I ask about your job because I want you to think I care. I bet I couldn’t tell you the employer name of the last 4 woman I dated with a gun at my head. I can tell you the field they worked in, but employer, not a chance.
It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I don’t care about you. I care just enough to get to the next base. I am a very attentive person once I get past the interview process, but my hard drive is full. If I remember your birthday or middle name, I will forget the recipe for toast. I like toast. I am not a stupid man (opinions vary but I didn’t ask you for yours. Eat a bag of dicks, with mustard), but I am however, forgetful. It is becoming a bigger problem as I grow older.
WHATEVER!!!!!!! If I forget something you think is huge, it is your fault for not writing it down or emailing it to me. FUCK YOURSELF.
Let me run down a few of the things that are hugely important to me that I have forgotten.
1. The birthdays of my entire family. I love them with all that I hold holy, but I am the worst uncle, brother, best friend, etc. in the world when it comes to birthdays. I used to say “I am a guy. I am not supposed to remember your birthday. That’s why I married (insert either #1 or #2 here)”. If I have forgotten your birthday ever, I beg your forgiveness. If you forgot mine, I take back my begging. LOL
2. The words to 48 Hours, one of my favorite movies of all time. This was back when the name Eddie Murphy put asses in seats. I used to be able to recite the entire movie start to end without missing a word. Recently I saw it and barely remembered the words to “Roxanne” by the Police, much less the movie. Sorry Eddie. I do still want the knife though. I, I, I want the knife. PLEASE!!!!
3. Oil Changes every 3 months or 3000 miles. They put a sticker on the windshield. They put both the date and the odometer reading at which I should return and change it on said sticker. I always remember….just a little too late. My poor truck.
4. The number of years I did anything. {i.e. the number of years I worked at (fill in the blank), was married to (fill in the blank) or the number of years I drove (fill in the vehicle)}
In closing, it looks like my time here in NYC is drawing to a close. I am soon to be joining the ranks of South Carolinians . If you are within the sound of my voice (or written words) and know of any non-crazy, single, able bodied females in the lesser of the Carolinas , holla at ya boy!!! I could always use a hook up.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase
Hakuna Matata! Ain’t no passing craze
It means no worries for the rest of your days
It’s our problem-free philosophy
Hakuna Matata!
In light of my impending SC move, enjoy the only country song I know from the only artist I could think of at the time. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZjosn2u1gA
A Man and his Son
“Now this is the story all about how,
My life got flipped, turned upside down,
And I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there,
I’ll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air.”
My life got flipped, turned upside down,
And I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there,
I’ll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air.”
I began writing this on Fathers Day weekend 2011. I had to stop because it seemed wrong to talk about my dad the way I would need to if I was going to be as honest as I have been about anyone else I have written about. I labored on many things I wanted to write…things I wish I had said to him before he passed away. I wish I could tell him that as a child I feared him like he held my life in his hands. I wish I had told him how many times I cried myself to sleep because I didn’t live up to his expectations of me. I also wish I knew how he felt of his son that grew to be a corporate trainer for the largest bank in the US
Below are just a few of my Father/Son memories. Please take them with a grain of salt and try not to judge either of us too harshly.
· One birthday I remember having a bowling party. It is the only party I remember from my childhood. I am sure there were others, but this one is the only one I remember. I am sure the idea of a bowling party was another of my adolescent attempts to bond with my dad. He was an avid bowler and had aspirations of going pro I seem to remember. I got a Spiderman doll (they are now known as action figures and I am sure this is one of the reasons the name changed. It was made by a company called Mego and it was cool. The costume had a snap inb the back so it could be removed (for what purpose I have no idea). I was so excited. My fascination with superheroes began at an early age…don’t judge me. I remember coming home and being so excited to show my dad (he was, as most of my memories of him began, absent and completely uninterested) when I got home from Bird Bowl. I remember him looking at Spiderman, then at me and lastly towards my mom. He locked eyes with her and said, “Isn’t that just wonderful. Now he plays with dolls too” and walking away. I was devastated. I don’t know the time frame, but I know I buried Spiderman in the back yard. I never saw him again and neither of my parents mentioned it again. I doubt anyone noticed.
· I played football as a boy. Not because I wanted to. Not because it was fun or I craved the cheers of the fans and other parents. I did it because it was supposed to make him happy. There was a boy on one of the teams I played on that was pigeon toed. I don’t remember his name just that he was the quarterback and my dad called him “the pigeon toed faggot”. I had no idea what the last word was, only that my dad seemed to take huge glee in saying it. More than once he commented I should be the quarterback and how PTF was a huge “waste of a uniform”. I also remember one day at the concession stand after a game calling PTF by the only name I k new him by and telling him to get in line behind my. I also remember him punching me in the face and my lip getting split and bleeding a bunch. Lastly I remember telling my dad how my lip had been split on the field by a cheap shot and him telling me next time to hit back and “take the penalty”. Advice to live by for one and all.
· I remember the money situation was pretty shitty after my parents divorced. My mom worked sporadically when I was younger, but had to get a full time job after dad left. She wasn’t trained for much and got a job working for a friend of the family answering phones. I remember all my friends had a VCR and I knew my mom couldn’t afford to get us one. I met my dad at a bowling alley, as I mentioned he fancied himself a few games away from joining the PBA Tour at any moment, to ask for a little fatherly help. He gave me the money and wrote “LOAN” on the subject line of the check. “If it is worth having, it is worth earning” was the quote I remember but it might just be revisionist history on my part. I am sure I never paid him back and I am also sure he remembered that for many, many years after.
· I remember sitting at his townhouse watching Remington Steele one evening on one of my rare visits with him and my first step mom. They were both out (bowling I am sure) and he came home first. He asked if my step mother was home yet and I told him no. I never stopped to think that he would have seen her car if she was there. He went in the kitchen and got a beer. He never drank in my recollection, and certainly not beer. He had a couple sips and handed the bottle to me, his under-aged, and 17 year old son. “When she gets here you might want to stay down here for a little while” and he went upstairs. She arrived shortly there after and I wondered if I was gonna get another beer and a second really cool pep talk. What I got was an earful of how he was a piece of shit and a no good blahblahblah. This along with some crashing and a whole lot of banging drawers was to follow. I am not sure what time I went upstairs to bed but I was awakened early the next morning by my dad. He told me we were going to “Gramma Cole’s” and needed to hurry so we could be gone before Nancy, my soon to be ex step mom, returned. I later found out my dad was sitting at a 4 way stop making out with his secretary (and soon to be step mom #2) when step mommy #1 pulled up behind him on her way to watch him bowl. Oh the humanity. This situation, along with the fact that my dad married Nancy
· I remember when I went to my dads house when I was struggling with the decision of whether I was going to divorce my first wife. He was retired from his job and was still married to step #2. He was pretty sick and I would bet dollars to donuts the reason he put her through nursing school was so she could take care of him when he got older. Quite a thoughtful man, this one. He told me he never liked my wife and always thought I was making a mistake “settling for her”. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was, to that point in my life, the only applicant that had made it to sexual portion of the job interview. Thankfully she was not the last.
· I remember sitting in my fathers car and a Phil Collins song came on. As a kid I remembered my father singing songs and I was pretty excited because I knew all the words to “Take a Look at Me Now’, the song Phil was nominated for an Academy Award for. My father asked me if I was upset they didn’t let Phil sing his own song at the Academy Awards and I said I was. I was trying to sound like I had an opinion and was excited it seemed we were going to have a dialog about current events in the entertainment industry. He laughed and said, “Fuck him”, and that ended the conversation.
· I remember my father always going to Las Vegas
· I remember when I came to him house in Florida
· I remember the last time I saw my dad before he passed away. He told me he was proud of the man I became. He cried that day and I don’t think I ever saw that before. He loved me. No football, divorced, not-paying him back for the VCR, playing with dolls, I can tell you that brought a tear to my eye and still does as I write it today. He was my dad. For better or worse.
He never said he was sorry for anything in his life that I can remember. He was a stubborn man, somewhat selfish and definitely self absorbed. He would say things and mean them. He was brutally honest and was not know for holding his tongue. He was detached and stayed away from things that made him feel any way he didn’t want to feel. The apple and the tree, sir. The apple and the tree.
I will always wonder if you were happy with the choices you made and the things you said, or didn’t say more often that not. I will always love you Mr. Cole…and I will always be iamnotmrcole@gmail.com.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
“Well the years they passed so slowly
I thought about him everyday
what would I do, if we passed on the street
would I keep running away
I thought about him everyday
what would I do, if we passed on the street
would I keep running away
in and out of hiding places
soon I’d have to face the facts
we’d have to sit, down and talk it over
and that would mean going back
they say that time is a healer
and now my wounds are not the same
I rang that bell with my heart in my mouth
I had to hear what he’d say
He sat me down to talk to me
he looked me straight in the eyes
he said:
You’re no son, you’re no son of mine
You’re no son, you’re no son of mine
When you walked out, you left us behind
and you’re no son, you’re no son of mine”
I Love and miss Patrice O’Neal.Please enjoy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeCMCJc5-jg
So I have been remiss in updating this of late…I can only say that there have been very few (read as no) Steve Rogers type adventures here in Gotham. I do, however, have a new nickname. SHEPHERD. It seems i am a shepherd of crazy people according to my friends. It was either that or Woof Woof, but I am not telling that story and would not have been ok with that one. Those of you that know the story are few….but distinguished.
I have committed to myself to write every 2 weeks. I may just keep my writings as personal journals and i may publish them here. It all depends on how I feel.
I will do better and I hope those of you that enjoy this will stick with me. I have a feeling it is gonna get a little bumpy.
New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of
There’s nothin’ you can’t do
Now you’re in New York
These streets will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you
Let’s hear it for New York, New York,New York.
There’s nothin’ you can’t do
Now you’re in New York
These streets will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you
Let’s hear it for New York, New York,New York.
I recently relocated to South Carolina New York City
I hate him for being right. I was in New York New York
Some notes and observations:
· The new way of panhandling is to ask for “a swipe” in the subway since many commuters purchase an unlimited MTA card for the entire month. It is not just the “residentially challenged,” but, more often than not, kids with homes.
· The memo that the pants-belted-below-the-bottom-of-the-ass phenomenon is now over apparently never reached New York
· Junior’s Restaurant was made famous by Sean Diddy Combs in an episode of “Making the Band” when he had a group of wanna-be rap stars walk across the Brooklyn Bridge
· I saw my first real live protest this past weekend. I was checking out my new neighborhood in the Financial District and saw police on horseback, barricades and loads of uniformed men in and around the New York Stock Exchange. Apparently people are upset that CEOs of some financial giants are making huge bonuses. WHATEVER!!!!
· It appears the rules of no longer being able to beat your children don’t apply in New York
· Seems that using the “F” word, the “N” word and colorful descriptive phrases like “short dick muthafucka” and “broke ass, shiftless negro” on a cell phone while walking through Target with your children is not only acceptable, but absolutely imperative.
· Looking around you at the wonders of the city and the magnificence of one building after another reaching up into the sky, making eye contact, or even saying good morning, excuse me or sorry if you bump into someone gives will give you away as a visitor to this fine metropolis and as such, someone to be looked down upon and possibly assaulted. (Just a warning from my new hire class: This has not actually happened yet…..YET!!!)
· Having the song “New York , New York Gotham makes one a “friggin punk” and someone to be shunned. To quote Captain Crunch (the name I will use for a co-worker named after a popular serial killer on a very popular Showtime series about a forensic investigator that is also an avenging mass murderer), when my girlfriend’s ring tone by Jay-Z featuring Alicia Keys played, “awkward.” I am quite sure I will be quoting the Captain again and again as this trip plays itself out.
· It seems that speed limits do not exist here. Cabs have two speeds: Fast and stop (much like a go cart). And there seems to e no reason to stop when your side view mirror clips another one in the course of navigating the large-scale Frogger game that is the traffic situation here 24/7.
I will continue my observations and promise delays of less than five months between blog updates, going forward. New love tends to command all of your attention, and it has been better for me to focus on Sugarbaker and the family as I begin this new journey. I love you all, but get over it people.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
What I’ve felt, what I’ve known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there, ’cause I’m the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven too?
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there, ’cause I’m the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven too?
No one sent me a link, so here is another of my favorites. If you have a cool link, send it to me and if I love it too, I might add it here. Till then, enjoy “Shy Ronnie” as a shout out to a new friend and co-worker and as always, enjoy. http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/digital-short-shy-ronnie/1182201/
This is the second part of a story I am affectionately referring to as “Ho Knee”. So far it looked like a night to remember, and it was, but not in the way I had hoped for. This will chronicle the second half of my night and I will explain to you how this little story became the subject of many questions from a couple friends in Chicago. I have never told them what happened that night. I hope at least some of them will read this and laugh along with me.
“I was an old hound dog that just loved to chase his tail
until I met a blind man
who taught me how to see
a blind man
who could change night into day
and if I can
I’m gonna make you come with me
because here comes the sun and we’ll be chasing all the clouds away…”
until I met a blind man
who taught me how to see
a blind man
who could change night into day
and if I can
I’m gonna make you come with me
because here comes the sun and we’ll be chasing all the clouds away…”
So if you were here for part 1, your hero was in a situation that seemed like a home run. I met a girl in a bar. She told me to buy her a drink, and then another. She put her hand on my junk, squeezed, and told me to take her to my hotel right next to the bar we met in. When I left you last, we were on the way to my hotel room with my wallet in my hand and her hand in my pocket. We all caught up? Good, now let me tell you how this day became one of the funniest and scariest to date. Ladies, Try not to judge me too harshly. as I am, after all, only a man.
So we hit my room and she removes her hand from my pocket. I have my wallet, driver’s license and room card key all in my hand. I toss them on the desk next to my Netbook laptop and I remove my jacket, tossing it on the floor. I know, the amount of randon DNA on the average hotel room floor is the thing of legend. A disgusting legend, but legend none the less. I was told by a friend that is a DNA specialist (not that way, you sickos, an actual specialist) that on one quilt in a crime scene there were, if memory serves, over 25 SEPARATE sperm samples. 25 different dudes dropped loads on this thing. ECH!!!!!! Anyway, I dropped the jacket and my new friend removed hers and threw it on the desk. She walked over to me and pushed me down on the bed.
She dropped to her knees and, well, how to say this since my nephew and nieces are reading this? She began to take care of things with her mouth. She was doing an ok job, and I decided this was not the best and close to the worst ever. I decided to shift gears. I went to pull her top off. She slapped my hand, hard, and told me to wait. She said this was her favorite and she was not going to stop util she wanted to. I told her she could continue, but the top had to come off. She told me that I was not in charge, and to sit back and shut up. Not sure I was liking being told to shut up, but the forcefulness was pretty sexy, if I can be honest. (Which is easier to do since I can’t see you all making “that” face right now. WHATEVER BITCHES!!!)
So she pushes me back on the bed and continues her substandard performance. I kept hoping the quality would improve. She kept looking me in the eyes and that was also nice. I am about to stop her and change tactics when there is a huge bang at the door and time shifts to slow-mo. A number of things all happen at once, or seem to in my mind. She rises up. I begin to stand and imagine that she is about to open the door to a bunch of thugs that are going to hurt me very badly. I imagine how this will get back to people I respect and some I don’t. I am about to be judged, and be found wanting. As I begin to rise, she hits me in the face and I fall back on the bed and she bolts for the door.
I see her head for the door and imagine the worst. She is going to open the door to them, they, the others, whoever was out there. SHIT!!! I rise again and try to run after her. I grasp for her but fall face forward because my pants are around my ankles, tangled up with my shoes, and I lack blood flow to anywhere other than my penis. I slide and shout to her not to open that fucking door. She ignores me, grabs her jacket and my wallet and hits the door. I slid the metal latch thing when we entered, but that didn’t slow her down for more than a minute. She is out the door and I stumble towards the door, pulling my pants up in an attempt to not display my junk to the gang before they come in and kill, maim, beat or stab me. They don’t come.
She is out into the hallway when I get to the door and is gone. I slam the door. Flip the lock and metal latch and look out the door. The hallway is empty. I run to the window, slowed by the pain in my knee (soon to be dubbed the ho knee) and I look out the window into the parking lot. I see a man run to a car and back it up. I see the woman, who had been doing a horrible job of fellatio seconds before, jump in the passenger side of the car, and they speed away. I begin to smile and then laugh hysterically. I cant stop laughing and I begin to notice my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I cant believe how close I came to…well nothing really. There was no gang of killers. Only a guy driving way too fast away with my wallet that had had maybe $50 bucks in it, and a girl that had the taste of my junk on her breath.
I stop laughing. It must have sounded like an arch villain of the Caped Crusader was in residence to the people on either side of my room. I look toward the door to reassure myself it is locked and I am safe. I see my license and room key on the floor and I laugh again. How would I have gotten on the plane in the morning in a post 911 world without any picture id. Sometimes the cards come up aces even when you don’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve it.
I was supposed to meet a couple friends for a drink later that night. I texted them to tell them I would not be able to meet them. I got a reply that getting togehter with them was not optional. I replied that I was broke, which was not a lie, and I was told not to worry about it- be there or they would come up to my room and get me. I think there was enough noise outside my room for one night, don’t you? I put my pants back on and went down to the bar. My knee was bleeding and very sore and the last thing I wanted to do was walk anywhere. I went anyway.
I sat there drinking a Captain and Coke with my friends. One noticed I was limping when I went to the bathroom and asked. I tried to lie, but then just pulled the leg of my jeans up and showed them. The guy, a former Army man and not exactly the most subtle person on the planet, asked how I got rug burn on my knees. I told him it was a long story and he asked if I was blowing a bunch of guys and one tried to get away without paying. I laughed and told him that was not it, but he continued. He began to call it the Ho Knee and said he would buy me drinks until I told him the truth. I drank two, and departed without disclosing the real story…. until now. So there you go sir. If you are reading this, you now know the story….I hope it was not a disappointment.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Its gettin hot in herrre
so hot
so take off all your clothes
I am gettin so hot,
I wanna take my clothes off (OH!)
so hot
so take off all your clothes
I am gettin so hot,
I wanna take my clothes off (OH!)
No one sent me a link so here is another of my favorites. If you have a cool link, send it to me and if I love it too, I might add it here. Till then, enjoy “Jizz In MY Pants”. Look for Mr. Timberlake as the store clerk and enjoy. http://www.youtube.com/watch?
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