Life's Lessons

I swore to myself when I worked at Lifecare Center in Kennewick, I would never work with geriatric patients. I couldn't handle it. I figured there was a reason someone abandoned them in their time of need; left to be someone else's problem. They weren't the problem. The system failed them. As someone who spent most of their life focusing on the well-being of themselves, it was easy to say, "they are going to die soon anyway." Then I started working for a wonderful company called 'Visiting Angels." It was then my life changed for the better. I met Dick.

Dick has a ganglial degenerative disorder, similar to ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease. I met a man that had so much to say, but the words got tangled in the spidered nerves in his brain that affected his speech. Nerves fired, then sputtered out. His left side is also paralyzed from this disease. Watching the disease eat away at his motor function is troubling, but it cannot affect his spirit. His eyes still glow. I can see it every time I walk into the room. Life is 90% observation and he can see everything. At Lifecare, I saw more than I cared too. I saw the life leaving people's eyes. I watched them be abandoned when they needed help the most. Help is not always physical. Sometimes people just need a smile to realize that someone is glad they are there. That's what I see when I see Dick. The last time I was there, as I helped him from his wheelchair, and into his recliner, he looked up at me and with what seemed to be all of his might, he said "thank you." Home care can be a thankless job, until that happens.

Then I met Ed. Thirty years ago, Ed had bladder cancer. Doctors gave him five years to live. Although bed bound, when I come to see him, he shows me what it is like to appreciate life. Melanoma has attacked his ears and nose. Lung cancer has begun to take hold as well. Still, he jokes about how his wife talks too much, about how the "Sea-chickens couldn't play their way out of a paper bag," and how, if he could have his way, I would be their full-time care giver. The first day I met him, he explained to me that he was not a piece of meat. Sadly I know exactly what he meant. I witnessed it, first hand. As much as I swore I would never go back to geriatric care, I find myself drawn to the humanity that comes with it. I am enveloped in humility; entangled in lessons from lives already lived. I am taught appreciation in the simplest of things. I admire Ed for his desire to fight for one more day to tell his wife he loves her, but to please not talk until it is a commercial. I hang on every word. Not for its meaning, but the effort taken to share the menial. If it is important enough to drain energy in sharing, is it not worth time for me to listen?

Then there is Paul, a 6'4" elderly, manic-depressive man who has some pretty volatile mood swings. Our first introduction was him asking me if I was there to break his knee caps. Although daily mobility had left him, a firm handshake had not. His wife struggled to get his cooperation with anything. I could see her frustration being taken out on him. He felt her frustration and I am sure felt emasculated knowing he could no longer take care of himself, let alone his wife. During one of his tantrums, I bent down to let him know that I was here to help HIM take care of his wife. I told him he needed to let me help him do this because I couldn't do it alone. His eyes met mine and he slowly nodded. My 3rd trip there, he was in his recliner. I went over to say hello and he looked up at me and started singing. His wife told me that every time she tells him I am coming he starts singing like he used to when he and his wife were first married. She started crying.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed at life. I think of these specific individuals and I kick myself because my life is not that difficult. I have it pretty easy. Yes, there are things that happen that I wonder, "why me?" Then I think of the aforementioned. People wonder how they can change the lives of others. It isn't money. It isn't gifts, or "things." These "things" get lost, broken, sold, stolen. No one can steal your spirit away. No one can take your sense of humor. No one can steal your stories about where you have been. No one can steal what is important to you. You will be old someday too. How do you want to be treated? How do you want to be remembered? Hopefully now, I can begin to answer that for myself. Thank you God for pointing me in the right direction.

For the Love of Spam

I get these emails a lot. I respond to all of them. It depends on my mood what gets said. Since this quarter is winding down, I needed to let off some steam. I have copied his email....then my response. Feel free to skim. Just thought I would share.

Dear Friend,
As you read this, do not feel sorry for me, because I believe everyone will die someday. My name is Syed Aban a merchant in Dubai, U.A.E. I have been diagnosed with Esophageal cancer. It has defiled all forms of medical treatment, and right now I have only about a few months to live,according to medical experts. I have not particularly lived my life so well, as I never really cared for anyone(not even myself) but my business.Though I am very rich, I was never generous, always hostile and only focused on my business as that was the only thing I cared about. I assumed being a shrewd and mean businessman meant no room for failure in life. But now I regret all this as I know that there is more to life than just wanting to have all the money in the world, and i wish i lived my life better than i did.
Now that God has changed me, I have willed and given most of my property and assets to my immediate and extended family members as well as a few close friends. I see this as a rebirth for me, a chance to do something right for once, so God can have mercy on me accept my soul so, I have decided to give also to charity organizations, as I want this to be one of the last good deeds I do on earth. So far, I have distributed money to some charity organizations in the U.A.E, Malaysia, and India. Now that my health has deteriorated so badly, I cannot do this myself anymore.I once asked members of my family to close one of my accounts and distribute the money which I have there to charity organization in Bulgaria and Pakistan, they refused and kept the money to themselves. Hence, I do not trust them anymore, as they seem not to be contended with what I have left for them. The last bulk consignment of my money which no one knows about, is the huge cash deposit of twenty million dollars $20,000,000,00 that I have with a finance/Security Company abroad. I will want you to help me collect this deposit and share it to charity organizations. I have set aside 10%for your time and service.Please reply to my personal email at syedaban@sify.com with honesty as soon as you receive this eMail. God be with you.
Syed A. Aban.


To which I said.....

I think I love you. If I were not a complete idiot, the above statement would be true. I can imagine that you sent this out to 1000 people. Given the law of percentages, if 2% replied, you only need one sucker. But let's be honest. Fishing for identities to steal is a rough business. Its like working on commission. If you were selling used cars, and some guy walked up wanting the 2010 Bentley you had for sale for $275,000, you would get this rock hard boner until you realized he was just pulling on your flaccid dreams. Similar to the aforementioned story, I have no desire to help you distribute your millions. Since you have cancer, and I have time, please read below for just a couple of reasons.

You have distributed the "vast" amount of money already to known terrorist countries. Pakistan, Malaysia, India have known ties to Al Qaeda. Just so you know, in the grand USA, that's not a good thing to be touting about to the world. On Halloween, there aren't a lot of little ragheads that come ring doorbells and do the Jihaydi tongue roll for Snickers. It is likely to get you killed. So, the remaining money, in my opinion, should go to a stack of stinger missiles to kill any remaining camel jockeys that ride the Tora Bora mountain range. Bin Laden, no Bin Laden. If you are 10,000 feet above sea level, riding a camel carry a nap sack, let hellfire rain down upon you.

Secondly, if your family is taking advantage of you, why the hell would a complete stranger NOT take advantage of you? If God truly has taught you anything it would be an eye for an eye. Good for your family for raping your wallet since, while you were healthy I am sure you raped their souls with your bitterness. Good for them. Its like taking the shoes off a drive-by victim. As we say in "da hood," HE AIN'T GONNA NEED DEEZ SHOOZ NO MO!"

Third, I had a dream last night that said I needed to open a PO BOX and get ready to accept millions of dollars. Funny you emailed me no less than 8 hours after my dream. Tell you what. Lets just skip the semantics and you just mail me a cashier's check, money order...hell you pick it. No need to get all formal. I am sure my ex-wife doesn't need these recorded assets if you get my meaning. I imagine your harem will be clawing at your bones for spare marrow when you kick it. Same here, but I am still alive.

Finally, let's barter. You say I get 10% for my time, and 90% goes to charity. I am thinking that we should switch that. $2,000,000 to a charity would make any charity happy. 18,000,000 in my pocket would make Viagra unnecessary, and it would be a natural high that could last well beyond 4 hours without needing to call my physician. Get back to me when you get the cashiers check all printed.

Sincerely,

an Infidel

Thanksgiving

We were supposed to be having Thanksgiving in a new house. I suppose I could be bitter about it, but I'm not. It's a blessing; an unanswered prayer I guess. God said no, several times to this home loan and we didn't listen. We didn't want to listen because we wanted what we wanted. Typical of the flesh. Putting our fleshly needs in front of what God wants for us. God has a plan. The plan never comes when we want it to, but it will. That is the nice thing about faith. However, you have to have faith in order for His plan to come to fruition.

This has been a very difficult year. For more reasons than I care to mention, 2010 is looking like heaven compared to 2009. No matter how bad it has been, I am still thankful. I am thankful for the trials of my life. God will not give me more than I can handle. I am thankful for my friends and family. I am thankful for their support through sickness and health. I am blessed with 3 wonderful children, all breathing and functioning as their ages and stage of life will permit. I am very thankful for my wife who was the glue that kept our wobbly wheel moving forward. I am thankful for healthy parents, full of wisdom, as well as opinions, all of which I need, even at my age. I am thankful for God giving me the courage to go back to school and giving me opportunities for scholastic and spiritual growth, seemingly all at once. I am thankful for Gus, my English Bulldog, not for his incredible ability to conserve energy, but making sure he is laying close by our family. I am also grateful for his snores. They tell me that he is happy and content.

So, this year, to you and yours, I wish you a very Happy Thanksgiving. Do not forget to tell those close to you how much you love them, appreciate them and that you are grateful they are in your lives.

Something Stupid This Way Comes

This will be in the comedy show....but for those of you that miss it, here it is.


So Walmart and I have a relationship like Pamela and Tommy Lee, minus the kids and Hepatitis. Although, if you browse peopleofwalmart.com, there is a high likelihood that, given the time of day and the aisle I go down, hepatitis might find me. We both like to fook the other. You speak code, don't you? My apartment computer will not allow me to properly express myself, but you get the gist of it. I hope you do. If not, please discontinue reading. :)

That being said, I had to go to Walmart, driving by Albertson's mind you, to get some milk that my wife had forgotten to purchase. I can't play mind games at Albertson's. It isn't a battle of wit worth having. No one likes sparring with an equal. It isn't any fun. In order to dominate, you must pick on someone less capable. Hence, 99% of the employees at Walmart. It's like picking on a freshman as an upperclassman. Its a right of passage to belittle. Although I never really took advantage of that right growing up, I am making up for it in my later years.

The people at the customer service counter are about as bright as a burnt out aquarium bulb. For those of you that know me well, I am one that likes to break the monotony of life and provide variety in places that some people maybe overlook. For example, when people come to return an item or several items, the first thing they say to the person at the counter is "This product is (X) and I would like to return it." To me, that would get boring, constantly having to accommodate without really having the opportunity to say something like "I'm sorry, but we are know longer accepting summer clothes, and these look used." So, when I went in there, I was hoping to mix things up. Its like shaking dynamite. Never know what is gonna happen.

The first question always baffles me. "May I help you?" I always look up at the signage that says CUSTOMER SERVICE, wondering if I went to the right place if you had to ask me what I needed. I am not sure how many times I have thought of saying "no, thank you. I am good," and just loiter in the entrance into the customer service area. I had bigger fish to fry that evening. I went up to the pre-pubescent and said I had called ahead to get some canned ice and I was in a hurry to get it and go. "Pardon?" Canned ice. I spoke with (remember I know the manager's names now from having spoken to them many times in my attempts to work there) Reuben, and he told me to go to the customer service counter and get my canned ice. Where is my canned ice? I'm double parked. If this was an airport, I could be shot. I am risking my life because I NEED CANNED ICE! The girl was baffled, as she should be. She said she would see if she could find some for me right away, and left the counter. Her associate just stood there, no doubt still processing what just happened, having to shift through the bong-resin lined ganglia in her brain to formulate if in fact my request was legitimate. I don't know where the girl went. It seemed like an hour passed. I kept looking at my cell phone busily, as if I was being inconvenienced. Not having moved much, the 2nd associate was staring at me blankly like a dry erase board. I said to her, "I don't know why I even bothered calling ahead." Her facial expressions did not change. She just nodded, involuntarily since gravity did most of the work.

The original person came back, walkie talkie in hand. "OK, sir...what were you looking for?" I said canned ice, CANNED ICE...how hard is this," knowing full well this charade had to come to an end soon since the person on the other end of technology had to know that there was no such thing. I hear a gentleman's voice repeat the request and he said, "OK, hold on." The gal asked me to hold on and they were checking, not knowing that I was capable of reasoning that out all on my own. I again feigned impatience, checking my cell phone every 10 seconds. I told her I needed this ASAP for a recipe and they were really screwing with my timing. I bitched about incompetence and the necessity of having a secondary education, properly formed synapses and fully functioning gray matter, until I heard the walkie talkie bark out, "We don't have any canned ice." The gal says, again not knowing I can hear, "we don't have any." I said "Reuben told me you did, he told me he would set aside 2 cans of it and he said I could come here and pick it up. Are you telling me I am being lied to?" I stepped back to check the signage again and said, "am I not in the customer service section? I am not feeling the service. I am feeling taken advantage of and I AM IN A HURRY!"

At that point, she paraphrased everything I said into the walkie talkie, emphasizing that a manager had indicated they did, in fact, have canned ice and to continue to look for it. I huffed a bit and told the gal I was going to go move my car into a parking space and out of the fire lane and that when I returned , I expect to have my two cans of canned ice, DIET, here at the counter. The gal apologized, and said they would get it up ASAP. I told them, ala Arnold, "I'll be back."

I got in my car and left. I had my milk, which was the only reason I came in the first place. I am sure I created a little variety too. Variety is the spice of life, even if you are stupid.

Apparently Unemployable

I can't get a job. My thought is that I am apparently not educated enough (since high school Juniors can obtain an AA degree now before they graduate) and do not have anything more than a 2-year degree. I figured FOR SURE, I could get a job at Walmart, even if it was moving something from point A to point B, 300 times at minimum wage. I don't really care what I am doing, as long as it is at night so I continue to go to school, and finish with a Nursing degree. Then I can take care of all of the geriatrics that collapse working at Walmart because they thought a 401K was a breakfast cereal.

I received a call from the manager at Walmart asking if I was interested in employment. Sure, I said, as long as it was at night. He said they were hiring for night staff and put me in touch with a night manager. I called after 10PM, three separate times. Three times I was told I would be called back after 10-15 minutes. Three times I went to bed without a phone call. So I showed up unannounced and spoke with the manager I had spoken to previously. She indicated that she was very busy and that she had my name and number and would be calling me. When, I asked. When she had a chance to check the job requisitions. I wondered if these job requisitions were located close to the International Space Station and she was just waiting for a ride. Honestly, how long can it take? Given her lack of personal hygiene, my guess was she was anxiously waiting to get back to electronics to steal some D-cells and get her vibrator up and running so she could formulate thoughts and complete sentences.

So I compiled a list of reasons why I cannot work at Walmart. More to the point, why I can't get HIRED at Walmart.

1. I have 23 pairs of chromosomes.

2. I have use of both my arms and legs.

3. Too young to be a greeter.

4. I don't involuntarily drool.

5. I am too clean, practicing good personal hygiene.

6. I look better in blue than the managers do.

7. My teeth are straight and could afford ortho care if they weren't, and
would notice the need for ortho care before the stares made it obvious.

8. I have a diploma, an AA degree and the desire to further my education

9. I can spell aisle

10. I don't have bed head

11. I can fluctuate my voice and change the volume based on the type of conversation and proximity of the person I am talking to.

12. I know that a tomato is a fruit, and doesn't just come in sauce

13. I speak English only, which amazes me that I am penalized for

14. I have a more comprehensive vocabulary than monosyllabic words that pertain only to greetings, asking if I found everything OK, and have a nice day.

15. Brains and personality

16. I won't make Walmart my career and am not afraid to tell whomever is asking that working at Walmart is a pass-through to a more promising and more rewarding career in the medical field.

17. Forget to say 'like' and 'um' 38 times during a phone call.

18. Don't have rheumatoid arthritis

19. Know that dogs cannot eat cat food and vice versa.

20. Understands the alarm going off means someone just stole something and would get up to find out why rather than holding the floor down.

These are just a few. I am sure there are more. It is frustrating to be functional, yet dysfunctional to Walmart. It's ironic, actually, that since I am dysfunctional, they won't consider me being that is the dysfunctional kingdom of the world. Whatever....there is always a paper route.

Mentally Challenged

I know a little about nutrition. I know a little about exercise. Practicing poor habits in both is also a specialty of mine. However, because I neglect the aforementioned, does not make me gullible enough to fall for the magic pill.

The HCG diet is the newest craze I overheard something about this weekend. It is similar to the Hollywood diet, POW camps and general neglect for your well-being. I am not sure what is worse, justifying the diet, or actually DOING the diet. To me, both show a lack of knowledge when it comes to how the body works.

When Atkins came out, the principle was pretty simple. If you subtract the main fuel source of your body (carbohydrates), your body will burn the reserve source (fat) for energy. It is like being diabetic. Without the ability to burn simple sugars, or complex sugars for that matter, the body will go to emergency mode and begin burning fat. In a normal person, this process occurs after all other sources have been depleted (glucose, glycogen, etc.). However, cutting out an entire food group is insanity, and BAD for you being that your nervous system functions on carbohydrates ONLY. If you take those away, you get dumber....which explains a lot about a few people.

The HCG diet requires you eat only 530 calories and take a shot of God knows what. WTF?!?!?!?! Doing that ALONE will cause you to lose weight, not to mention atrophy from the lack of protein. People may begin to inquire, not that you are losing weight, but whether or not things are metastasizing in your body. It blows my mind that people spend so much money on the newest and greatest thing in diets. I swear, I need to write a book on why people should go back to kindergarten and learn math. My 6-year old can figure out calorie balance and weight loss/gain.

A (calories in) - B (calories out) = weight loss or gain. Period. End of story. Not sure who would publish it....but that's really all it is.

So why suffer through the turmoil of daily shots in the abdomen? STOP THE INSANITY! It doesn't make any sense to me. If someone has a valid explanation for why this is a good thing, by all means, save it. It won't sell me on what has been a proven fact for a long time. Math doesn't lie. Dare question Nostradamus about it, however, because there is study upon study about why this HCG thig is a great diet. It almost came to blows, at least in my mind. I wanted to pull out the deed to my moon property and see if they would buy it on the spot. I also said I had a stake to a plot in Tombstone to sell. Almost had a bite.

So please, if you are a believer in this diet, I feel for you. I am sorry you are more gullible than a 4-year old at Christmas time. I could put together many things against being retarded. Studies have shown that dumb people die faster. Look at the Darwin Awards. Enough said. I am sure all had signed up for the HCG information seminar. DON'T BE A FOOL! Stay in scho.....wait. Eat right, exercise, die anywa....nope...ummm.....just use some common sense. Balanced diet, plus a walk in the morning and maybe one at night equals a healthy lifestyle. Not the $60 a month you pay to inject sugar water in your adipose and watch the weight melt away.

Please Stop Sending Me CDs...

10/12/09

Dear Time Life,


Thank you for sending me the recent 'Christian Anthem' CD. It arrived about an hour after we hung up the phone. I was amazed how fast the service was. The delivery guy was fast, silent, and was wearing an earpiece and sunglasses on a cloudy day. Regardless, thank you. I appreciate the catalog too. I will look it over and see if there is anything else that might catch my eye.

Sincerely,

Eli


10/13/09

Dear Time Life,


WOW! Three more CDs came today. I was a little shocked to receive them being we have not had enough time to read the catalog. I suppose we can use some travel tunes, but I am not sure my kids will really be into the 'Monk Chants of the St. Barrastille' CD. 'Whale Songs' was interesting. I was wondering if there was ever going to be music on there. I suppose whales are surreal. Thanks again and I look forward to checking out the additional catalog that was left with the CDs. Now my wife can look at one at the same time.

Sincerely,

Eli


10/13/09

Dear Time Life,

Ok, we just got three more CDs. That makes 6 total...just from today. I tried to call your 800 number, but was on hold most of the day. Your commercial says we can cancel any time. I am not sure how to do that other than call. I am thankful for the CDs. This shipment included Christmas music though, and its October. Not sure where you got the idea I wanted these. Oh, and I appreciate the 9 catalogs that came with these 3 CDs. The bathroom can always use more reading material.

Thanks

Eli


10/14/09

Dear Time Life,

I just got a knock on my door and 11 CDs, along with 17 catalogs, spilled into my house. I barely saw the delivery guy running around the corner. From behind, it looked like the same suit from before. I haven't even listened to the 'Christian Anthem' CD I originally ordered because I don't have the time. Does anyone work at your 800 number location? No one seems to answer there. As much as I appreciate the promptness, I believe I need to cancel my shipments from here on out. Company is here. Gotta run. Please cancel. Thanks!


Eli


10/15/09


Time Life,

OK stop! I was expecting visitors from out of town, but instead I got a case of 'Mannheim Steamroller Greatest Hits,' and a case of 'Merle Haggard's Holiday Hits,' plus, there was a bundle of catalogs. I am going to guess there are abolut 300 catalogs in there!!! This is riculous! This needs to stop immediately! I don't think I can take it anymore. I am afraid of my own doorbell. My dog has hip displaysia from running up and down the stairs. People keep asking me if I am moving because of all of the trash I keep sending to the curb in the form of your unsolicited mail. I believe my repeated requests to cease and decist and your ignorance of those requests constitutes some sort of law being broken doesn't it?!?! For the love of GOD, stop sending me CDs. Shit! That's the fucking doorbell!

GO AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!


10/17/09


Dear Time Life,

My name is Warren Stillson. I am the court appointed liason to act on Mr. Brackenbury's behalf. He is currently undergoing a psychiatric evaluation at a local mental facility. I am asking you to please stop sending boxes of CDs and multiple bundles of catalogs. He is no longer able to make rational decisions and as his executor, I am authorized to act on his behalf. If you do not cease and decist immediately, I will be forced to contact God directly to strike you down.

Sincerely,

Warren Stillson, Esq.

I am a MILLIONAIRE!

I couldn't believe the email when I got it. It honestly couldn't have come at a better time either. I am a student. Ramen is expensive. You know the drill. Apparently, I had a relative in Malaysia that passed away in 2007 and left ME, of all the other Brackenbury's in the world, $5.9 million dollars. You know the drill. Maybe this is the first time you have seen an email like this but I get them all the time. I have turned down the GDP of China. Most times I leave them alone. Of course, I needed a break from studying the skull. What better way than to mess with a spammer. So I emailed him back.

Dear Mr. Tanesq,

I assume you meant to label yourself an esquire, making your last name 'Tan.' I'm not sure so I made an executive decision and have decided to call you 'waffles.'

I have a problem., Waffles. I am not sure if it is your sentence structure, your grammar or just my abundance of common sense, but my Donald had way more money than $5.9 million dollars. If I recall, he said he was a billionaire, which makes you a big fat liar. Where is the rest of the money, Waffles? That $5.9 million is my annual dividend from my savings account so I don't really need the money. I may have a better idea.

Here is your WAFFLE MUST DO list. First, find the other money. No I won't split it with you. It's mine. I'm American, the EVIL DOOOOOOOOOOOOER, and I'm selfish. Second, have you seen your dog lately? Might want to check around. Dogs disappear all the time. Third, check your email in about 8-10 hours and your dog might pop up in the form of a cell phone video of my toilet. Just saying.....find my money. Lastly, eat a bullet.....at terminal velocity.

A Generation of Bad Habits

Bone formation 101. Ready? Vitamin D comes from two places. Sunlight and fortified dairy products. Fortified meaning that Vitamin D is ADDED into the product. For example, Milk FORTIFIED with Vitamin D. Vitamin D is important because it aids in the absorption of Calcium. Calcium, coupled with the mineral phosphorous (and trace amounts of other minerals) help build bone and maintain healthy bone density. Weight bearing exercise and proper diet help maintain good bone health.

Cola, be it diet or regular will have an impact on calcium metabolism as the phosphorous contained in the cola is denatured from the beginning. Its kind of like getting a vaccine. The vaccine is usually a cocktail of dead "bugs" that your body can build a resistance to. The phosphorous contained in carbonated cola is a "dead" version, therefore it cannot be used to assist in building good bones. The acid in cola will also eat away tooth enamel. Yes, zero calories. Yes, non-fat, but bad for you.

Your body needs calcium for other things besides strong bones and teeth. Mainly, calcium is used to make sure that the electronic impulses sent from your brain to your heart function properly. Calcium, then, maintains proper nerve impulses for muscle control, primarily the heart beat. If proper blood levels of calcium are not maintained, osteoclast cells are instructed, by the secretion of parathyroid hormone, to break down down tissue (osseous tissue) so the calcium can be used by the body as needed. When levels increase to an acceptable level, parathyroid hormone is turned off, and osteoblasts begin to lay down bone tissue not only to replace what was destroyed for blood levels, but also to grow and repair new bone. Following me?

So, if you ignore breakfast and have a diet Pepsi and Cheetos, forgot to bring your lunch and have a diet Pepsi and tater tots from a gas station hot box, then have a pop tart you found in your car, and a hot dog at Costco for dinner....how much calcium have you had? Since your body did not get enough calcium, it will break down bone to get the calcium it needs. That's just today. Over time, osteoporosis will occur. My guess is that we will have an entire generation of people that will have brittle bones at a very young age. Just a guess.

Time for class.

I Won the Nobel Peace Prize, kinda.

I got a call from the Nobel committee early this morning and was told I had just won the Nobel Peace Prize. Thinking it was just another tactic for bill collectors to get a hold of me, I hung up on them and went back to sleep. Of course, when I turned on the Today Show, I saw that the alternate choice, Barak Obama had taken my place. I was furious! If I had just taken the call seriously, I could have had a wicked medallion to hang around my neck. BLING BLING!

I watched President Obama's news conference when he stated he was shocked and in awe of such an honor and was not sure why he got it. No kidding. That was my award. Do you know how much peace I have brokered around the house? Plenty. I have kept the dog off of visitors, my kids from killing each other, my wife from killing me, the dog and/or the kids. I am peace, 24/7 baby. What did Barak do? According to the Nobel committee, there is less world tension since he was elected President. Apparently the committee has not lived in a communal living environment with kids that use walls as easels, or have neighbors that do the Funky Cold Medina at 11:13PM on a weeknight...right below my kid's room. Talk about peace. I jerked the power cord right off of the neighbors wall and threw the stereo equipment in the bathtub. Not only peace was brokered, but also quiet. Where is my medal?

I tried to reason with the committee when I called them back and told them I honestly thought that the call was a prank. I mean, yes, my apartment is in a state of calm right now because of all the deals I have brokered and my paperboy has healed nicely, but I begged for them to reconsider their decision to give the award to someone less deserving to myself. They wouldn't budge. I explained that even NOBLE citizens such as themselves are susceptible to making grievous mistakes and asked if, being of sound body, this could be one of them. They asked "who is this," with a tone of voice so cavalier that I had to reply "the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize."

They hung up.

I know the medal is gold. I wonder if they give out silver ones?

Understanding Children

I am not sure I will ever understand children. It's like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube, at least for me. I have seen many videos on You Tube where someone opens a brand new Rubik's cube, from the package and solves it in like 31 seconds. Yes....still a virgin. Not that sex is important. Just saying.

My son was looking for his coat this morning, whining like a leaky bike tire. He has started adding "uh" at the end of all of his complaints. "I CAN'T FIND IT-UH!" I watch him walk by the thing three times. Monkeys use tools better than him. For example, in order to illuminate things in a dark room, one would flip on a light switch. Not him. He has problem solving skills like passive transport mechanisms. Without a gradient, nothing would happen. The only reason his body goes supine is because gravity does most of the work. I love him, but....well, I love him.

My 6-year old daughter started 1st grade in the public school system. I like public school mostly because any social policing that needs to happen will happen in school....usually. For example, her behavior at home, bossing her brother around because she is older, wiser and a hair taller is instantly negated by a peer-to-be at recess....or not to be, which is the ultimate question. My daughter has the personality to befriend just about anyone....except her sibling. This is normal behavior, mind you, but sometimes, as opposed to separating the two, I just like to listen to the verbal banter that goes back and forth. Peyton saying that Jacob is using her toothbrush and Jacob insisting that his toothbrush is NOT the one with soccer, football and basketballs on it, rather it is the Princess toothbrush. They fight over a stool that allows them closer proximity to the sink, both of which cannot seem to accurately spit their toothpaste into it. It seems every Sunday, I am constantly scraping dried toothpaste off of the bathroom counter.

The sleeping habits of children baffle me. I am not sure if it is just in general, or if it is just my kids that make my balls shrink. My son went to sleep, I mean BED last night around 7:00. About 8:00 pm, I hear this knocking on the wall. I was sure the noise was coming from downstairs as our neighbors will often have a Royal Rumble around that time. My wife got up to go check and to her wondering eyes, my son had a laundry basket laid over the top of his body and he was rocking it back and forth, knocking it against the wall. She removed the basket because, well, who in their right mind wants to have this basket interfere with REM sleep? Apparently my son, who protested its removal by stating "I need that to sleep!" Its like needing with 1812 Overture blaring at 100 decibels so that you can drift off to LALA land. I don't get it.

As I finished studying and went to shut things down, I felt a cold breeze coming up our stairwell. I looked down and noticed that our front door was wide open. I have a bulldog. I hadn't seen our bulldog most of the night. I didn't even check to see if he was inside, mostly because him leaving would mean he would have to jump down from the bed and walk down 17 stairs and then....go out where it is cold. All of these behaviors are atypical for any bulldog to actually want to do on their own. Anyone who owns a bulldog knows that given the choice between moving and remaining stationary, 99% of bulldogs would rather remain prone and motionless. Kind of like Courtney Love during her methadone treatments. I tried to recall when the last time someone came in the front door. It was about 6PM when I told our kids to come in for dinner, 7 hours ago. I am not sure what I am more ashamed of. Them just simply leaving the door open, or me for having my face buried in a book, highlighter in hand, trying to highlight every line of my Anatomy and Physiology book.

I will go with the latter. I still don't understand them. It's like trying to understand why Peyton cries at the notion she has to go to bed without being able to watch a movie. Sometimes she cries just to cry. You ask her why she is crying and, while crying, she answers "I DON'T KNOWWWWWWWWWWWW," which sets my son off because, well, if his sister can get away with it, so can he. The dog just looks at the chaos, eyes half open, surely thinking, can you all keep it down, I am doing my best to conserve energy. If the country's power was based on the activity of a bulldog, let's just say it would be back to the pioneer days. Boiled water over a cast iron stove....dirt floors, and lots of knitting.

Time for class...

The Tears We Cannot Predict

As silly as this post may start out, buried somewhere within is a message for just about everyone. I hope so anyway. Today was a rough day for me on many different levels. Spiritually, I wonder sometimes why God strikes down His true warriors? If this Earth needs nothing else, it is people who live for Him. I struggle with my walk, I will admit. I believe all humans do a lot during their lives. When I say humans, I don't mean that dogs are not sinless. My dog is full of sin. If crapping in the house is a sin, that dog is going straight to hell.

I play just about every game on Facebook, as a lot of you may know since every major accomplishment in these games prompts a "brag" to all my friends. I will try to keep that to a minimum in the future. Farmville is one of those games. It passes the time for me and gives me a good break from frying my brain with Anatomy and Physiology. In this game you can send farm gifts out to people. You can send fruit trees, white fences, animals, etc. I get a lot from people and send a lot out in return. Tonight I got one and stared at the gift request. I started to cry.

It was from Joe Petty.

I just saw Joe in the hospital today. It was incredibly difficult to see him in the state he was in. I remember Joe. That was not Joe. I can't and won't go into detail about his condition because it is not my place to do so. Not in this medium. Not ever. But he was in no condition to be on the computer. I started crying thinking about him and what his family is going through. I thought about how I could have been in the same boat a few months ago when I was in the hospital. I thought about my kids. I thought about how much I missed my 12-year old in Boise growing up away from me. I thought about the times where I was so mad at my kids I wanted to scream forgetting how blessed I was to have 3 healthy, well-rounded kids. I mostly thought about Joe's kids and what they are going through, not knowing entirely what is wrong with their Dad. His oldest son is in the 7th grade, just like my oldest. He was on the computer in the waiting room when I was there, playing Farmville. I am sure he was the one sending me the gift, playing on his Dad's account, keeping it active for when his Dad gets better.

So I cried.

I went into my kid's bedroom and covered them up and kissed them. I prayed for Savannah, my oldest daughter, and thanked God for bringing her into my life and prayed that she will always be safe even though I cannot always protect her. I prayed for Joe and his family that they are lifted up and kept strong through God's love. I prayed that if God needed a warrior in Heaven, that he spare his family and his kids and take him now. But mostly I cried for the little boy that sent me a blind gift. I didn't know him, but like his Dad, he figured someone could use a gift. So he gave. He gave freely. Little did he know, nor did I, that giving a gift would bring tears.

God bless you Joe.

Be Thankful

Before Facebook came around, I bet there was only a handful of people I kept in contact with after high school. A handful, AT BEST. The more I communicate with people, the more I think to myself....why would were any of you friends with me? Like a lot of friends, I lost touch with me, I suppose. I fell into the category of "trying to find myself." I never really knew what that meant until my keys came up to me the other day, all frustrated that they were late to the ignition because I was cowering under a sofa cushion. This isn't a pity me story. Not at all. Part of the reason I have this blog and that I focus so much on finding humor in everything that happens in life is because a lot of days, I need the outlet to get by. I need to find the humor in the storms passing in and out of my life on a daily basis. I swear, if I didn't, I would explode in some fashion that would closely resemble a very messy supernova of some kind. That is beside the point. Sometimes, most times, I try to be funny because I can. I like making people laugh. It makes my day knowing that somewhere, often times in places I have never visited, someone is reading my words and saying "oh my GOD, that is SO true." That is my hope, my dream I guess, to bind all of this up and make it a novelette of sorts that people can take with them anywhere they go and simply get it.

There are some posts in here that, sometimes even after hilarity, often touch people in places they maybe are afraid to go. Self-reflection is difficult. I am not talking about looking at yourself and saying "I really need to lose 30 pounds." I am talking about going deeper than that. Through all of the skin and bones, to places beyond the walls of your heart, through the eyes of God, really finding out what kind of person you are. When you die, that definition is what will follow you. Will your spirit touch those around you, and maybe those far away, causing them to remember you for being a warm-hearted, compassionate person? Or will they turn the other cheek, huffing because you never let them in, or showed them your true capability to love something more than yourself? Being we can never expect the unexpected, don't you think its time people know who you are?

Being I am not perfect, anything I say, any pseudo-advice I give is meant for me as much as it is for anyone. Did you tell your kids you love them? Did you thank your parents for packing all that crap up every summer and hauling you and your friends to camp? Have you told your significant other that the words "I appreciate you" don't really apply to them because they aren't enough? Are you thankful? Did you praise God, even through the tough times, for challenging you and helping your faith grow, knowing full well that the trial was just that, a test of faith? How are your relationships? Life is all about the relationships we make and maintain, the latter being the most important. Never underestimate the power of friendship, the power of prayer in that circle of friends. Never forget that they are there for you, and the times you think you are alone that you are never alone. Don't go another day thinking that no one loves you, that no one cares, that your imperfections are some sort of ailment that causes you to be inferior. You are not the only one with fears, who is terrified of the day, wondering how you are going to screw it up.

Every day above ground is a day to give thanks for. Every....single....day. Those days are numbered. We never know when the last day will be. It is scary to think about and even more scary to know that it is a fact. We will all shuffle off this mortal coil. What will your eulogy say? Who will talk about you? Is your life worth celebrating?

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can;and wisdom to know the difference.

Will you have made a difference in somebody's life other than your own?

Help

I had someone tell me that, although the blog was funny, I seemed to be complaining about things that happen to everyone, every day. He follows the blog but thought I complained a little too much. I am not sure how to take that comment, really. It has sort of thrown me for a loop. I have never, in the four years that I have had this blog, had someone be critical of it's content. I am not admonishing this individual. I respect his, and anyone's opinion on the material I publish. Notwithstanding his comment, I DO complain a lot, about things that DO happen to everyone, at some point in their life, past, present and most likely, future. I suppose in my mind my opinion on the matter may make the occurrence more enjoyable for the person experiencing some idiocy, hence the name of the blog 'In My Opinion.' As stated, I have a TON of respect for this person, for where his life was growing up and where he has taken his passion. I envy his vigor. But, yes...loop. I was thrown into this vast emptiness called writer's block. I needed "good" humor. I thought what I provided was good humor. In retrospect, I suppose I was complaining. Now I am rambling. Must find good humor.

To me, good humor is complaining. It is either this medium or risk confinement by having these tirades out in open public. For example, going downstairs to the lower apartment dwelling family and complain to them that their parenting skills could use some work, just like Perez Hilton could use a treadmill, or some Stridex or maybe have his voice box removed. How is it possible that small kids are up at 11PM? It's like they play Rock Band 24/7. Go to bed already. One of the kids knocked on my door and then went back into his apartment. Why? For fun? I waited until he left his apartment and walked past mine and opened the door. I asked him what he wanted. He said he wanted my son. Nothing else. "Can I have your son?" WTF? For what? Sacrifice? Punching bag? Someone to hold the bong? Please be specific. Articulate and PLEASE lose the yellow bandanna you have wrapped around your forehead. You look like a pirate minus the patch, the testosterone-laden ARRRRRGH and the wooden leg, all of which can be arranged be it now or in the future.

Good humor. What does that mean? Please feel free to comment and let me know what good humor means to you. Maybe I lack the definition like Bill Clinton's dumbfounded knowledge of sexual relations. Fellatio is sex....FYI Bill. So is banging an intern with a cigar and blowing your nuts on a dress. All of those are sex, in case you are wondering. I can understand, however, since you are married to a "woman" that houses one of a few places that boners go to die. Seriously though, where do I fall short?

I am all ears.

No.....Way Did You Just Ask That...

Last night, I moved us. I moved most of us. My brother's girlfriend came and helped which was incredibly awesome of her to do. By no means do I want to sound as if I am not grateful (she may read this so I want her to know) as this post is not even about her, or moving. Well its kind of about moving. She will laugh as I will. Hopefully you will. If you were there when it happened you certainly would have laughed. Being it was her and I and some douche bag, well, just read on.

I am moving 60 yards. Now, that sounds pretty easy. If I could fit all my shit into a hamster ball, I would have simply pushed it upstairs. I can't so I got a cargo van from Uhaul. This isn't even the final move. The house may close soon. If it does we will be moving permanently. We moved to another apartment in the complex. We were in the G building. Now we are in the 'I' building. Yes, alphabetical, so yes, not a long move. It is around the corner, literally, from our old apartment.

Those of you that know me, well, this is my luck. It has been my luck for a long time now. My penance is....this activity of touching everything we own at least 2 times a year. I have to move stuff, our stuff, in a cargo van, taking many trips, all day, exhausting myself, and cussing up a storm in my mind because we still have a tea set in a box marked "please take me" from 4 garage sales ago. We have too much stuff. We probably all do, but you don't realize it until you have to tax your body to move it. I am taxed. I am fully taxed, both physically and emotionally.

So last night, as I was taking a load over, someone had parked their Nissan Maxima in my driveway and left it running. I am about 9 hours into a move, a lot of it done, still a lot to go and my brother's girlfriend riding shotgun. We stop behind this running car in our driveway. We wait. We play rock paper scissors. We counted sheep. LOTS of sheep. We read Moby Dick, alternating every other chapter....twice. Still no driver. Car running....no driver. Sounds like entertainment for me any other night. But not now. I accidentally honk like a murderer accidentally stabs its victim 31 times. Nothing. So I put it in park and started unloading.

A few trips back and forth from the van to the garage, an older gentleman walks from around the corner about the time I am vacating my garage. We made eye contact. He says, and I quote, "oh geez...am I in your way?" W.........T.........FFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!!!!!!! No, asshole, you aren't in my way. You made it easier for me to lose weight off my ginormous ass because I have to sidestep your chariot. No, you aren't in my way. In fact, I had to park here so I could shake your damn hand. You are far too special to me at this very moment to be in my way. When I left my old apartment, I was praying to God, not for our loan to close or for a fire to burn all the extra shit we have....I was praying for some old asshole to be parking where he shouldn't be. Sure enough....BAM! There you were. So thank you. Thank you for taking the space I needed to get close enough to unload this 90 pound cardboard box of books. Honestly, my lumbar region thanks you. My sweat glands thank you. But most importantly, I thank you for saving me that 1/100th of a mile I will not have to pay for when I return this bitch tomorrow to Uhaul.

Some people ask the dumbest, most rhetorical questions. I am learning that they are usually asked while moving.

Stop Yelling...I am Right HERE!

Yesterday was a bad day. I have a lot of stress going on in my life. Normally I would say that these types of emotions make it impossible to form a rational thought, therefore ignoring my blog. Yesterday was normal. I ignored. I wasn't sure if blogging was something that would help me sort out my thoughts causing me to write run-on sentences with little to no punctuation which would make people confused having to read random pointless rants and raves about God knows what wondering if it would ever end and looking for the first sharp object so that they could cut their eyes out for having read such mindless crap. Wait...

I love bashing Walmart. Back when Walmart first started, it resembled a Kmart. I wasn't around much to blog about Kmart, and it is rude to kick a dead horse. So, that leaves me with Walmart. I hate you Walmart. I hate you mostly because you hire people that ask rhetorical questions. It's like servers that ask if everything was OK. Even when you reply it wasn't and the food tasted like a pile of horse shit they simply apologize and do nothing. I hear over and over and over and over again, "did you find everything OK today" when I am checking out at Walmart. I always say yes. I say yes because I have a brain, can read English (as everything, EVERYTHING is pretty well marked) and I am male; a hunter/gatherer. I didn't come to shop. I came to conquer a gallon of milk and some maxi pads. I won. Check them, bag them and move on so I can mount them on my wall.

The other day, however, I was in a mood. The checker was....well, hired by Walmart. I won't say special or slow...just not employable by anybody BUT Walmart. He had a hard time fluctuating his voice, or making adjustments to volume based on my own proximity. I was a mere 25 inches away, yet he bellowed "DID YOU FIND EVERYTHING OK" as if I was across the room. I am not sure why I answered the way I did. It could have been that my inner ear was angry and ringing. It could have been that the vibrations of his yell were reminding me that my body fat percentage was too high. I don't know. But I told him no. I told him I didn't find everything OK. I told him I struggled. I was in pain because the leprechaun had stolen my pot of gold. I told him I followed the rainbow and the little bastard had my gold and was headed toward produce. The checker stared back at me as if I was Pamela Anderson and I had just asked him to make a sequel to her sex tape and the yacht was parked out front. "WHAT!?!?!?!" Not knowing what to do, I told him I did not find the pot of gold, trying to simplify my response to something he might understand. "WE DON'T HAVE THAT HERE!" No shit. The gal up front, Kathryn Hepburn, told me that the gold was on aisle 9. Weird.

He scanned the maxi pads and gave me a stupid grin; the look I used to give people when they were buying condoms. He knows what they are for, as do I. I was positive they were not for me. His look indicated the mind was trying to process who they were for. "ARE THESE FOR YOUR WIFE or GIRLFRIEND?" No, they are for my Appaloosa. I am raising lemmings and these are their beds, dumbshit. Just put them in the bag. I am surprised there wasn't another stupid question yelled at me after the milk. "SKIM MILK IS GOOD FOR YOU!" Yes, it is. Unlike your mother's breast milk that was tainted with crack as you sucked away, right? Sir, did you know that skim milk has more calcium than any other milk? "I LIKE WATERMELON JOLLY RAN..." Forget it.

I drive out of my way to go to Walmart. It is more entertaining and I am able to then write a few paragraphs describing how normal people can't get a job, but Walmart hires just about anyone. No, I am not applying.

I See a Pattern....

Dear Guy in the Gym Bathroom,

You're hot. You are, by far, the hottest guy I have seen come through here. You workout shirt is nice. It's dry, but nice. It matches your shoes and shorts, since we all know working out is a fashion show. You have some imperfections on your face. I see you popping them, shooting Lord knows what onto me. But you're young. Complexion issues are normal at your age. Yes sir. You are one big, hot, flaming bag of hormones.

You still here? I mean, don't get me wrong. I like looking at you, but only for so long. Absence makes the hear grow fonder, if you know what I mean. You probably don't being your nuts dropped just last week. Don't worry about your hair. It's perfect. Almost too perfect for the gym. I don't even know why you are here, really. You look like your metabolism runs overtime in your sleep. You don't need cardio or weight training. You just have to show up. I should know. I see just about everyone that comes in here. You BY FAR are the best. God's gift. Go get 'em tiger!

What? Did you need something else from me? Go workout for Christ's sake. I am getting my workout just by telling you to go workout. Stop admiring yourself and get sweaty. I know you are young but you won't be forever. Pretty soon, the ever-so-touchy balance of gravity will tilt in the favor of Sir Newton. Then, our relationship will sour. Again, nothing you would know about since the closest relationship to a vagina is probably your mother's when she spat you out. You look great, blah, blah...now go on!

OK, look, I was nice before. Now I am just aggravated. You're not nearly as pretty as you think. In fact, you reek of insecurity. The shirt and shorts, albeit coordinated, don't belong in the gym. They belong at Macy's, or at the very least, in your closet. Who works out with a button up shirt? Your pecs need work. Maybe not now, but soon, when your man boobs appear. It is easier to build muscle at a young age. Your hairstyle is not hip, its old. Everyone does the messy look. Stop wearing cologne in the gym. No one cares, drama. It is better to smell musty and look the part then go through the motions. Enjoy your abs, fag, because pretty soon your six pack will be replaced by a half-rack, and I don't mean extra muscles. Keystone Light ring any bells? Of course not. You just got off of Similac. Go away already before I bring you 7 years of bad luck and fuck your emotional shit up by breaking.....homo.


Sincerely,

The Mirror

Please Just Let Me Shop

I am not interested in saving the Nepalese from leprosy. I don't care to sign your petition in support of little people rights. I don't want any cookies, leather chaps, or my face painted. I certainly don't want to sign a get well card for the Dalai Lama. Can I just get by you so I can get my prescriptions filled at Walmart?

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....if I see one more table filled with unemployed Greenpeace workers trying to recruit for the next Save the Earth movement.....let's just say, I will do the EXACT opposite they are asking support for. If they want to stop seal clubbing, I will go get a seal...somewhere, and club the living shit out of it on the spot. If the want to stop all you can eat buffets, I will binge and purge on their petitions. If they want to Save Tibet, I will donate to the Chinese consulate. I will paint their shit GREEN for spite. I am not interested and you won't sway me.

Oh, and leave me alone on the way out. I can assure you, my mind did not change while I shopped. I still think you are as retarded now as I did when I sprinted past you. It's almost as bad as the airports used to be. Take your fliers and wipe. It was hard enough to come to Walmart. My kids hate Walmart because of you. You scare them. You keep them up at night, which keeps me up at night, which ....es me off because I have to, then, tolerate YOU. I don't have enough patience for you because I spent it all on the commute over here behind a blue hair that had no business being on the road in the first place. I was tailgated. I was cut off. I was yelled at...and this was all in a school zone. So leave me alone. I don't like Girl Scout cookies. Neither do my kids. Stop trying to hand them one. Address me, not them, when offering cookies. For all I know they have crack in them you nut job. Wait until my daughter is a Girl Scout, I know. I can assure you, she will be selling something much better than cookies, but illegal.

The money is better.

Move aside, you quack. I have roll downs to take advantage of.

Dear Fellow Student

Dear Girl Sitting in Front of Me,


Please refrain from standing, turning around and flashing your camel toe at me. Frankly, please refrain not from just flashing it at me, but flashing it at anyone. I cannot imagine what made you think that painted on clothes was cool. Playboy Playmates pull it off. You can't. Please refrain from trying. Your axe wound should be kept to yourself, as well as your feminine itch that you hide oh so well by fidgeting. You either have crabs, A.D.D. or maybe both. I am glad I am not your chair.

Remember that school is for learning, not for expanding your ever-growing vocabulary (IE- LOL, TTYL, ROFL, etc.). So, please refrain from actually verbalizing your sentiments that would normally go into a text. If someone says something funny, laugh. Don't respond "ELL OH ELL" and expect anything other than the look I gave you today. It was dumb and I am sure it is not necessarily a generational thing as so much as it is a you are a phuck tard thing. I thank you for paying your tuition, but your parents will want you out of the house eventually. Trust me.

I am not sure what you carry in your backpack, but I have not seen you pull out a writing utensil in two days and your books still have the packaging wrap on them. At some point you will need the tools that your parents bought for you at Walmart this year. If it is because they got it at Walmart that causes you to twitch like a meth freak, don't. When you get older, and you (please think before you do) have kids of your own, you pray for a "one stop shopping experience." Dragging snot around a store, and then to the car, and then to a different store is not fun for grown ups. Nut up and wear the damn backpack. Watching you struggle hauling around 20 pounds of useless, unused material is painful for me to watch. Not because it looks heavy and you are straining, but mostly because you are more concerned with the proper position of your QWERTY keyboard than you are with the poor ergonomic way in which you are carrying it. Take notes. Drop the class. I don't care which, but your hair is blocking my view of the PowerPoint presentation.

College is not high school. I hate to tell you that. Cliques left after you threw your cap in the air at graduation, or got your GED in the mail. I know, you may know someone on campus and therefore will try to start your own campus clique. It won't work. It's like trying to bring back MC Hammer....or his pants. If you focused a small percentage on your studies, rather than trying to raise the "social Titanic," you may graduate, or at the very least, pass this pre-requisite to get into the next class. It's called a timeline, Van Wilder. Unless you plan on studying law, the goal is 2 years. At this pace, you will be lucky if you finish by the time The Backstreet Boys reunite.

Last but certainly not least, when I honk at you as you text while crossing the road, flipping me the bird is not original. The fact you dropped your LG phone doesn't really phase me, albeit your reaction was priceless. Asking me to watch where I am going is kind of dumb being I was watching, hence the honk. Please do not try texting anywhere near traffic. The next person may just plow into you as they are texting while driving, and they are probably your roommate, which will leave someone paying full share instead of half, or possibly 1/3, depending on your injuries.

Good luck in class dumbass.


Signed,

The guy behind you

Time to Live

I have often wondered why people wait so long to live their lives? I am guilty. I am very guilty. The old saying "get busy living or get busy dying" rings very true with me. Yet, I sit passively by as I watch other people living their lives. I suppose that is why, at 36 years old, I have decided to better my life by becoming a Registered Nurse. I can no longer be idle. I can no longer accept the excuse "everyone else, but me." Why not me? Why can't I have the very best? Have I given every effort to better myself, my family, my future? I can honestly say I haven't. I have coasted. I have let the current take me where I am going rather than paddle the direction I want to go. I have weathered many storms, many waves and I am sure there will be many more of these storms in my life.

"Pain lasts an hour, a day, or maybe a year. Giving up...that lasts forever." - Lance Armstrong

Don't give up on yourself. You are all you've got.

Kanye West is Infuriating

First of all, I am not a Kanye West fan. Last thing I heard, he rapped a little. Actually, I take that back. He announced he was better than God. I didn't watch the MTV Video Awards. I guess it was a big deal because all throughout The Real World finale last week it was all they could talk about. I am not into award shows. I like music, all kinds of music unless it's Kanye. Then, I would rather get donkey punched by a gay porn star.

I don't know what it is about him, really. I just don't like him. He is too vocal without really saying anything important. I remember on SNL, he said George Bush hated black people after hurricane Katrina. Notwithstanding his comment, SHUT UP! SNL is not a podium for you to spout at the mouth about shit that you feel is newsworthy. This is not a pulpit for you to preach about.....FUCK! Nothing! Tonight, however, he behaved as predictably as Brett Favre NOT retiring. Beyonce lost an award to Taylor Swift. During her speech, he bum rushed the stage, entourageless, grabbed the microphone and said, essentially, Beyonce got screwed.

HEY....USHER-WANNABE....DARIUS RUCKER SINGS COUNTRY. THE SHIT IS IN! GOOOOO AWAY!

Now Beyonce, being the classy gal she is allowed Taylor Swift her due moment later in the show. I just cannot grasp why on EARTH Kanye feels that anyone gives a shit when his lips part. Again, maybe its because I am not a fan of smelling feces, or watching people gloat about being at the right place at the right time. Frankly, Kanye should take a Gulfstream and fly it into the ocean. OMG, you might say, how terrible! Its how I feel about him in general. If there was a headline that read "KANYE WEST GUNNED DOWN AT CHUCK E CHEESE IN THE 9TH WARD IN NEW ORLEANS, I would skip over it to watch porn.

Don't care, Kanye. You suck!

Late night rants rule!

Open Letter to the Octomom

Dear Octomom,


You are crazy.

You are beyond crazy actually. There is something medically wrong with you; some sort of chemical imbalance. I am not sure there are any drugs out there that can actually touch the depth of your nuttiness. You are fruitier than Rupaul. You make Amy Winehouse appear as an upstanding citizen. I did waht I swore would never do. I supported you by watching your "Untold Video" show last night on Fox. I contributed to the delinquency of an assbag. I feel dirty, like I just watched 'The Crying Game,' sucking my thumb in the corner of the shower. That is a thumb , right?

First of all, let's just cover the plastic surgery denial. NO ONE, without some allergy to histamine, has lips like yours. No one. Jimmy Walker is saying DYNOMITE to your lips. Shaquille O'Neal uses them for shade. You are banned from the ocean because you might cause a Tsunami. Your speech creates a Category 1 windstorm, OK? Do you understand where this is going? Just admit, like most of the world, you think Angelina Jolie is sexy. It's OK to admit it. I find it ironic there are before pictures where you looked all....well, pathetically homely. Bums would give you money in your before pictures. The Taliban actually threw down there weapons when someone said YOU WERE AMERICAN. They felt bad. Don't say you haven't had work done because it is painfully obvious you have. Sort of like Cher. She has a reason. She wanted to be the first performer to have actually performed in 3 different eras. The Paleolithic, the Mesoteric and some other one that starts qith the letter Q. Give it a rest already.

Another thing that bothered me was your perception that your life was simply thrust upon you and you did not want all of this attention. Why on EARTH, then, would you shove 8 ....ing babies inside your vagina? Was it to NOT have attention? Are you seriously that ....ing narrow minded to think that the only set of surviving octuplets would NOT gather some sort of dramatic effect??? You called Kate Gosselin an attention whore. That statement is more or less true. I don't think she upset her marriage is over as so much that the cameras will officially add 10 pounds to only her with Jon out of the picture. She pails n comparison to what you seek. You are now using your kids as your own personal ATM card. It's sad really. It's sad that your Mom was right about you. You are stupid and nuts. Welcome to Mother's Day that will have nothing to do with you.

Finally, I just needed to remind you that you have 6 other kids. For someone working towards a Master's Degree, you sure are stupid. What is the degree in, single motherhood? When will you go to school, actually? Will you show up on the Today Show in the year 2050 as an 88-year old getting her Master's Degree because "you always knew that no one could take that away from you?" I want so badly to take away your viable uterus and give it to someone that cannot have kids of their own so that they can witness the joy of ONE baby. Your excuse to having a hockey team is you love babies. Babies grow up to be virile, reactive teenagers. Then what? I can't wait when one of them overreacts and bitch-slaps you, calling you a bitch as he walks away. Oh wait, your 2-year old did that already. What are you going to teach these kid's other than they need to rely on other's to help exist? You are a volume of Encyclopedia Britannica's on Mediocrity. There is nothing about you that is appealing. Good luck getting 8 kids in time out all at once.

Please do me a favor. Don't home school these kids. This is the one time that public schools might help them. It HAS to be better than what you can teach them. Also, throw food away that is freezer burnt. I get the impression you are a pack rat that keeps frozen food wayyyyy too long. Kind of like embryos. Let them go already. Its toolate now that they are born, so do your best and let other people teach them about life. Your lessons suck. No kissing Cacti, lest facial deflation will occur.

Signed,

America

Strike One, Strike Two...

The DMV sucks. I don't even need to tell anyone that. It is a given. Sort of like Starr Jones DID have gastric bypass, the Grand Canyon IS a big hole in the ground and Courtney Love DOES need to fall into it. It makes sense. I have been in Washington State for 2 years now, almost to the day, moving from Idaho. I still had my Idaho license. It expires in 2011 so I didn't see the need to get a WA license right away. Unless I got pulled over, which I did not long ago for going 65 in a 55 miles per hour construction zone with an Idaho license, Washington plates, and Washington registration, which I couldn't find, nor could I find the proof of insurance. But that is another story. The DMV sucks.

I went down there at 6:45AM this morning, Saturday. My wife had told me that when she got there at 7:15 the previous Saturday, she was 6th in line. I figured at 6:45, I would be first. I was wrong. I turned out to be 9th, which I think I should have gotten a participant ribbon for, similar to placing 9th out of 10 in a race. Yay...here is your ribbon, thanks for playing. The DMV opens at 8:30AM. I had time to kill. The guy next to me was a cool guy so we passed the time talking about how life sucks standing in line at the DMV, SPEAKING ENGLISH, while others are carrying on a conversation in a dialect I am not familiar with, but if I were I could be employed in just about any place in this stupid town. Sidetracked...sorry. Doors open. I had a utility bill, my social security card, my old license, me, keys, phone, a dead pheasant, a goose decoy (headless), some moccasins, and a rabbit's foot key chain. I figured with all this shit I should have no problem getting my license. I was number 001. SWEET! Guy at the counter, extremely happy his heart is beating, asks for three forms of identification. I gave him my old license, my social security card and the utility bill. He needs one more.

Strike one....

I asked him what I needed. Birth certificate, he says. I help up the dead pheasant. He shook his head. He said no to the decoy, the moccasins (that had my initials on them) and the decoy that said BRACK on it. Shit. He said go get something from list B (which none of the shit I trucked in there was on the list....my bad) and come to the window. I left, drove home and got a copy of the birth certificate. I returned to his window, handed him the CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH (copy) and he said great, but it isn't certified. Shit. I told him it was. He said it could be forged. Right, because I give two shits about having this license. I don't even really want to be me. Why would I make ME up?

Strike two...

I asked him what else would suffice. He said a rabbit's foo....OK, he didn't say that. He said anything from list B which he then handed me a copy of what is acceptable from that list. A yearbook photo. I have one of those. He said if I can look at your photo and then recognize you, it will work. Jesus, that was 18 years ago. If I did look the same, I would need to see a doctor, or sell the secret to eternal youth. In which case, I would buy this building and tear it down with you in it. I ran home, found the ONE copy of a certified birth certificate, obtained in 1985 for Little League to prove I was, in fact, a 12-year old Caucasian and not a 31-year old defector from Guatemala. I returned, hoping to God it would work as it was now 9:30AM. It did. I had my photo taken. I now know why people take shitty DMV photos. Smile? re you kidding? The hoop jumping did me in Steven Welch, License Representative.

I hate you, Steven Welch, and hope you get ass-raped by a big, phucking grizzly. let me know if you smile after that......dick.

The 'S' is Silent

Arkansas.

I have never been to Arkansas, but I can assure you that the 'S' at the end is silent. There is no Ark in Kansas, at least not to my knowledge. I actually heard a high school graduate state that the state with the highest level of poverty in the United States was ArkansaS, accentuating the "S" at the end. I looked at the person sitting to my left to validate if what I heard actually occurred. Sure enough, we both saw the same unicorn bound across the classroom. She had a hard time pronouncing Louisiana, saying "louis-iana," as if it was some Italian restaurant owned by someone named Lou. I was petrified. Maybe she was just nervous presenting her group's poster. Maybe she was confused, flashing back to reading the newest edition of people magazine. Maybe she is just an idiot. If it were me I would go with the latter.

I must go search for the Holy Grail in Kentucky. More later...

Bullshit Studies

Every now and again I see our tax dollars being spent on studies to determine the obvious. Low flying planes increae chances of air fatalities, or not buckling up might cause your body to go through the windshield. Overeating causes you to get fat...get the idea?

Here is a doozy. Exercising makes you hungrier. No shit. Really? The study shows, or was done to show how exercising might actually INCREASE the obesity problem in America because as people exercise they might over eat. Are you serious? Is that study really necessary? People are now concerned that they might get fatter by exercising. When did being in shape require so much thought. It is really simple math. Calories in - calories out = weight loss or gain. Period. End of story. It isn't a trick. There is no magic here. So why on God's green Earth are we spending money to over think the simple? Jesus, cure the common cold. Find a way for cancer to be controlled. Figure out why chronic diseases control over 40% of the American population. STOP SPENDING MY MONEY ON MATH EQUATIONS MY KIDS CAN DO!

Dear U.S. Government People that dish out money for studying shit,

I have an idea. I believe that if I get a control group of about 50 of my frien...err....random people off the street, I can determine the correlation between pot smoking, beer consumption and intelligence. Screw rats. I think people are the better option. I plan on disproving what "doctor types of people" think is "bad" for you. In order form me to do this I will need approximately $13.75 million dollars, about 500 bails of marijuana and 145 cases of Miller Genuine draft. Ice and a biggggg cooler. Oh, and I need some legal pads....and pens, and maybe one of those digital recorders to record information in. Beer in one hand, blunt in another....hard to write. Recorder is good.

Sincerely,

me.

P.S. - do you need an address?

I'm Tired

I am tired. I am tired of a lot of things. Being sick. I got tired of that awhile ago although I am closer to being better than ever. I am tired of being a broke student again. This time its different because I have a family to support. I am tired of struggling to find things to make for dinner that everyone in my house will eat. That gets old. Although I know I need to do it. The last thing my wife needs to worry about after working a full day is trying to appease everyone. Role reversal. I guess I am tired of that too.

I am very tired of Jon and Kate. I don't care about what they and the 8 did anyway. Why would I care to see them try to entertain 8 kids on someone else's dime? All their shit got paid for. Trips, clothes, shoes, etc. It was all gifted to them. I don't care anymore. What else is there to learn? We all have opinions on how things went down with them, all of which doesn't matter in the grand scheme of the universe. I cannot believe that this show still carries an audience. I am tired of seeing Kate's spiked up buzz cut, if that is even possible. Just be a lesbian already.

I am tired of noticing that the most expensive cars obey the least amount of rules. For $50,000 you can purchase a vehicle that has dysfunctional turn signals, whose brakes do not work, whose gas pedal is constantly stuck at "on my ass," or who is immune to construction zone speed requirements. I always want to follow these people and see where they live so I can pour brake fluid on the hood of their car in the shape of a smiley face and watch the paint bubble up just before I leave.

I am tired of hearing Michael Jackson songs on the radio. I liked Michael Jackson back when he resembled a human being. His music was in, kind of like mullets. But now it is played mostly because the guy died. Sort of like Elvis I guess. One way to get out of debt is to die. Way to go Mike. I don't care if he was possibly murdered or whatever the new theory is on his cause of death. Just get it over with already. This is getting more play than Pamela Anderson's hepatitis. But that is a whole other story.

I am tired of my son's water wings. Sink or swim. You choose. But its time to lose the wings. Now he is only 4, and some might think that is too young to drown. Drowning has no age barrier. He has every right to drown like any other toddler. I fear he may be 13 before he has the confidence to take them off. By then, he would have already committed social suicide by coupling his water wings with a size medium swim diaper. Enough is enough.

I am tired of the tomato plant I have getting pecked at by birds more often than Lindsay Lohan's vagina. I didn't grow this bastard for the culinary enjoyment of every bird in the Tri-Cities area. I have no problem feeding the birds cracked corn. I don't eat the shit, so have at it. But I do eat tomatoes. So leave it alone before I release the cracken.

Last but not least, I am tired of the censoring of my own blog by the blog program. I can say shit, but I can't say .... That doesn't make any sense. .... that! If I want to say ...., shit, ...., pussy, ass, ....face, ....chop, or any other expletives, I should be able to do without being censored by my own damn blogger site. Its bullshit and its aggravating. ....ing stupid Internet. You can google porn all day but the minute you want to call someone a ....ing asshole, you can't do it. ....!

THat's all I have at the moment but that was just what hit me over the last 10 minutes. Maybe something will come to me this afternoon. Like the big clumps of hair that float around in our apartment pool. That is ....ing gross....especially when you don't see it until you pop up for air and feeling it like a ....ing cob web across your face. Tired of that too.

Holy Shiznit!

I need to write in this more. With everything that has been going on with my health it has made it nearly impossible. Hear, I beg and plead for people to follow the blog, they come, and nothing happens. it is like the reverse Field of Dreams....

BUILD IT AND NOTHING WILL HAPPEN

BAH! So here is my quick promise. I will post at least twice a week. My hope is they are twisted, bizarre, wry posts that will make you either fall out of your chair laughing, or cause you to ponder a stage in your life, past, present or future and rethink maybe something that you thought was once terrible but maybe wasnt as bad as what my mind goes through daily. Either way, I promise your life will be better in some form or fashion.

I must go for now, however. I need to go to a birthday party, the birthday person I do not know, the guest will be as foreign as money is to me at the moment, the alcohold flowing freely, knowing full well I cannot partake in....yes, so why am I going again.

Because I am married.

Happy wife, happy life.

Deep Rambles

I often feel like I have strayed in the way I have lived my life and that soon, hopefully very soon, I shall return from my banishment a better man. Unlike the story of The Prodigal Son, no one sent me on this perilous quest but myself. Yet, the rewards attained from the experiences shall be reaped by many. Again, this is a hope, not necessarily a fact. Usually, at least lately, hope is all I have had.

This entry was not motivated by anything. These words are being thought of on the fly with little thought put towards them prior to being spewn onto the web, but yet, somehow, in my heart of hearts, they are prolific in nature. Their meaning might only be familiar to me. Some may be able to relate to having been cast away by a loved one or loved ones, struggling to find the meaning of why, rather than simply being grateful for having the opportunity to realize the err in their ways. Yet, there may be some who have no idea why they are wandering aimlessly through life, wondering where the past two decades have gone. Kung Fu Panda is a silly kids movie, yet thee is a quote in there that states something about today being a gift, that is why they call it "a present." Today is truly a gift. Tomorrow is not even remotely on my mind. Often, however, I think back to yesterday wondering what I did to earn those todays of my past.

I am not sure what I have done to earn today. I got up this morning. I went about my life. Did I touch someone else's life? Did I make it memorable for anyone other than me? If I died today, what would people say about me? Would my journey away be remarkable in teaching me tangible things I can use to benefit OTHERS? I am not sure I have done that very well, at least not lately. Giving is truly a gift that has endless returns.

Time for class....