Duh.....
Most will say that's because women have more important things to say and can express it better than a man can. I say, "did you say something?" In reality, my youngest children; Jacob, age 4 and Peyton age 6, prove this point rather nicely.
If you take Peyton anywhere, she doesn't stop talking....ever. From the time she gets in the car until the time she is pushed out of the car because of insanity, she is talking about anything she sees. There are more neurons be fired than contestants on "The Apprentice." I don't really listen because I am pretty up to date with the primary colors, the fashion sense of most 1st graders, the fact that Peyton's teacher is expecting twins this year, that the monkey bars are cold at recess and that Winter is not fun because the grass is always wet and they can't sit down. I ask, "why do you guys want to stand up from your desks at class, go outside and sit back down?" I get the 10,000 yard stare.
My son loves scenery. I assume he loves scenery or he is contemplating his next one syllable, off-topic contribution to any conversation taking place. For example:
Peyton : "....and when the bell rang, we lined up, not by height but by date of birth, which I organized and people weren't listening. All the other students went in and the teacher was telling me I had to hurry up before the kids got cold, which didn't make sense because we all had coats on and-"
Jacob: "Thomas is a blue train"
Nice aside, son. That throws Peyton for a loop because, although her voice has stopped, her brain has continued on and she forgets what she was saying. In all reality, Jacob's interventions often save me (and anyone else in the car) from further bleeding from our ears.
This brings me to my point. At Jacob's daycare, both of the provider's children were having emotional problems and were having meltdowns. This caused a lot of drama within the daycare, all of which Jacob seems to avoid except when it is behind my front door, and it involves his sister. Other than that, he is content with playing with his shadow. So when my wife picked him up today, the provider had mentioned all about the drama including the time, ambient temperature and daily rainfall measurement and apologized in advance if Jacob mentions something on the way home.
So my wife loads him into the car, he buckles up and promptly assumes the observational post of checking out the scenery as it flies by. My wife asks him, "what happened at daycare today." He says nothing happened....not making eye contact as he counts the pollen flying by the car. My wife says, "Lisa said her girls were mad...what happened?" He shrugs, looking at her and says, "they were mad I guess," and turned back to counting. If Peyton was in the car, who KNOWS if the story would have ended. In fact, if I were to go check on her right now, as she lays in bed, I would only guess that she would be mumbling about it still...even though she would have been home for almost 7 hours.
Future filibuster, anyone?
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Something I posted to another website in 2006
Dear God,
I want my rib back.
So, feel free to get that to me whenever you can, because you wasted it. What were you thinking? Fifteen minutes after creation, I had not even healed yet from my ribectomy, and that bitch was eating the forbidden fruit. Why did you give me someone who doesn’t listen? If she isn’t going to listen to her Creator, why the hell would she listen to some idiot wearing a fig leaf over his nuts?
That’s another thing. What is with admonishing me for being bashful? I am wearing five square inches of roughage on my crotch. That’s it. This isn’t even enough foliage to cover a knee cap, let alone my package. I don’t really even want to discuss Eve pointing and laughing. I mean, come on, she has nothing to really compare it to, unless there is something you aren’t telling me.
I hope you understand, I am grateful for the company. I mean, this Garden is pretty and all, but there is nothing to do here. It was really cool that you told me I could fornicate all I want and make babies. But did you give any thought as to how Eve and I were supposed to take care of these kids? You do understand that fruit and vegetables are rather fibrous and well, lets just say I, personally, have not had a solid bowel movement for weeks. I can only imagine every couple of hours, our kids are sleeping in a pool of their own shit. Do you know how absorbent Catalpa leaves are? Not very, and the only bath is our drinking water. They don’t stop crying either. The fruit goes in, the fruit goes out- not to mention that Eve is always complaining that she never has enough ‘me’ time. This is bullshit.
Since Eve ate the fruit, she has to suffer the pains of child birth. As I am sure you know, sooner or later there will be some sort of pain killer for this, which I am sure you already know. What a harsh penalty. The serpent gets to crawl around on their belly for all eternity. Oh no, not that, God. Please don’t put the snake closer to their food or anything.
Meanwhile, behind Door Number Three, we have Adam, and since he listened to his “life partner,” he gets to work 50-hour work weeks to help repay his debt for taking God’s advice and trusting His “gift.” A lifetime of manual labor. That’s sweet, God. Thanks.
So if it is all the same, I would just rather you give me back my rib. We will try something else. Maybe you can make a hot chick out of a mushroom. Every new start-up operation has bugs to work out. At least the Earth is flat.
Sincerely,
Adam
I want my rib back.
So, feel free to get that to me whenever you can, because you wasted it. What were you thinking? Fifteen minutes after creation, I had not even healed yet from my ribectomy, and that bitch was eating the forbidden fruit. Why did you give me someone who doesn’t listen? If she isn’t going to listen to her Creator, why the hell would she listen to some idiot wearing a fig leaf over his nuts?
That’s another thing. What is with admonishing me for being bashful? I am wearing five square inches of roughage on my crotch. That’s it. This isn’t even enough foliage to cover a knee cap, let alone my package. I don’t really even want to discuss Eve pointing and laughing. I mean, come on, she has nothing to really compare it to, unless there is something you aren’t telling me.
I hope you understand, I am grateful for the company. I mean, this Garden is pretty and all, but there is nothing to do here. It was really cool that you told me I could fornicate all I want and make babies. But did you give any thought as to how Eve and I were supposed to take care of these kids? You do understand that fruit and vegetables are rather fibrous and well, lets just say I, personally, have not had a solid bowel movement for weeks. I can only imagine every couple of hours, our kids are sleeping in a pool of their own shit. Do you know how absorbent Catalpa leaves are? Not very, and the only bath is our drinking water. They don’t stop crying either. The fruit goes in, the fruit goes out- not to mention that Eve is always complaining that she never has enough ‘me’ time. This is bullshit.
Since Eve ate the fruit, she has to suffer the pains of child birth. As I am sure you know, sooner or later there will be some sort of pain killer for this, which I am sure you already know. What a harsh penalty. The serpent gets to crawl around on their belly for all eternity. Oh no, not that, God. Please don’t put the snake closer to their food or anything.
Meanwhile, behind Door Number Three, we have Adam, and since he listened to his “life partner,” he gets to work 50-hour work weeks to help repay his debt for taking God’s advice and trusting His “gift.” A lifetime of manual labor. That’s sweet, God. Thanks.
So if it is all the same, I would just rather you give me back my rib. We will try something else. Maybe you can make a hot chick out of a mushroom. Every new start-up operation has bugs to work out. At least the Earth is flat.
Sincerely,
Adam
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
My Downstairs Neighbors
If you can't beat them, wear a mask and try again.
It seems it stays quiet until bed time, and then all hell breaks loose. At what time would singing LDS hymns at 10:44PM sound like a good idea? They did this, as my kids told me later, while an infant was crying. In order to mask the sound of a screaming baby, we larger humans will try screaming as well. Forget that it is LDS. I don't care what color the religion was. My point is, this shit needs to stop...immediately.
"Why don't you go ask them to be quiet," you ask? I have. I have knocked on the door and stood there, without saying anything, and burned Moroni in effigy, yet, they sit back and smile, looking as if the 12th can of whip cream that was just inhaled is definitely not the last. My daughter went down to play with one of their feral children and came back up 9 minutes later complaining of the smell. Something doesn't make me feel comfortable knowing the lady watching my child cannot see her hand in front of her face. That, or she is rather tolerant of her kids walking on the counters and dangling from the window sill like dander. Either way, I might go nuts here soon....very....soon.
The real kicker was the guy asking me what I was doing this coming Sunday. I am all for religion, having God in your life. Stating I have God in my life entitles the receiver of said information an invitation to stop soliciting me to go to church with you. Your minivan seats 7. You plus Joseph Smith's bounty on your wife's vagina equals 7 already. No room and both my cars blew a head gasket and cannot drive. Walk? No...my kids have spina bifida and their knuckles aren't used to the pressure. I know you saw them playing yesterday, they just got it last night. The bikes have flat tires, stop looking in my garage. The skateboard isn't mine, unless its your son's and he left it in front of my door, then it IS mine and forever will be. Along with this scooter. Yes I tithe...I tithe the shit your kids leave around my front door, like this broken branch off that dead tree, this raccoon hat, Daniel Boone, and this set of Junie B. Jones books. Yes, you can have the dead bird. Probably ridden with Avian flu. Would I be interested in watching the Mormon National Convention on your TV? You mean the 14 inch color TV I see you all huddled around while playing pong? No I saw it already. From 1994? I missed that one, but I can't imagine it can be more riveting than the bamboo shoots in my toenails I have planned in the next 5 1/2 minutes. Can't be late for that. I know, my reluctance seems contrived but I really need to get going. I have found a bitch to fill full of semen. No, my bulldog. Long story...the short version is I would rather jerk him off into a tube than spend 9.5 hours in church with you today. But thank you for asking. Would I like to come over for some punch? No not really. Why? Have you ever seen the story about the Heaven's Gate cult? Oh, and you look like shit in purple velour.
Nice shoes though, wandering eye....
It seems it stays quiet until bed time, and then all hell breaks loose. At what time would singing LDS hymns at 10:44PM sound like a good idea? They did this, as my kids told me later, while an infant was crying. In order to mask the sound of a screaming baby, we larger humans will try screaming as well. Forget that it is LDS. I don't care what color the religion was. My point is, this shit needs to stop...immediately.
"Why don't you go ask them to be quiet," you ask? I have. I have knocked on the door and stood there, without saying anything, and burned Moroni in effigy, yet, they sit back and smile, looking as if the 12th can of whip cream that was just inhaled is definitely not the last. My daughter went down to play with one of their feral children and came back up 9 minutes later complaining of the smell. Something doesn't make me feel comfortable knowing the lady watching my child cannot see her hand in front of her face. That, or she is rather tolerant of her kids walking on the counters and dangling from the window sill like dander. Either way, I might go nuts here soon....very....soon.
The real kicker was the guy asking me what I was doing this coming Sunday. I am all for religion, having God in your life. Stating I have God in my life entitles the receiver of said information an invitation to stop soliciting me to go to church with you. Your minivan seats 7. You plus Joseph Smith's bounty on your wife's vagina equals 7 already. No room and both my cars blew a head gasket and cannot drive. Walk? No...my kids have spina bifida and their knuckles aren't used to the pressure. I know you saw them playing yesterday, they just got it last night. The bikes have flat tires, stop looking in my garage. The skateboard isn't mine, unless its your son's and he left it in front of my door, then it IS mine and forever will be. Along with this scooter. Yes I tithe...I tithe the shit your kids leave around my front door, like this broken branch off that dead tree, this raccoon hat, Daniel Boone, and this set of Junie B. Jones books. Yes, you can have the dead bird. Probably ridden with Avian flu. Would I be interested in watching the Mormon National Convention on your TV? You mean the 14 inch color TV I see you all huddled around while playing pong? No I saw it already. From 1994? I missed that one, but I can't imagine it can be more riveting than the bamboo shoots in my toenails I have planned in the next 5 1/2 minutes. Can't be late for that. I know, my reluctance seems contrived but I really need to get going. I have found a bitch to fill full of semen. No, my bulldog. Long story...the short version is I would rather jerk him off into a tube than spend 9.5 hours in church with you today. But thank you for asking. Would I like to come over for some punch? No not really. Why? Have you ever seen the story about the Heaven's Gate cult? Oh, and you look like shit in purple velour.
Nice shoes though, wandering eye....
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I'll Stick With the Ailment, Thanks!
A friend of mine is embarking on training for a fitness competition. I think that's awesome. I cannot even fathom what it would take to remain focused and disciplined enough to avoid everything that this world will throw her way. She shall remain nameless out of respect for her. We got to talking about body fat percentages, what's healthy and what isn't. The lower a woman's body fat is, the less likely they are to have a period. Makes sense. I got to thinking about some of the ailments we suffer as individuals and the bullshit we have to put up with taking drugs to alleviate the symptoms related to said bullshit. I decided that, for the sake of my own insanity, I would pick a few of these "ailments," and dive a little further into curing them...and what someone would have to put up with.
Let's start with restless leg syndrome, or RLS for short. The drug used to cure your restless legs is called REQUIP, which is an FDA approved drug. Side effects include, back pain, depression, arthritis, insomnia, nocturnal cramps (which I imagine are lame, as compared to nocturnal emissions. One makes you smile, the other makes you say WTF?!?!?! I'll let you decide for yourself), spontaneous sweats...oh, and narcolepsy, which would be awesome driving 70 MPH over the Columbia River, don't you think? All this shit because you can't stop fidgeting? Sure, RLS might be something else, but I don't care. My post, my rules. I'd rather have twitchy legs.
Next we have menses. Yes, the beloved period. Apparently, its a pain in the ass; PMS, and all that other bullshit. They have made a cure for men already for PMS. Several actually, ranging anywhere from Keystone Light to Jack Daniels. However, they now have a drug that will cut your periods from 12 a year to 4. Sounds like a winner. However, Astra, as the drug is called can really mess you up. Hypertension, cramps, BLEEDING, blood clots, deep vein thrombosis, pulmonary embolism, MOOD SWINGS (sounds a lot like the regular PMS, doesn't it?0, bleeding from your eyes and/or ears. The list goes on. I look at it this way, God created the menstrual cycle. Since God made this cycle, and God is woman (so I have heard), don't you think that cleaning your uterus every 28 days is a good idea? Please, give me (or the woman in my life) all 12 periods. Sounds better than the alternative.
I figured if you are still with me, I will share one more so that you can go on to bigger and better things. Depression is not a joke. At least not to a person going through it. People all upset because it's raining is a different story. "But my doctor told me its cuz it rains" doesn't validate an illness. He is in the business for customer (patient) retention. Best cure for seasonal depression is a 24 foot U-Haul and a map. Other than that, stop whining. Cymbalta is a popular anti-depressant meant to cure those clinically depressed for one reason or another (guinea pig/beta fish/turtle/dog/cat/ex-spouse/mistress/ dying, on top of other things) and should be taken at proper dosage to have full effect. However, nothing says I AM HAPPY like public incontinence, which is a side effect of Cymbalta. Imagine, already hating life. Wife says take this little pill and all will be better. On the drive to the mall, you start to feel somewhat euphoric. You get out of the car, take a deep breath feeling like life is actually pretty awesome right now. You grab your wife's hand as a non-verbal "thank you for caring enough about you to give me this drug." You lean over to kiss her cheek while you are walking, open the door for her and then **BAM**, you shit yourself. People look at you and the shit running onto your shoes. They laugh. Now, tell me what is so anti-depressing about that? That's just ONE side effect. Couple that with bizarre behavior; bloody or black, tarry stools; blurred vision; confusion; dark urine; decreased concentration; decreased coordination; excessive sweating; fainting; fast or irregular heartbeat; fever or chills; hallucinations; memory loss; new or worsening aggressiveness, agitation, anxiety, hostility, impulsiveness, irritability, panic attacks, restlessness, or inability to sit still; pale stools; red, swollen, blistered, or peeling skin; ringing in the ears; seizures; severe or persistent dizziness or headache; severe or persistent nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea; severe or persistent tiredness or weakness; severe or persistent trouble sleeping; stiff muscles; stomach pain; suicidal thoughts or attempts; tremor; trouble urinating or change in the amount of urine produced; unusual bruising or bleeding; unusual or severe mental or mood changes; unusual weakness; vomit that looks like coffee grounds; worsening of depression; yellowing of the skin or eyes and you tell me....
wouldn't you rather just be depressed?
I think I'll just take the ailment....
Let's start with restless leg syndrome, or RLS for short. The drug used to cure your restless legs is called REQUIP, which is an FDA approved drug. Side effects include, back pain, depression, arthritis, insomnia, nocturnal cramps (which I imagine are lame, as compared to nocturnal emissions. One makes you smile, the other makes you say WTF?!?!?! I'll let you decide for yourself), spontaneous sweats...oh, and narcolepsy, which would be awesome driving 70 MPH over the Columbia River, don't you think? All this shit because you can't stop fidgeting? Sure, RLS might be something else, but I don't care. My post, my rules. I'd rather have twitchy legs.
Next we have menses. Yes, the beloved period. Apparently, its a pain in the ass; PMS, and all that other bullshit. They have made a cure for men already for PMS. Several actually, ranging anywhere from Keystone Light to Jack Daniels. However, they now have a drug that will cut your periods from 12 a year to 4. Sounds like a winner. However, Astra, as the drug is called can really mess you up. Hypertension, cramps, BLEEDING, blood clots, deep vein thrombosis, pulmonary embolism, MOOD SWINGS (sounds a lot like the regular PMS, doesn't it?0, bleeding from your eyes and/or ears. The list goes on. I look at it this way, God created the menstrual cycle. Since God made this cycle, and God is woman (so I have heard), don't you think that cleaning your uterus every 28 days is a good idea? Please, give me (or the woman in my life) all 12 periods. Sounds better than the alternative.
I figured if you are still with me, I will share one more so that you can go on to bigger and better things. Depression is not a joke. At least not to a person going through it. People all upset because it's raining is a different story. "But my doctor told me its cuz it rains" doesn't validate an illness. He is in the business for customer (patient) retention. Best cure for seasonal depression is a 24 foot U-Haul and a map. Other than that, stop whining. Cymbalta is a popular anti-depressant meant to cure those clinically depressed for one reason or another (guinea pig/beta fish/turtle/dog/cat/ex-spouse/mistress/ dying, on top of other things) and should be taken at proper dosage to have full effect. However, nothing says I AM HAPPY like public incontinence, which is a side effect of Cymbalta. Imagine, already hating life. Wife says take this little pill and all will be better. On the drive to the mall, you start to feel somewhat euphoric. You get out of the car, take a deep breath feeling like life is actually pretty awesome right now. You grab your wife's hand as a non-verbal "thank you for caring enough about you to give me this drug." You lean over to kiss her cheek while you are walking, open the door for her and then **BAM**, you shit yourself. People look at you and the shit running onto your shoes. They laugh. Now, tell me what is so anti-depressing about that? That's just ONE side effect. Couple that with bizarre behavior; bloody or black, tarry stools; blurred vision; confusion; dark urine; decreased concentration; decreased coordination; excessive sweating; fainting; fast or irregular heartbeat; fever or chills; hallucinations; memory loss; new or worsening aggressiveness, agitation, anxiety, hostility, impulsiveness, irritability, panic attacks, restlessness, or inability to sit still; pale stools; red, swollen, blistered, or peeling skin; ringing in the ears; seizures; severe or persistent dizziness or headache; severe or persistent nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea; severe or persistent tiredness or weakness; severe or persistent trouble sleeping; stiff muscles; stomach pain; suicidal thoughts or attempts; tremor; trouble urinating or change in the amount of urine produced; unusual bruising or bleeding; unusual or severe mental or mood changes; unusual weakness; vomit that looks like coffee grounds; worsening of depression; yellowing of the skin or eyes and you tell me....
wouldn't you rather just be depressed?
I think I'll just take the ailment....
Spammers
I don't want Viagra for $4. My wife might want me to want it, but I don't. I don't want $19,000,000. I do but I don't want the nightmare that comes with it. I certainly don't want to meet jennifer21f@yahoo.uk because, as we all know, if it ends in UK, that means her teeth are messed up. That, AND I DON'T NEED CRABS! Neither does my wife, which brings me full circle.
Are there people who really believe the shit that ends up in their spam box? Just today I was asked to meet "anywhere my desire took me," in order to hook up. Thanks to a high fiber diet, my desire took me to the bathroom. Would I still need to verify my age in order to take a dump in my own house? As of noon today, I inherited $109,000,000. All I needed to do was verify my identity and it was mine. This begs the question, didn't you already do that by finding my email address and ask me to help you and your club footed family? For fun, I always reply like a backwoods hick thanking the spammer profusely for funding by defunct moonshine operation and would gladly accept a cashier's check mailed to a PO BOX. It never works. Occasionally I get a response, but it never lasts as the spammer realizes they can't win. "But Eli, they could steal your identity." OK, have it. It hasn't done me any good lately. Knock yourselves out.
When I rented out my house in Nampa, ID on craigslist, I was approached by several out of work models from Canada, picture attached, offering to pay me 12 months rent up front, AND the deposit if I just sent them some information. Knowing it was bullshit, I deleted them, but I had just as much luck with the real people who actually did live there, did not pay rent and trashed the house. Note to future renters, please turn the water off when you decide to move out and break your lease. A flood above the garage makes a mess. Dicks.
It's only Tuesday. I figure by Friday, I should have the GDP of Paraguay waiting for me in a Nigerian desert somewhere. With that kind of cash, I am sure I could afford a firewall that would block these a-holes. Until then, I'll just keep ordering the little blue pill....for my wife's sake.
Are there people who really believe the shit that ends up in their spam box? Just today I was asked to meet "anywhere my desire took me," in order to hook up. Thanks to a high fiber diet, my desire took me to the bathroom. Would I still need to verify my age in order to take a dump in my own house? As of noon today, I inherited $109,000,000. All I needed to do was verify my identity and it was mine. This begs the question, didn't you already do that by finding my email address and ask me to help you and your club footed family? For fun, I always reply like a backwoods hick thanking the spammer profusely for funding by defunct moonshine operation and would gladly accept a cashier's check mailed to a PO BOX. It never works. Occasionally I get a response, but it never lasts as the spammer realizes they can't win. "But Eli, they could steal your identity." OK, have it. It hasn't done me any good lately. Knock yourselves out.
When I rented out my house in Nampa, ID on craigslist, I was approached by several out of work models from Canada, picture attached, offering to pay me 12 months rent up front, AND the deposit if I just sent them some information. Knowing it was bullshit, I deleted them, but I had just as much luck with the real people who actually did live there, did not pay rent and trashed the house. Note to future renters, please turn the water off when you decide to move out and break your lease. A flood above the garage makes a mess. Dicks.
It's only Tuesday. I figure by Friday, I should have the GDP of Paraguay waiting for me in a Nigerian desert somewhere. With that kind of cash, I am sure I could afford a firewall that would block these a-holes. Until then, I'll just keep ordering the little blue pill....for my wife's sake.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Apology?
Tiger isn't sorry. If you think he is sorry then you really, REALLY do believe that some estate manager in Monaco is going to give you $19 million if you give him your personal information. Better yet, the Canadian model who is willing to sublet your room for rent, and is willing to pay you 12 months of rent prepaid AND give you a hand job is actually real too. Come on, people. Don't fall for it, any of it, and that includes Eldrick's pseudo-apology.
I kept hearing words like "contrite," and sincere when people were talking about his "news conference." I didn't watch it, more or less, because nothing was going to be gained by the show that was being put on. It was Broadway as it's finest; a production meant for no one but himself. It always has been and always will be about Tiger Woods. Shame on him for making anyone believe otherwise, or for the media in making him a hero for coming out and facing the music. He didn't face any music. Where was his spouse? Where was his manager, his sponsors and the 100 RANDOM journalists that need to be there to ask questions. I don't even want to know why he had sex with the Northern Hemisphere. I want to know why he deserves privacy when he decided to flaunt his machismo in public. I don't care if you never had a childhood because of golf. I don't care that you grew up around insane discipline and structure and were never allowed out of the sandbox. I don't care that your marriage is a business arrangement, set up by your management team to tame the beast known as Tiger. None of that matters. What does matter is unscripted, honest answers to the questions people have. You cannot be the most well-known athlete in the world, put your dipstick into 339 women and not explain why. Tears of shame flow freely, not as you exit the stage. Reading something you didn't write, and acting as if the things coming out of your mouth resembled new and accurate information doesn't count. Not in my book anyway.
Honestly, I am boycotting golf now. I don't care to watch a glorified man-whore either win or lose. Doing so is reqrding the system that allegedly got him there in the first place. The only difference between Tiger and white trash is Tiger has better transportation to the Bunny Ranch. Beyond that, he is a walking example of what not to have date your daughter. If you really want to change your image, call yuorself Eldrick...but drop the 'E,' the 'L,' and the 'R' because that is all your are. A dick with too much money and too much time.
Asshole.
I kept hearing words like "contrite," and sincere when people were talking about his "news conference." I didn't watch it, more or less, because nothing was going to be gained by the show that was being put on. It was Broadway as it's finest; a production meant for no one but himself. It always has been and always will be about Tiger Woods. Shame on him for making anyone believe otherwise, or for the media in making him a hero for coming out and facing the music. He didn't face any music. Where was his spouse? Where was his manager, his sponsors and the 100 RANDOM journalists that need to be there to ask questions. I don't even want to know why he had sex with the Northern Hemisphere. I want to know why he deserves privacy when he decided to flaunt his machismo in public. I don't care if you never had a childhood because of golf. I don't care that you grew up around insane discipline and structure and were never allowed out of the sandbox. I don't care that your marriage is a business arrangement, set up by your management team to tame the beast known as Tiger. None of that matters. What does matter is unscripted, honest answers to the questions people have. You cannot be the most well-known athlete in the world, put your dipstick into 339 women and not explain why. Tears of shame flow freely, not as you exit the stage. Reading something you didn't write, and acting as if the things coming out of your mouth resembled new and accurate information doesn't count. Not in my book anyway.
Honestly, I am boycotting golf now. I don't care to watch a glorified man-whore either win or lose. Doing so is reqrding the system that allegedly got him there in the first place. The only difference between Tiger and white trash is Tiger has better transportation to the Bunny Ranch. Beyond that, he is a walking example of what not to have date your daughter. If you really want to change your image, call yuorself Eldrick...but drop the 'E,' the 'L,' and the 'R' because that is all your are. A dick with too much money and too much time.
Asshole.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
It's Not a Black Thing
I was waiting in line at Winco, behind a lady that was buying 15 vitamin waters and a loaf of French bread. She reminded me of Snooki from Jershey Shore in a way, except this lady made Snooki look like Bar Rafaeli. She was black, which has nothing and everything to do with this post. Her total came to $16 and some change. SOME....change, yet she proceeded to pull out a few sweaty dollar bills from her pancaked cleavage (yes, a contradiction in terms). I counted about $8, and then she pulled out a ziploc bag full of coins, mostly copper. She had put her cart in such a way that I could not get my cart by; my items having already been scanned. I was ready to bag. I took my cart behind her (more like lifted it over her head and dropped it on the other side of her) and bagged my stuff, standing behind her waiting....waiting....for her to count out her wishing well change. She turns to me, mid-count, and says, "if I wasn't black, you would be more patient."
Before I give my two cents regarding her comment, Ijust want to say I am color blind. Not in the literal sense, but in the realistic sense. I give two shits what color someone is. I don't lock my car doors around minorities, only skinny, white crack heads. I don't admonish a mexican wondering why everyone thinks mexicans are criminals. I assume that is what he said because he said it in Spanish and I am not bi-lingual, a pre-requisite for 80% of jobs here. God forbid the customers speak English, and I am admonished for bringing up the fact their country of residence is, in fact, AMERICA. But I suffer for not knowing Spanish. Not the time to start this conversation. Point is, black, yellow, red, brown (dark or light), I don't care. I'm not a racist.
A plethora of responses crossed my mind when I was told my impatience for her stupidity had to do with her being black. It had nothing to do with her being black. It could have been the OK 95 shirt she was wearing that had "The Who" tour dates on it from 1987. It might have been the lack of mammary support in a public place, giving me the feeling I was in an IHOP (yes, a flapjack, saggy boob reference). It very well could have been her lack of personal hygiene, a quality dental plan or the sweaty bills; having swabbed a dollar bill in Microbiology and found 3 pathogenic bacteria on it. It could have been her inconsiderate spot where she placed her cart, begging to be the center of attention. No, ma'am, my impatience isn't because you are black, it is because you are dumb. Dumb as the day is long which means after daylight savings time and before the winter solstice you are, most likely by state standards, retarded. I do have sympathy for the unemployed, but about as much patience as I do my 4-year old son while he fears wiping his own ass. Get a job, or get schooling. Either way, finances will improve. Beyond that, STOP WASTING MY FUCKING TIME WITH YOUR GALLON ZIPLOC BAG FULL OF LOOSE CHANGE! Being her, I would imagine, is like being a bag full of dicks. Only good for one thing, and shopping at Winco is NOT IT.
Instead of saying one, two, or a combination of the above, I simply said, "no, I have all the time in the world to prove Darwin was wrong," which brought a long moment of silence, and her inaction as she digested this bit of information like a 5-layer burrito. Thank God the checker said something to the effect of "ma'am, hurry the fuck up." Problem is, he was white too. Might as well been wearing a sheet. Bring on the tirade, Rosa Parks and this lady having a dream. She ended by saying," waht did WE ever do to you (assuming she meant black people). I sauntered up to the debit card machine and said one word.
KANYE....conversation over.
Before I give my two cents regarding her comment, Ijust want to say I am color blind. Not in the literal sense, but in the realistic sense. I give two shits what color someone is. I don't lock my car doors around minorities, only skinny, white crack heads. I don't admonish a mexican wondering why everyone thinks mexicans are criminals. I assume that is what he said because he said it in Spanish and I am not bi-lingual, a pre-requisite for 80% of jobs here. God forbid the customers speak English, and I am admonished for bringing up the fact their country of residence is, in fact, AMERICA. But I suffer for not knowing Spanish. Not the time to start this conversation. Point is, black, yellow, red, brown (dark or light), I don't care. I'm not a racist.
A plethora of responses crossed my mind when I was told my impatience for her stupidity had to do with her being black. It had nothing to do with her being black. It could have been the OK 95 shirt she was wearing that had "The Who" tour dates on it from 1987. It might have been the lack of mammary support in a public place, giving me the feeling I was in an IHOP (yes, a flapjack, saggy boob reference). It very well could have been her lack of personal hygiene, a quality dental plan or the sweaty bills; having swabbed a dollar bill in Microbiology and found 3 pathogenic bacteria on it. It could have been her inconsiderate spot where she placed her cart, begging to be the center of attention. No, ma'am, my impatience isn't because you are black, it is because you are dumb. Dumb as the day is long which means after daylight savings time and before the winter solstice you are, most likely by state standards, retarded. I do have sympathy for the unemployed, but about as much patience as I do my 4-year old son while he fears wiping his own ass. Get a job, or get schooling. Either way, finances will improve. Beyond that, STOP WASTING MY FUCKING TIME WITH YOUR GALLON ZIPLOC BAG FULL OF LOOSE CHANGE! Being her, I would imagine, is like being a bag full of dicks. Only good for one thing, and shopping at Winco is NOT IT.
Instead of saying one, two, or a combination of the above, I simply said, "no, I have all the time in the world to prove Darwin was wrong," which brought a long moment of silence, and her inaction as she digested this bit of information like a 5-layer burrito. Thank God the checker said something to the effect of "ma'am, hurry the fuck up." Problem is, he was white too. Might as well been wearing a sheet. Bring on the tirade, Rosa Parks and this lady having a dream. She ended by saying," waht did WE ever do to you (assuming she meant black people). I sauntered up to the debit card machine and said one word.
KANYE....conversation over.
Nursing School
I applied today. I submitted all of my transcripts, my application, my application to ATTEND CBC (even though I am already attending) and walked away. I felt like I was leaving behind a teenager to fend for themselves in the real world. In reality, I don't know what I feel like. I feel a lot of different emotions. Scared, excited, relieved...I believe there is a full spectrum of emotions going on right now.
Some would say its out of my hands and I can no longer change the outcome. Have I done enough? I am about to turn 37 years old and I am doing a complete 180 degree turn in my career path. I suppose I didn't have much of a career path to begin with. Sure, I did something I enjoyed for more than a decade, but I am not sure that counts. I wondered, handing everything over, have I done enough? It makes me sad to think that there is a possibility that I may not get in this time, and I have to drive to Yakima every day for a year. Time will tell, I suppose, on what will happen from here.
Pray for the applicants to this program...not just for me. It's very nerve racking and stressful. So much up in the air, but in the end, God's will be done....go or no go.
Some would say its out of my hands and I can no longer change the outcome. Have I done enough? I am about to turn 37 years old and I am doing a complete 180 degree turn in my career path. I suppose I didn't have much of a career path to begin with. Sure, I did something I enjoyed for more than a decade, but I am not sure that counts. I wondered, handing everything over, have I done enough? It makes me sad to think that there is a possibility that I may not get in this time, and I have to drive to Yakima every day for a year. Time will tell, I suppose, on what will happen from here.
Pray for the applicants to this program...not just for me. It's very nerve racking and stressful. So much up in the air, but in the end, God's will be done....go or no go.
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