Empty garage, boxes in my car...and the question is posed:
Are you moving?
Under normal circumstances, I would laugh out loud, as would the poser of the question, because it would be easily recognized as rhetorical. Not in this case, however. It was a serious question. It was asked expecting an answer. Now, because the person asking is as far away from my heart as common sense is to Lindsay Lohan, I couldn't think of what to say fast enough. I was at a corssroads of confirming my reservation to hell, or being kind and compassionate to the mentally handicapped. I suppose I should let you know who asked. My neighbor. The Rock Band expert, lawyer extraordinaire, arse munch that lives below me. I simply said, "yup." But then he did something even more retarded and asked why. Oh...my...really?
I could have went a number of ways. Why am I moving? I miss silence. I would like my kids to be able to sleep as opposed to listening to your feral brood scream at O-dark thirty. I miss a hymn-less evening. Don't care to hear Jonah and the Whale, Veggie-tales, the 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th degrees of heaven, the Annual LDS conference from 1999 or crying at 150 decibels. If I wanted to be disturbed at that level I would camp out on an airport runway. I miss walking to my front door without having to sidestep moonrocks, or landscaping littering my walkway. I miss the lack of sidewalk chalk surrounding my front door. I miss my son being able to go play without getting cold-cocked by a plastic lightsaber because your son believes he is a phucking Jedi. I miss looking outside and sipping on coffee from my balcony in peace, rather than watching your kids swinging from a tree branch like phucking chimps. I miss taking my dog outside and having him simply pee instead of answering 75 questions about what kind of dog he is and if he will bite your kids. He will bite your kids because he likes the taste of unkempt humanity.
Mostly, I miss having stimulating conversation with intelligent life. I hate our one word conversations...you saying hi and me closing my door. I hate having to put in headphones to walk to my car so you get the idea I am not interested in conversation with you, but seeing you try to talk to me anyway. I hate your gazes and the fact your torture your wife with your penis and making her raise ANOTHER child she will never see. I hate the fact that you as worthless as a bag if dicks at a Fever game. I hate hearing you, seeing you, listening to anything coming from below me and the zoo that is the front window of your apartment. I hate the doorbell ringing at 945PM and then, when I answer it, no one is there...even though I heard your door close just after the bell rang....only to have it happen again. But I realllllly hate having to control myself from dragging you outside and pulling a Lorena Bobbit to spare humanity from another misconceived notion of populating the Earth.
Be gone with you...
Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
I Found These Words
A few days ago, a client of mine had decided that that day was the day he wanted to go into hospice. It had been discussed previously but was decided upon in an instant. Family members were buzzing around getting some personal items; pictures, comfort items. These things were things he wanted with him when he died. In my heart of hearts, I believe he wanted to go die and not do so at the expense of his family or me (his caregiver), furthering his cause of not wanting to be a burden to his family. This is the man for whom "Pride Never Dies" was written for.
As I helped pack some things for them, and helped load my client in a vehicle, I shook hands with some of the family, them thanking me profusely for everything I had done for their father. I brushed these thanks aside trying to make them focus more on getting to point B. I said nothing, however, to my client. In the chaos that was his departure, I didn't say goodbye. In all reality, I didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone that was going off to die? I was at a loss. So I said a prayer as I watched him ride away. For the next 24 hours, I was still thinking about what I didn't say, and more importantly, who I didn't say it to. So I sat down and wrote a letter to his son and wife, in the hopes that it would circulate amongst the siblings I had come to know. I wrote them this:
I wanted to take a moment to write you a quick note, not only to let you know how honored I was to help to take care of your father, but also how incredible it was to meet all of you in the process.
Your father is a great man, full of kindness, patience, and love. As soft spoken as he was, his words are full of life. It was apparent that the well-being of others was far more important than the well-being of himself. This was something I saw in all of his children; taking care of the father just as the father had taken care of his children many years ago.
I do not know why God makes ill the ones we love the most. All we can ever ask for is that when that day comes, that there is no pain, no suffering, and that they go in peace, knowing that they are in a better place. My hope for you, and the family that remains is that you celebrate the life that was lived, and that memories left behind help you get through the harder times that may lie ahead. I pray not only for your father's comfort but for your comfort as well. God bless.
I am not sure of the outcome of this letter. I am not expecting anything to come of it. I just felt I needed to say something...and I hope it can help someone when the time comes, even if that someone is me.
As I helped pack some things for them, and helped load my client in a vehicle, I shook hands with some of the family, them thanking me profusely for everything I had done for their father. I brushed these thanks aside trying to make them focus more on getting to point B. I said nothing, however, to my client. In the chaos that was his departure, I didn't say goodbye. In all reality, I didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone that was going off to die? I was at a loss. So I said a prayer as I watched him ride away. For the next 24 hours, I was still thinking about what I didn't say, and more importantly, who I didn't say it to. So I sat down and wrote a letter to his son and wife, in the hopes that it would circulate amongst the siblings I had come to know. I wrote them this:
I wanted to take a moment to write you a quick note, not only to let you know how honored I was to help to take care of your father, but also how incredible it was to meet all of you in the process.
Your father is a great man, full of kindness, patience, and love. As soft spoken as he was, his words are full of life. It was apparent that the well-being of others was far more important than the well-being of himself. This was something I saw in all of his children; taking care of the father just as the father had taken care of his children many years ago.
I do not know why God makes ill the ones we love the most. All we can ever ask for is that when that day comes, that there is no pain, no suffering, and that they go in peace, knowing that they are in a better place. My hope for you, and the family that remains is that you celebrate the life that was lived, and that memories left behind help you get through the harder times that may lie ahead. I pray not only for your father's comfort but for your comfort as well. God bless.
I am not sure of the outcome of this letter. I am not expecting anything to come of it. I just felt I needed to say something...and I hope it can help someone when the time comes, even if that someone is me.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Open letter to Ben
Dear Ben (you're last name is too fucking long),
Listen Tige...err...Jess....err...Big Benjamin Rothlesfuckhound...stop accosting females, OK? I am going to attribute your stupidity to your head hitting the pavement a few years ago when you decided red did not, in fact, mean stop. What is it with multi-millionaires? Do the rules not apply to you? Rape is, as defined by Webster's dictionary, what you did to two females. Look it up. I did, and that's what I saw. Some 6'5" fuck chop with a group of body guards standing outside the bathroom door making sure you could fuck some drunk chick silly.
In all reality, you and your other fuck buddies (also famous rich people) are going to ultimately be alone in everything you do. When you win, you will celebrate with some friends, and then come the time they all have to go home to their families, you will go home to you and you trophy case. There is one thing missing in that trophy case. It's a get out of jail free card. You have used two of them, and will now have to survive on morals and personal ethics, both of which you apparently left at Miami, Ohio.
If I were you, I would go slumming at Cleveland bars so a group of drunk Browns fans can get you all sorts of fucked up and then let a grizzly bear ass rape you for a few hours. Maybe then you will see the err in your ways. But for the rest of us NON-Ben fans, save the apology your attorney wrote for your victims. I am sure they would love to hear something more sincere than "those bitches were lyin!" Maybe then, these "kids" you speak of, the ones that look up to you will do so because you are admirable, and not because you are 77 inches tall.
Sincerely,
America
P.S. - for all of you in the continental United States, something you might want to invest in...
Listen Tige...err...Jess....err...Big Benjamin Rothlesfuckhound...stop accosting females, OK? I am going to attribute your stupidity to your head hitting the pavement a few years ago when you decided red did not, in fact, mean stop. What is it with multi-millionaires? Do the rules not apply to you? Rape is, as defined by Webster's dictionary, what you did to two females. Look it up. I did, and that's what I saw. Some 6'5" fuck chop with a group of body guards standing outside the bathroom door making sure you could fuck some drunk chick silly.
In all reality, you and your other fuck buddies (also famous rich people) are going to ultimately be alone in everything you do. When you win, you will celebrate with some friends, and then come the time they all have to go home to their families, you will go home to you and you trophy case. There is one thing missing in that trophy case. It's a get out of jail free card. You have used two of them, and will now have to survive on morals and personal ethics, both of which you apparently left at Miami, Ohio.
If I were you, I would go slumming at Cleveland bars so a group of drunk Browns fans can get you all sorts of fucked up and then let a grizzly bear ass rape you for a few hours. Maybe then you will see the err in your ways. But for the rest of us NON-Ben fans, save the apology your attorney wrote for your victims. I am sure they would love to hear something more sincere than "those bitches were lyin!" Maybe then, these "kids" you speak of, the ones that look up to you will do so because you are admirable, and not because you are 77 inches tall.
Sincerely,
America
P.S. - for all of you in the continental United States, something you might want to invest in...
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Equality is Overrated
I am pretty sure this blog will pees someone off. I am all for equality for women in sports. Hell Title IX is my favorite mandate for college athletics. It was one of many reasons I didn't get to play Division I baseball at Boise State. Not bitter, really. I could have gone to play in Europe for a year, all expenses paid. Passed that up. Choices, decisions; our lives are dictated by them. I have lived with the consequences of my choices. I am rambling. I DO have a point.
Remember when Michele Wie wanted to play golf with the men? Remember how she did so incredibly awesome from the black tees? Me neither. Yes, she can hit it a ton. Yes, she is a great golfer, but until you dominate your own gender's sport, please refrain from wanting to play where the penises do. You couldn't hang. It's the truth. "But she is a better golfer than you." I hope so. She's a phucking pro. It's what she does for a living. She had better be better than me. When that fiasco was going on I was so tired of hearing about it. I knew come Saturday her pipe dream of making the cut would dissipate faster than the Situation's chivalry. Sure enough, no Michele Wie on the weekend. She has since won something on the LPGA. I think so anyway. Once you become a youthful Annika Sorrenstam, you can come back to the PGA and fail. Until then, waddle your vagina around the course with the other vaginas, K?
This brings me to Danica Patrick. I am not sure what to say other than I wish she was on that plane with Ritchie Valens. You know how many times she has won on the Indy circuit? Once. You know how she won? Helio Castroneves put on his brakes and let her by. Any argument to the contrary is bullshit. She is mediocre, at best. Great, she drives well. But no one has said she drives well without saying for a female driver. She is a marketer's wet dream. The media gobbles her up because she stands 5'2 and weighs 105 pounds. She still looks like Gollum. Have you seen her in the Sports Illustrated bikini shoot? She looks like a man. I'm not impressed, not with her driving ability, nor her femininity. I don't care she is a woman driving a car, continuously turning left, whether it is Indy or Nascar. She has behaved like a spoiled little brat in the pits, a few times bum rushing fellow drivers. Thank God for people holding her back because I would hate to actually measure how far shit flies. Yay, she is an athlete. So was Charles Barkley.
So it isn't that I think women should not have equality in sports. But in reality, you need to earn the opportunity to be a part of a male-dominated sport once you have dominated the female equivalent; both of which these women have failed to do. Yet, I still hear them complaining about how the doors are shut to women in male sports. SHUT UP ALREADY! Beat up the women you play against with multiple victories and prove there is no competition for you. Until then, you will need to learn to squat and aim into a standing urinal. Move along, we are all stalked up on crazy here.
Remember when Michele Wie wanted to play golf with the men? Remember how she did so incredibly awesome from the black tees? Me neither. Yes, she can hit it a ton. Yes, she is a great golfer, but until you dominate your own gender's sport, please refrain from wanting to play where the penises do. You couldn't hang. It's the truth. "But she is a better golfer than you." I hope so. She's a phucking pro. It's what she does for a living. She had better be better than me. When that fiasco was going on I was so tired of hearing about it. I knew come Saturday her pipe dream of making the cut would dissipate faster than the Situation's chivalry. Sure enough, no Michele Wie on the weekend. She has since won something on the LPGA. I think so anyway. Once you become a youthful Annika Sorrenstam, you can come back to the PGA and fail. Until then, waddle your vagina around the course with the other vaginas, K?
This brings me to Danica Patrick. I am not sure what to say other than I wish she was on that plane with Ritchie Valens. You know how many times she has won on the Indy circuit? Once. You know how she won? Helio Castroneves put on his brakes and let her by. Any argument to the contrary is bullshit. She is mediocre, at best. Great, she drives well. But no one has said she drives well without saying for a female driver. She is a marketer's wet dream. The media gobbles her up because she stands 5'2 and weighs 105 pounds. She still looks like Gollum. Have you seen her in the Sports Illustrated bikini shoot? She looks like a man. I'm not impressed, not with her driving ability, nor her femininity. I don't care she is a woman driving a car, continuously turning left, whether it is Indy or Nascar. She has behaved like a spoiled little brat in the pits, a few times bum rushing fellow drivers. Thank God for people holding her back because I would hate to actually measure how far shit flies. Yay, she is an athlete. So was Charles Barkley.
So it isn't that I think women should not have equality in sports. But in reality, you need to earn the opportunity to be a part of a male-dominated sport once you have dominated the female equivalent; both of which these women have failed to do. Yet, I still hear them complaining about how the doors are shut to women in male sports. SHUT UP ALREADY! Beat up the women you play against with multiple victories and prove there is no competition for you. Until then, you will need to learn to squat and aim into a standing urinal. Move along, we are all stalked up on crazy here.
Friday, April 09, 2010
OBAMANOMICS
I don't know how log this post will be. In my mind its been going round and round for quite awhile. I was watching MSNBC's Power Lunch today and heard how Obama's rating is creeping up, and Wall Street just loves Obamanomics. Something crossed my mind when I heard it.
WHAT THE FUCK?
OF COURSE WALL STREET LOVES IT! They got billions of dollars to stay afloat! They are living on the people's money; money we didn't want to give. I would have happily painted a bullseye on the streets below the AIG building with the words "LAND HERE" along the top of it. People think Michael Moore is a liberal asshole. Often I agree. However, he is right a lot of the time, stating the things people feel and cannot voice. Wall Street loves Obamanomics. Good LORD....I would too if I was Wall Street. You have not accountability for the shit you have done. Poor decisions and attempting to operate on false profits. Its debauchery, yet its being glorified by the media.
I voted for Obama, mostly because he wasn't McCain. I couldn't vote for an almost dead man and risk putting Palin in the White House. I suppose I just can't stomach Palins voice long enough to really understand what she stands for. However, come mid-term elections, every incumbent is not getting my vote. I am not voting party lines, I am voting for someone who is n ot using Washington as a job. Senators should not be using this as a career. Lifetime politicians scare me. Constituents need to be heard. If they do not respond to phone calls and letters (Washington residents voiced opposition to reforming health care 3:1, yet our senators voted YES to reform), then voting them out seems logical to me.
I am not political by any sense. I do believe, however, this country was built by the people, for the people and escaped the monarchy of a king. Change is good, when it can be agreed to on a bi-partisan basis. However, ramming it down my throat only makes me wonder where the motivation was in the first place. Joe Biden's words ring in my head, as he introduced Obama at a post-bill signing news conference, attempting to whisper, with microphones on "this is fucking historic." Even watching Nancy Pelosi take credit for something that really is not hers drives me nuts.
You know what would be historic? Lowering the unemployment rate. Rebuilding New Orleans and solidifying the levies to avoid this tragedy occuring again. Cure cancer. Improve feul economy on cars, and then make those cars affordable. Since the public purchases gas, give some profits back to the people in the form of fuel credits. Overhaul the welfare system and allow benefits for those that need them rather than those that abuse them. Take care of the people that elected you. Perfect the domestic agenda before foreign policy. Don't be a politician, rahter be the person you were before you got into politics. Remember what it's like to be an average Joe, before the perks. Above all else, FUCKING LISTEN TO THE MESSAGES PEOPLE LEAVE! If the people say no, you say no. Period. If you don't plan on voting for the people, don't be shocked, come November, when you are part of a blood path.
Let the revolution begin!
WHAT THE FUCK?
OF COURSE WALL STREET LOVES IT! They got billions of dollars to stay afloat! They are living on the people's money; money we didn't want to give. I would have happily painted a bullseye on the streets below the AIG building with the words "LAND HERE" along the top of it. People think Michael Moore is a liberal asshole. Often I agree. However, he is right a lot of the time, stating the things people feel and cannot voice. Wall Street loves Obamanomics. Good LORD....I would too if I was Wall Street. You have not accountability for the shit you have done. Poor decisions and attempting to operate on false profits. Its debauchery, yet its being glorified by the media.
I voted for Obama, mostly because he wasn't McCain. I couldn't vote for an almost dead man and risk putting Palin in the White House. I suppose I just can't stomach Palins voice long enough to really understand what she stands for. However, come mid-term elections, every incumbent is not getting my vote. I am not voting party lines, I am voting for someone who is n ot using Washington as a job. Senators should not be using this as a career. Lifetime politicians scare me. Constituents need to be heard. If they do not respond to phone calls and letters (Washington residents voiced opposition to reforming health care 3:1, yet our senators voted YES to reform), then voting them out seems logical to me.
I am not political by any sense. I do believe, however, this country was built by the people, for the people and escaped the monarchy of a king. Change is good, when it can be agreed to on a bi-partisan basis. However, ramming it down my throat only makes me wonder where the motivation was in the first place. Joe Biden's words ring in my head, as he introduced Obama at a post-bill signing news conference, attempting to whisper, with microphones on "this is fucking historic." Even watching Nancy Pelosi take credit for something that really is not hers drives me nuts.
You know what would be historic? Lowering the unemployment rate. Rebuilding New Orleans and solidifying the levies to avoid this tragedy occuring again. Cure cancer. Improve feul economy on cars, and then make those cars affordable. Since the public purchases gas, give some profits back to the people in the form of fuel credits. Overhaul the welfare system and allow benefits for those that need them rather than those that abuse them. Take care of the people that elected you. Perfect the domestic agenda before foreign policy. Don't be a politician, rahter be the person you were before you got into politics. Remember what it's like to be an average Joe, before the perks. Above all else, FUCKING LISTEN TO THE MESSAGES PEOPLE LEAVE! If the people say no, you say no. Period. If you don't plan on voting for the people, don't be shocked, come November, when you are part of a blood path.
Let the revolution begin!
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
A Better Value Menu
Some jobs are better for others. For example, I am mechanically retarded. I can change my oil, fiddle with something long enough to make it function, change a light switch, and a light bulb. Anything more complex than that, however, and I leave it to the experts. Small engine repair? Not for me unless the small engine needs scrapping. Not withstanding the aforementioned, I believe it is in any employee's best interests to be able to do simple math, or recognize U.S. currency at face value, lest the corporation loses money. I remember when Eminem got fired from Little Caesar's and I laughed, along with the dude that was banging his Mom. How does one do that? Well, I found out how last night on my way to work.
I decided to try McDonald's coffee. I have heard the commercials and figured it was worth a try. I drove up and ordered an iced-coffee. Total was $3.13...window 1. I recognized window 1 because, well, the number one was posted right under he word WINDOW. Easy enough. I handed the girl $3.25. She takes an order while making change. She hands me a receipt, and $3.12 back. I don't hesitate, grab the money, and say thanks, essentially stamping my ticket to hell. I drive up to window 2, grab the coffee and pull away. I look at the receipt. The cashier had typed into the register that I had given her $6.25. I was somewhat floored. This is the next generation of smart. I gave her 3 wrinkly, worn $1 bills. How that is confused with anything other than 3 wrinkly, worn $1 bills is beyond me. Do I drive around the front and make someone aware of my mistake because that is the right thing to do? Or do I just drive away and let nature take its course, allowing the drawer balance at the end of the night be the lesson in retardedness? What to do, what to do....
I decided for option #3, doing nothing as I was running late for work last night.
Menu price of iced-coffee - $3.13
Actual cost of iced-coffee - $.01
Finding the best value menu item ever - PRICELESS
I decided to try McDonald's coffee. I have heard the commercials and figured it was worth a try. I drove up and ordered an iced-coffee. Total was $3.13...window 1. I recognized window 1 because, well, the number one was posted right under he word WINDOW. Easy enough. I handed the girl $3.25. She takes an order while making change. She hands me a receipt, and $3.12 back. I don't hesitate, grab the money, and say thanks, essentially stamping my ticket to hell. I drive up to window 2, grab the coffee and pull away. I look at the receipt. The cashier had typed into the register that I had given her $6.25. I was somewhat floored. This is the next generation of smart. I gave her 3 wrinkly, worn $1 bills. How that is confused with anything other than 3 wrinkly, worn $1 bills is beyond me. Do I drive around the front and make someone aware of my mistake because that is the right thing to do? Or do I just drive away and let nature take its course, allowing the drawer balance at the end of the night be the lesson in retardedness? What to do, what to do....
I decided for option #3, doing nothing as I was running late for work last night.
Menu price of iced-coffee - $3.13
Actual cost of iced-coffee - $.01
Finding the best value menu item ever - PRICELESS
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