Holiday Aftermath Metacarpals

I'm sick.

Really sick. Migraine. And my head feels four times it's normal size and weight and filled with liquid.

Also, I might have broke my toe Christmas day.

Yesterday, my car almost got it's read end shaved off by a driver. How can you miss a white beetle with racing stripes and a huge "53" on the hood and doors? How oblivious to the outdoors can you be? These are the kinds of people who smash into bus benches and clain the bench just "leaped out into the street". I've always said, it doesn't matter how good a driver is, you're only as good as you can be avoiding the idiots.

I tried to work out, and instead, my nose almost caught fire from just breathing rapidly on the treadmill. Nevermind my toe is swollen. Unfortunatly, you can't really put a cast on a toe for a hairline fracture.

About 1o years ago, I broke a toe before on the other foot. Besides cracking my head open when I was 2, this is the only bone I broke in my life. And because of that, I never knew it was broken for 1o years.

I was playing raquetball, and jeez, i'm damn good at it! I leap, I slide, I lunge, I spike the rebound, I play the game. I'll give the crowds a good show. The last sports I did was being a fullback in high school football. And my own team would sack me. Didn't so much like high school football.

A small explaination is in order though: I was dating the sister of the two star linebackers at the time. My first real girlfriend. Real huge guys with nose hair and fractured noses. The ball would snap, and they would crush me or send me flying.

My girlfriend at the time said that they actually liked me, or else they would have made a point to brake bones...which gets me back to the point, eh?

I was going for a shot for the point in raquetball, and ran towards the wall, knowing I could stop short and kick off the wall to get back into play. What I didn't suspect was stepping into a patch of slippery man sweat just before the wall. My foot slid west into the wall, but my toe continued north up it, with all my velocity. Game over for me that day.

I never have broken a limb before, thought it was a very bad sprain...that lasted a few months. I am such a guy. Stupid and ignorant of medical issues.

Over the years, i didn't even notice that my toe healed broken and fused the joints together. I even had a huge bone spurs of that broken fused digit. You'd think I get the hint when people said I had ugly feet (I thought well, it's better than having ugly other parts...). ten long years later, I had enough of the constant pain and slight limp on my left foot that I go to a doctor and do something about it...and find out that I did compound brake that big toe. Time for my first big operation! WooHoo! All I could think of was being alone, and the doctors made a mistake and removed a kidney...

The day of the operation, and i'm nervous enough as it is, the nurse comes in and marks "NO" on the right foot with a sharpie marker. Panic time, huh? When a doctor needs an aid to make sure they cut open the correct foot, you start to think perhaps the unmoving toe wasn't so bad...

To make matters worse, another nurse walks in, and starts to shave the foot for surgery...the wrong foot with "NO" on it. I think from her position, the "NO" looked like "ON", like operate "ON" this foot. One scream and a blood pressure spike later, we're on the same page on which foot again. I don't want to do this now and I looked like a deer in headlights.

Time for the knockout gas. And it went exactlly like this: count backwards from 100...99...98...97...........waking up in a room with a huge wraped up foot and a nurse trying to snap me out of it. I took inventory to see if the correct foot was done, and i wasn't missing any bits. I am so serious.

The best part was the next day: Kim was visting my room when a nurse came in to give me my first taste ever of mophine painkillers. All Kim said was, "you are gonna like this..."

In goes the shot and the nurse tells Kim, "watch this.", and they stare at me. And I thought, this sucks...I feel nothing...and that thought, was the funniest thing EVER!!!!! I was told I had the hugest smile I have ever had and all of a sudden I was flying about the room to sitar music and a monkey in a cowboy outfit was riding a bucking chicken. I even asked if we could do the other foot too.

And now I do brake the other toe. I hope this wasn't a latent morphine addiction reaction.

Does this change anything I said before about the holiday? Nope. This Christmas is still the best ever, for all the best reasons.

I just need steel toe slippers for next Christmas.

Christmas: I Finally Get It

"here I stand, head in hand. Turn my face to the wall" - John Lennon, You've got to hide your love away

I just got back from dropping off presents to my spiritual mistress, FaerieJean. And I guess by way of association, her life partner, FaerieJosh (although I think he probably would prefer a better nickname). Both are the most fabulous people one can ever know. I never know what I really want for Christmas, but I think I got it, just by knowing these two, and being inducted into their "tribal circle"

Coming from such a fractured family, that was the most special thing anyone could give me. And I won't even need a gift receipt.

(and no, I won't say what I gave them...They might read this...And that would make baby Easter Jesus and his son Santa Claus cry. er...Perhaps I got the hierarchy wrong. Only went to one Sunday school class when I was eight. All I recall was that one child screamed constantly that he wanted a hot dog for an hour. Might as well throw in Oscar Meyer with Santa and Easter Jesus. )

Even though I've known FaerieJean for such a short time (and mostly during work), I haven't felt so enriched in a friendship in a looooong time. The trust I give people is an all or none option only. Yeah, you can be burned really bad if you trust the wrong person, but the warmth of light from being right is so worth the chance. From what FJ surmised, my family wasn't a very loving structure, but somehow, despite the odds, I grew to know that I wanted that love and trust from people anyway. I know exactly what I want to feel, but was never given the teachings to get it.

What better present is there than someone you trust pointing you in the right direction with a warm scarf and a nice sack lunch for the journey? I mean besides a plasma screen.

I had also just heard that they have a friend Kim that was living with them, and I didn't want her to be the only one to not feel like she was special that day. Especially with what's going on with her life. What can you give someone to change a day? Can you package an emotion?

Yes, you can.

I don't many things from my childhood, and far fewer things that made me smile in life: except, I found a toy car I had when I was six. And it made me smile. I had no memories of why, nor why I kept that all my life when I really don't have anything from more than 8 years ago. This toy was my childlike innocence. And an important piece of me. So, I was going to give her my childhood, when problems and adult matters never exisisted. And somehow, I know she'd like that.

But, she'll be with family this Christmas! And that's a good thing, however it turns out. She'll have people and hugs and eggnogg and puppet shows and corn... And she wont need my bobble, today.

Then again, I've had some of the worst Christmas presents from my family when I was young: A plastic hot glue gun soldering kit that created toxic fumes. A red denim panstsuit. A box of sox. A green denim pantsuit. A one time worn sweater with a reindeer on it. hand me down clothes...from my sister. A coolass board game my mom would never let me play. Deodorant sticks. Candles (DON'T give guys candles!! We don't thing "beautiful", we think "in case of emergency"). A mail-order squirrel monkey that went ape-shit, bit my dad and escaped into the kitchen, terrifying us. A bag of unidentifiable foodstuff. Underwear.

But y'know, I had the best Christmas this month having friends to care about...It was all about giving.

It's not trees, or the Mighty JayCee, or Santa, or Weiners, or religion, or getting stuff, or gift cards to Starbucks, or even crazy from dehydration psycho monkeys jumping out at your face like a jack-in-the-box ready to tear your flesh.

It's about love in any and every form.

And I freely give that to all of you as well. Merry Christmas Everyone.

Michael Duke Avila
12/23/06

Pull the String!

Someone at my work reminded me of this story, and dammit, it would have been absolutly perfect to tell this tale on Halloween! It's weird. it's spoooky. It's true. And it's very much like a henwhey.

You see, I am cursed with extreme hypertension. Was born with it, and someday, it may shorten my life. I have the blood pressure of a nervous fruit bat, plumetting thousands of feet into a hedge trimmer. I see it as a balance of life. I've had so many wonderful experiences and i've met some truely special people. It's a good trade off. I mean as opposed to possibly be a retarded bat.

But one day, it's was almost time to pay the piper a bit early.

It was Sunday afternoon, and I was so glad to be home from an exhausting week at work. talking to my sister online, when I felt I had a runny nose. Being a "guy" I proceeded to wipe my nose with the back of my hand, and get on to the typing. But I felt warmer than normal. thats when I looked at my hand, and it was covered with blood. I looked in a mirrored surface on my drawing table. A bloodly smear was across my face. And my nose felt like it was plugged up like a cold just about to loosen.

When I tilted my head down, thats when I desended into my own personal hell. It was as if a faucet opened and a funnel of blood came out of my nose. Constant. And it didn't stop. I immedietly did the right thing...wiped away enough plasma from my keyboard and typed to my sister while trying to invent the nose turniquet, that I'm bleeding, what do I do?

She said to keep my head back. So I run start to run to the bathroom, or at least into the door frame while I'm choking. That wasn't the best idea. And I try for "bad idea" number two: I'll pinch my nose shut and just wait.

An hour later, I'm still an open spiggot, and the bathroom looks like a grisly murder scene and I failed in my attempt to hide the corpse.

Thirty minutes later, I'm at the hospital, with a shopping bag full of bloody tissues under my nose. Oh, and heres a hospital flash fact: If you don't want to sit in the purgatory that is the waiting room for what could be hours, carry a sack of bloody kleenex. It's like a "fastpass" to the front of the que.

Sitting in the examination room, I have a team of nurses try to comprehend my clotted nasil talk. And my guest star doctor, actually a PA, so it's not a real doctor, swings by every few minutes to poke his unshaven head in the room and say...I shit you not...

"You're gonna die, y'know! You're gonna die!"

I'm thinking he didn't show up for "bedside mannor" class. I guess that explains why he's a PA and not a doctor too. Maybe it was some sort of new tough love therapy. Maybe he was the local grim reaper from union 12? Perhaps he just broke up with his girlfriend, or he was hormonal? Either way, thank you for that professional opinion.

I've got tubes in me, glycerine in my veins, and finally a few professionals hovers about me. I could only guess is that if I did die here in this room, the press would be bad. All the while, Dr. Death is back telling me to order that pine box, and probably making plans for my body parts. It doesn't help that he read in my file that I worked at an office supply store, and now he's butting his noggin between the real docs to ask me stupid techinal support questions about his computer problems. I'm a deas man walking, I couldn't care less about his computer.

So what did the marvels of medical science do for me to get me over my affliction? the got this silver scoopy applicator and stabbed it into my sinus, then they forced, yes, forced, a rolled up cotton packing up there with a small cord hanging out to stop the flow.

Thats right, ladies. I got a tampon shoved up my nose. And they taped the string against my right cheek. I begged to have them kill me now, or at least get a week off of work so I could hide in a closet.

And let em tell you, whats worse that having that put in, was having that getting pulled out a week later but a doctor that never did that before.

His first question to me: "..so...er...I just, pull the string?"

Paying Someone to Kick My Ass

I'm now going to a gym, and I have a personal trainer. And he "motivates" me to push harder than I normally would. The importance of nutrition and keeping my caloric content between 1600 - 2400, how 15 reps the right way is more beneficial than 1000 done wrong. And he gets paid to torcher me.

I constantly see people with grit teeth and screaming with eyes bugged out and the look of someone passing a bottle brush...lengthwise...Trying to max out weights. All they're gonna do is tear muscle. And I see women on the treadmill, wearing a thong. Do you know how impractical that is?! I would think running in that would be like sliding down a barbed wire fence.

But this story, strangely enough, isn't about that. It's about what happened after the gym.

My "Herbie" wouldn't start. Worse than that, all the dash lights went haywire, the door locks and alarm wasn't activating, and the trunk unlatched. I was in a weeping panic! My car is too new for this to happen!!

Turns out I needed a new battery. It seems that my 2001 beetle had the same 5 year battery since it was forged. Well, that scare was like a 5 mile jog to my system! My heart was beating like a frightened bunny!

So, I took it to Les Schwab for a new battery, after I called them to confirm that not only do they have a battery for the VW new beetle, but that someone there knows how to install it. Ever see the inside of a NB engine? It's the most unique, compact, and difficult engine to work on. Like the inside of a watch.

I get a jump from Les, or a cousin of his, I dunno, and get Herbie to the Mechanic Schwabite. And Now I'm pacing by a window as I see my car a couple of rows down with it's hood up. I'm like a worried parent waiting for his child from surgery. I'm even hoping the mechanic washes his hands.

And What I see makes my jaw drop. He's yanking on the old battery to try to get it out of the car! Then he sits on the new battery to get it in! He's holding a piece of the engine in his hands, and he looks...befuddled!! Like he doesn't know where it fell off of, or where it goes! Now, I see him sticking one...no, two magnetic probes in the engine block to retrieve something! I'm plastered against the glass, going mad and I'm about to scream for someone the get that hack away from my car.

Two hours later, and another competent mechanic later, Herbie is good as new with greasy fingerprints on her hood, and a 84 month super-mega battery.

And that's what the title means: I paid someone to give me a complete coronary while I watched. I skipped the gym that day so I can recuperate.

My nerves are shot.

Bullseye Hung on Your Soul

I've had a mad day. And been exploring the nature of guilt.

No, not Guilty, like O.J. His kind of guilt is just a judgement from others. I don't see him suffering (and he should). It's when you feel guilty, even though you didn't do anything to be guilty about. Even though you know you shouldn't feel guilty, and logically, there is nothing to be guilty about. But, you still feel terrible. Like you're the most horrible person in the world.

Have you ever called in sick to work? You're really sick, you're not usuable at work, you're not lying...and when you call, work makes you feel guilty! Every moment at home surrounded by loads of used tissues, all you can think of is how you let them down at work...and you know you shouldn't feel that!!! Thats the guilt that tears and rips at you. The feeling you let someone down, even though your mind says theres no reason for that. Workers. Friends. Family. Children

The heart has a fragile soul and defines you.

And if you're reading this, and you don't have any idea what that feels like...you will never understand me, or anyone I am friends with.

In fact, I embrace the kind hearts of the people I surround myself with, those who are racked with guilt sometimes. Because, their heart is so big, so pure, it's such a big target for hurt. And, I've become such a protective soul as I grow older. An empathic paladin.

I will take the bullet. Or at least share the pain. No one should feel guilty alone, so either I am an aura of compassion, or a big puss like some people say.

This reminds me of a story: a loooong time ago, my sister Carol went to UCDavis, far from home, living on campus. She took my dog with her (my moms new boyfriend, later husband, didn't like dogs. Or perhaps didn't like my dog. either way, Carol had to take him). She walked the big shambling mound everyday, and one day, he got in a fight in park with another dog. Carol called home freaked out after this horrible encounter, crying. I talked to her first and empathically connected with her pain, trying to calm her, and fully understanding...

Then my mom went on the phone: She laughed at Carol.

I said, What are you doing?! Don't laugh at her durring this!! And my mom angrily covered the phone and said to me, "I'm trying to show her how rediculous she's being!! YOU just aren't sensitive!!"

ME?! I am, and have always been, so hypersensitive, It's sometimes overwhelming!! I truely believe I have my own cycles where I'm too emotional, get cramps, retain water, and my boobs hurt!! I'm like emotional flashpaper! I am SOOO un-dude-like!

I guess that doesn't make me fun at parties, huh?

But, I think i'm happier being the shield for others. And yes, when you spend too much time chasing other peoples clouds away, you sometimes end up in someone elses rainy day.

I' still would rather be the umbrella. I bet umbrellas feel good about themselves.

As If Anyone Needed Proof of My Geekiness.

Here's my wonderful car. But, why am I so enamored by a white beetle?

Time for a little backstory.



As a child, I always had a vast imagination and creativity to go with it. I didn't get too many gifts and I used my own means to make myself the toys I always wished I had. I like batman, and mom wouldn't buy me any batman toys, so I built my own. It was an exact replica of TV's batcave! It was made with tiny hands and shoeboxes for the backdrop, straws for the batpoles, masking tape for fabric and texture. It was pinpoint accurate, font, color, and layout to the TV original. Even as a wee wee lad, I had a fantastic ability to make things as true as possible with the materials at hand.

I loved star trek. I made a 1/24th scale Enterprise bridge set that was custom made for my plastic farm animals (didn't it seem that we all got a bag of farm animals as a child at one point in life from someone?). I loved Battlestar Galactica. I made the galactica with working launch tubes, vipers, and little colonial warrior helmets for the farm animal pilots with working chin straps made out of masking tape. Mom used to get mad I used up all the masking tape...

I loved the Beatles Yellow Submarine. Guess what I did? And After seeing Jaws, I made a fantastically detailed model of the ship the Orca that Quint had to get the shark. Straw masts, thimble pontoons, thread rigging, paper clip hooks, and a cardboard collapsible shark cage. I even made a shark big enough to swallow a farm animal whole.

And one movie that made my life back then, was "the Love Bug". From that day forth, I had this thing for Volkswagen beetles. I said to myself that when I grew up, I would get me a beetle like Herbie one day. And yes, I produced a small accurate cardboard car with working wheels, doors, and hood, the red/white/blue racing stripe, the number "53" in the correct font, and a space for a little plastic goat to drive it.

In my teens, I was so jealous of my friend Doug, whos parents got him a 1965 junkie primer colored beetle. And secretly mad at him for not wanted to even try to make it a Herbie. My first own car when I was 18 was white...a white Chevy Chevette. Not exactly what I dreamed my first car would be. And when the brakes gave out on it a month later going to work, not exactly the kind of wild ride I was expecting.

And now we come to today. And today harkens back to the little 6 year old in me again, redeeming the promise I made to myself.

A couple of weeks ago, I was walking about the used car lot with the newly minted check, looking at small cars, but not seeing anything I liked. People told me to get a Saturn, a Mazda, even look at the Mini coupe. I tried them all, but it didn't "feel" like me. I can't explain it. The exasperated car dealer said he had some more cars in Oregon we can go to and look on that bigger lot. I reluctantly said yes.

We drove up to the lot, and much like Jim Douglas looking at the expensive cars in Thorndykes auto showroom in the "Love Bug", I saw this little white beetle hidden among the flashy vehicles. He didn't want to "waste my time" with that car, but I insisted , for a lark, to a test drive. And, I became the six year old again! I never felt more comfortable with a car. The lonely white New beetle hidden on the backlot was purchased that day. Was it ironic that is happened to be white? Was it Karma?

As I drove my new baby home, my mind was reeling back to a promise I made as a child. I petted the dash and decided that if it was chance or destiny I finally got myself a white bug, I would surrender to the geek inside of me. And I set about immediately on research, design, investing, and lots of work...

Got my car finished last night. And the child inside me is absolutely glowing!!!



...There's your proof. I guess now I'm the plastic goat.

Halloweens Past

Yep, I'm sick again...

It's the flu, and it's creating havoc with my voice. Earlier this morning it was a wee raspy high pitch whine that only bats can hear. Now, it's turn the opposite way, and it's gotten so low, it sounds like either Barry White, or James Earl Jones.

So, I had to call the few people I knew and when they answered, I'd play the Imperial March in the background and say "You are part of the rebel alliance, and a traitor!! Take her away!!"

Can't do that now though, my voice just changed to Eeyore. Come to think of it, it started out as Winnie the Pooh.
____________________________

I didn't post on Halloween, and there was a reason for that: Nothing happened...

Nothing! No kids in coolass satiny costumes with the plastic half mask and paper sacks with pumpkins on it. No middle school kids just tromping about the streets in some kind of get up, usually a killer or a punk. No nuthin.

Well that's not entirely true. On the way home from work at 10pm, I was driving my the paper mill near where I live. The streets were devoid of any people for the 31st...Except for this one 20-30 guy on the street corner. A pear shaped lad in a dark wife beater, jeans and muttonchops. I didn't know what to make of it, other than this portly fellow just left work at the mill and is going to on of the twelve bars nearby (in Camas, it seems like drinking is the pastime of choice...).

Then I saw something that made me giddy with glee: He had on lil' black gloves with three tiny 3 inch silvery spokes on the fist. Oh my God! He's dressed up as Wolverine! He was the only person in a costume for miles around with all the stores closed, and he even had a beer can prop. Then again, perhaps it wasn't a prop.

Anyway, I fought the urge to circle back about and make sure I saw what I saw.

I remember a time when I went trick or treating as a child, and it was sooo cool! You'd get one of those costumes at Ralphs that were in a box with the mask on the front from Rubies. The actual jumpsuit was no better than paper and had the image of whatever you were supposed to be on the front. Like, if you were supposed to be a penguin, you would have a black jumpsuit with a white belly, you'd have a stupid picture of a bunch of penguins on your tummy.

I even had one cool costume with a robot mask with a bulb that lit up on the forehead (Giant Robot! Attack!). It was shredded when I took a shortcut through a rose bush.

I remember walking miles to all these houses with a small group, and getting tons of candy from wonderful smartiees, to lousy candy corn, to popcorn balls. I actually liked the popcorn balls, that took time to do! I didn't like bags of popcorn. Someone went the cheap route. And even worse, the dreaded old guy who gave out pennies.

I'd go home and mom would inspect the candy very casually. Usually, if no razor blade is sticking out an apple, it's all good. Besides, do you know how much work will go into forcing a blade into an apple? And really, an apple? I used to toss those before I got home to make room. I'd have a HUGE load!

...Then the world changed.

Parents were scared of other people giving candy to others and children walking around in the dark. So they moved the trick or treating in a well lit mall, which ruins the costumes look under fluorescent lights. But, when I was a kid, there were hundreds of packs of kids milling about the streets! Ever see the Halloween scene in E.T.? Just like that before! If something bad happened to a kid at a house, the Childrens Underground Network would spread like wildfire.

And we come to the hideous Halloweens of today.

Last year, it was like Beruit. Cars would slooooowly move down streets to a clearly marked house. The door would fly open, and the poor children would run to the door like they were under fire by "Charlie". The poor kids would barely get out "twick o' tweet" between labored breaths, before they and to run back to the still running car with the parent yelling " Run. RUN!! Serpentine!!!"

Happened so fast, you didn't even see a costume.

And it also sucks for the kids nowadays when they have a costume they're proud of, and mom makes then put on a huge heavy coat, scarf, cap, boots, and a flashlight big enough to down a plane. So every kid I saw was dressed like a longshoresman.

So, I miss the Halloween days of yore. Even that one time I got that one 3 musketeer that was white, powdery and pitted. I looked it up and that candy bar was a decade old. Looked like an old turd from a Labrador.

At least I can go back to that house with the Smartiees...

Mr. Mike Goes to Washington

Kinda moot since i'm already here. But really, this is the story of the little guy beating the big corporate machines. The story of where i've been for the last month. And, it's a happy ending too.

Ah, where to begin.

A lot of people have been asking me where i've been all this time, as i usually post quite well. Thanks to all of you, and please, no need to worry about lil' old me anymore. Firstly, I quit my old job at OfficeMax, and the reasons are obvious to anyone whos read my previous posts. I now work at "the enemy", Office depot, but now, i'm being paid for what i did at OfficeMax. I am now the stockroom manager, instead of doing the work of the same and not getting paid for it!

And, I finaly like going to work! I love the people I work with, and I'm quite content. Right now I don't have my 3 man stocking team (it's just me right now doing 3 jobs), and I'm exhausted...but it's still good. And, this all happed in conjunction with the REAL good stuff!

Y'see, remember waaaay back when my car was sideswiped by a dumptruck (a previous post)? I got screwed about by the trucking company, the insurance company, the auto collision company... And I ending up paying out so much that I was broke with bills going into default collection. I couldn't pay rent, and all I could do was get my car back and buy new tires. I payed away my life and my car was actually fine. They tried to crush my soul...

I don't crush easily.

I did my research. Even though I didn't have a leg to stand on with the property damage payout of the accident, I had found out that the "pain and suffering" portion required me to accept some settlement. Like I was gonna settle easily! Even as energy was threatening to shut off my power and I was getting nastygrams from collectors and the landlord, I wouldn't accept the first offer the gave me 5 months later. I knew they wanted to clear the books, as it were. I wouldn't let them untill they bow down... to... me!

KNEEL before ZoD!!! It's my turn, ya bastards.

I kept my notes and spent time at the library in lawbooks. I noted the facts that the trucking company didn't want to report the accident (illegal). That they didn't report it till weeks later and kept being "unavailable" (illegal). that they didn't offer to come to my house to access the damage and instead had me tow the car to portland (illegal). that the accessment took weeks, tying up myn car in storage fees (illegal). They offered a bribe to make me go away...and so on.

That the auto collision place told me the washingfton law says the insurance HAS to pay for my rental and tow (they don't). How they charge for weekend storage at twice the rate...and they aren't open those days. How the Insurance company came to a very very low amount for my car by ignoring the going price of the same cars sold locally.

I kept notes, names and recordings. I called state attorneys. I contacted the state insurance regulatory commission. I got a public lawyer pro bono (he likes U2)...and I didn't accept any piddly offer from anyone. They were going to pay, and pay dearly. I don't scream and stomp. I get quiet, plan and observe like a chess game.

The court costs were killing me, but I knew that was their "game". Sold and hawked everything I had to stay in the game. Went days without being able to buy food or gas (the cat always ate though), and i laughed at the various increasing offers given to settle from each of the parties. Like Mr. Banker in "Deal or No Deal", if they're offering me this much, I must have a good hand. I knew they wanted to make this go away before the next fiscal quarter to make the books look clean, and I was playing the only card I had, but it was a powerful one...the big wait. This was principle (Like Victoria Principal when she was hot, and not the current version of the leatherty silicone faced makeup peddler seen in late night infomercials).

Then in late September...checkmate...Royal flush

I won all three cases, and then some. The judge even made them pay for court costs.

I not only got payed a humungous amount for Pain and Suffering, all the fees i paid to the collision center and rental was refunded. And the trucking company faired the worst...

Thanks to their ineptatude, I now have a new car:



More on that later. It's almost too geeky to mention...

Fear and Drunkenness in Vegas (part 2)

(Note: If you have not read Part 1 first, please go to the previous post and do so now!~ Things will make more sense that way. And please do not reveal the shock ending! Now...Where we're we? Ah, yes... The Shark Club urinals...)

PART 2: Purge Transit

The two party guys hand over the sagging load of stinking flesh that is my roommate for Vegas, Doug. I sling and arm about him and half drag him to the line of taxis. The first one opens up the door, probably thinking he's gonna get a load of cash off of me just for driving us a few blocks. I slide the still laughing Doug into the back seat, trying to fold his noodle legs in so I can slam the door shut.

"were too?" the Taxi driver asks.

"Excalabur" I get into the front seat of the cab. He gives me a look on why I wouldn't want to ride with my buddy.

"He's not gotta throw up, is he? I aint taking him if he's gonna throw up in here..."

I look back to the open mouth slobbering grin that Doug is giving from the back seat. If I tell the truth, we'll be back at the Club, and I don't think I can stop his blubbery frame from going back in the club. He'll be arrested eventually. So, I lie. I tell the cabbie, no problems, he threw up already...

So we start to drive back to the hotel. We don't get out of the driveway when the cabbie and I smell a horrendous stench from the back seat. And the cackling slurred laugh starts up again. And now he's talking endlessly.

"Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it!..."

"Who's Mike?" the cabbie asks. I say I don't know, he's drunk. Why stop lying now?

I can see the lights of the Excalibur car port! We've almost made it! We're gonna.... wait. The back seat all of a sudden fell silent. I look back and I see Doug's head rocking back and forth slightly. Eyes glazed, the sound of belch being born. I see a fast moving countdown timer metiphorically on his face. And through grit teeth, a scream, "Shit!!!" as I undo my seatbelt and slide down to the floorboard. The cabbie just got "wha...?" out and looked back...

When the projectile vomit started.

The cabbie is scraming like a little girl and blinded, covered. The front window is painted with sick as he slams on the brakes and we start to fishtail out of control into the hotel carport. Doug throws his gurggling head back and now he looks like one of those school project volcanos. He's tapped into another dimention, because the puke and bubbling sounds just isn't stopping!

As we come to a stop on the curb we jumped, and fall out of the cab like it was on fire. Who knew a cab driver knew so many profanities? I grab Dougs ankle and drag his heavy carcass to the automatic doors of the hotel, proping him up on the frame. I tell the cabbie, who's now wiping out the backseat with papertowels and catlitter, "sorry" and give him $50. He's earned it today.

I look behind me and see that Doug has slid off the frame and his head is now caught between the sliding doors, which are now opening and closing on his neck as he's laughing like an idiot. Getting him up and dragging him to the elevators to end this nightmare, he see the escalator up to the slots room. He tries to brake away from me, stumbling.

"erp...wanna gambowl..." he spits out from his red, now crusty, face. I tell Doug "no", and the next thing I feel is a meaty balled up fist slamming into my eye socket, with the full wieght of a bloated drunken rage. I fly backwards into the corner...and I...finally...snapped.

My evening was watching this idiot, toteing his fat ass, dodging vomit, almost dying in a old cab, and spending all of my days money for the cab. I am only trying to help. And then...he full on HITS me in anger?!!

Have you ever read about those times were people get superhuman strength and lift cars off of babies and stuff? It's totally true. I got up, the most pissed off I've ever got. Raced over to Doug, trying to get on the escalator up, actually pick up his almost 300 pound frame over my head, and toss him over the rail to the down escalator. Hotel security comes to the scene just as Doug comes to rest on his back at the bottom of the escalator, and he was laughing like the joker all the way. He loved it.

We all pour his body onto a wheelchair, and his dead weight is bottoming out the frame. He has to be taken through the casino as he's too heavy to be taken into the normal elevator. He's doing the "Mike did it..." mantra again and try to snatch drinks and chips off of tables. He also stripped half down by the time we clear the floor to the freight elevators. He's only in his soggy baggy whities when we get to the hotel room door.

The rest of the evening to morning, was hearing him in the bathroom belching, throwing up, betching, etc. I spent the rest of the two days in a friends room. But, I made sure I called Doug from a dead sleep every 15 minutes, Just to make his hangover all the more painful. He ended up throwing the phone across the room and having to pay for it, then he threw up into his suitcase when he tried to get clean clothes. He had no recollection of what happened. Or why his suitcase was full of vomit. But, he spent the rest of the few days in Vegas holed up in his room with nothing but a bedsheet toga for clothes.

Ah, Vegas....I don't think I needed to travel to the Sin City just to get a black eye.

Fear and Drunkenness in Vegas (part 1)

PART ONE: the Vegas Curse

There are many kinds of drunken attitudes. When people drink and get inebriated, inhibitions drop and they become something else. There are happy drunks that like to hug. There are lonely drunks that'll call you at 4am to tell you. "I love ya, man...". There are stumbling drunks that just pass out and you can then write rude things on them with a magic marker.

This is a story of an annoyingly stupid drunk.

My first trip to Las Vegas was with my workers at Pizzamania when I was 22. We paid for two days three nights for gamblin' and, well, just gamblin'. We all flew in already with a few drinks in us from the flight. I don't drink much becuase I become the most uninteresting drunk, the bypass-drunk. I just get a headache and hangover instantly. If I socially drink, it's two margeritas, three tops.

So, we land we land in Vegas, and we get our roommates for our suites at the Excalabur. Mine is a co-worker named Doug, a large-ish surfer looking dude with a Metalica/Motorhead fetish. And we go off for a day of losing hard earned cash. But this isn't a tale of slots and blackjack..It's a tale about drunkenness...

We get to our rooms at midnight after being up and active since 5am. My boss, Bill gets the bright idea that we should go to a Dance club called the Shark Club he was told about by a cab driver. I don't dance, and I'm very shy, but the others convince me I should go and try to have a good time. So we pile into a cab and off we go to a building at the end of the strip with a giant neon shark and tons of cabs with patrons piling out into the loud music arena.

So, I sit at the bar and watch from there, and I probably look as pathetic and out of place as I feel. The others are drinking and dancing like white guys. Every now and then they go back to the bar and order a drink, as does Doug...You remember him, right? Before they finish the drinks, they go back out to dance some more with the hot chicks when the muse takes them. But Doug is very thirsty, and he sees no problem just finishing the drinks that the others abandoned. I see this happening quite a bit, and the others see this, and decide to play a trick on him, they start ordering stronger, bigger, and more drinks to leave behind, knowing that Doug has never been drunk before in his life. Teach him a lesson, as it were...

Dougs a big guy. He was a big thirst. And he's now downing 5 shot glasses each time. He's getting loud and drunk, as he marching in place on the dance floor out of synch and yelling at the top of his lungs, "WoooOOOOOOOoooooooo!!!!"

How did he get so smashed and not know it? Then I see. Each time he want back out to the dance floor, he passes by other tables, each with half empty drinks. Abandoned drinks. On the last pass, he swallows a shallow liquid and then spits out the cigarettes that was crushed in it. Then continues to finish the glass. The Barkeep asks if that we take him home now, as he's cut off, and we see him lapping up a spilt drink on the bar counter.

Guess which one of us is sober enough for this task?

"Mike, you gotta take Doug back to the hotel."

So I grab Doug by the meaty arm. "Time to go, Doug..."

"with a slurred cackle, "NO! NO! Thirsty. wanna dance s'more!"

"So we spin in circles as he attempts to stumble out onto the dance floor and I whirl him towards the exit. All the while sucking out the liquid of any glass nearby. Even those who's owners are still at the table. With a hefty yank, I get his 280 lbs carcass to the foyer before anyone takes a poke at him. He probably wouldn't feel it right now anyway.

I see the taxi lines up ahead! It's almost over! Doug whispers in a breath that could peel paint, that he has to go pee, so I shove him into the bathroom, after he says he can do this alone.
Five minutes later, he being escorted out by two guys. His pants are around his ankles.

"...Are you Mike?" one of them says. I nod, thinking perhaps I should have lied .

"Your friend here, fell in the trough" Doug looks wet and starts to slurringly cackle-laugh again.

I should have lied, we're not even home yet...

(end of part one)

Van Ride of Purgatory

Yesterday, I got a ride home from some people that I work with. I'm lucky enough to have people willing to do this on my lite night shifts. Sharri, one of my favorite persons and an aunt-ly like figure to me, was driving, and Kevin...er...just Kevin...needed a ride home.

So I'm riding shotgun in Sharri's van with Kevin in the back. We're talking things and Kevin starts to relate a time at this very intersection that he saw a woman on a motorcycle cross on the red and slam into a truck side. Nothing wrong with this tale. What was starting to get wrong...was he was evolving his speech into...baby talk.

Let me explain.

Both Sharri and Kevin sometimes "evolve" their speaking patterns into a baby like syntax. Sharri does it trying to be cute, and it sorta is. Kevin does it trying to be gay, which is unnecessary because he has already achieved that. Now, he's not "screaming" or "flaming" gay, just gay, but you don't have to baby talk on everything.

We're not talking about a "goo-goo, gah-gah" like thing. Or even I high pitched voice. Just the evolution of an adult conversation, transforming into a 2 year old. Where words like "here" become "hee-wha", and "there" becomes "deah-wa".

Imagine a speaker at a podium doing this: "...so by examining the bar graph of sales over productivity, we can acheive a proper stance by gow-win ohvah deah-wa and saying 'no-no' to da ouchy..." No change to tone. Just reversion.

So back to the van. Kevin starts his tale "this woman starts to go against the red light, and I thought, 'oh no...dere gonna be a widdow accideeeent'. and she go and go 'boom' on da twuck...". I sit there dumbstruck for a moment thinking, what the hell just happened? I look to my hands to see if I've reverted to my preschool state, as I watch too much sci-fi. I focus on Kevin, not knowing if a piece of my brain misfired and sent me some weird audiology.

Then Sharri chimed in. "uh ohhhh, was she bewing naughty? I bet she didn't feewha vewry good den..." Oh my god! There's probably an airborne virus doing this! Sharri's fallen under and i'm probably next. I claw at the door window controls.

"yeah, dere was de rwed light and she go and vroom thwoow and get hit wit de twuck. And I thought 'oooooh, thwea gonna be a angwee laaaaady, she gonna suuuuue...'. " At this point I realize the air is okay, but they've both been rendered insane anyway. Surely, this will stop.

It didn't, and they talked like this, back and forth, for the entire 14 mile drive. My hand was tightening on the door handle. Perhaps I could open the door and roll out when we slow down at a corner. If I tuck and roll, and aim for a gutter, I might make it. It was too late to change my mind and walk home now. They're starting to mention "ouchy's".

What the hell did I just go through?

Children are Lying Little Bastards

Yes, they are, and I stand by that!

Everyone says that children are so precious and innocent, they don't know how to lie. Well, snap out of your dream bubble, because, brother, do they...and know how manipulate people as well.

It seems children gain this skill at an early age, and start to lose it around the 8 years of age range. Right from birth, they start to test everyone. Test limitations. Test what they can do to get what they want. Morals? Fugetabout it! From right out of the birth canal, they start to cry. Crying gets them something. Then the amazing human brain makes it's first idea: If I create the right stimuli, I can get whatever I want! Cry for a bottle. Cry for attention. Cry if your hungry. Parents think their baby is just wanting to be loved. Not exactly, it's just wanting. I've known parents who come at the ebbing of a childs cry, and that baby will cry non-stop for a parent to rush into a room, hold them, feed them, etc These are also the same children that are still breast feeding in their teens. I've also know parents who will ignore the babys selfish demands, and the baby will eventually sleep soundly.

I know some may still think, an innocent baby cant be devious.

I witnessed a baby at a store in a cart. The baby was quiet until he saw something he wanted, then the sound of a shreeking child permiates the air: the mom immediatly gives the baby what he wanted...and he stops crying...until he sees something else he wants. I also saw the baby look around for his mom before he started up. No sense wasting a good scream if it doesnt get you anything.

Need more proof?

I was once working in a toy store, and I enter an aisle with a small child there. This child is unattended and tearing into a package. He sees me, and after a look of guilt, quietly and without fuss, hands me over the package without me asking anything! He knew what he did was wrong, and he was caught. I said thank you to him...I was also being set up.

The parents come about the corner and the child sees them...and SCREAMS bloodly murder at the top of his lungs! Mouth totally unhinged! Spittle flying everywhere. His parents ask whats wrong, did someone do something to you? And what does this "innocent" child who doesnt know the meaning of lying do?

He points to me. Crying like I killed his puppy.

His dad rips the package out of hands and hands that, and a few other things to calm the child and bitches me out! This gentle lad cons his parents and makes me ther fall guy in one swoop! He of course, gets a bunch of toys and forgets he's supposed to continute crying instead of being happy about his devious plan, but the parents are oblivious...just like he planned.

Need more?

Another job. Fred Meyers, I was watching a child of 6 with a video game in his hand start to wander out of the securety area calling "Mom? Mom?" Like his mother vanished and he's looking for her now. He walks behind a clothing rack and then I see him pull out a Target bag from his pants and place the game in that! The evil genius! He's like the pre-Dr. Doom! Well played, my tiny friend, well played!

That reminds me of a story Bill Cosby told about his daughter. Children lie like a cheap rug naturally. He once told his daughter that she cant have any cookies on the top cabinet. He sees her go to the cabinet when she thinks he isn't looking, grab a chair, and climb up to stick her hand in the cookie jar:

Bill: What are you doing young lady?!
Daughter: (hand in jar) ...nothing...
Bill: What did I just tell you?!
Daughter: You said I cant have a cookie...
Bill: Whats that cookie doing in your hand then?
Daughter: (long pause, think think think) ............I got it for you....
Bill: I don't want a cookie.
Daughter: ...Well then can I have it?

What does this prove? Lying is human nature, honesty is learned and worked for. Thats why I charish my honest relationships of friends. they've aquired the skill that separated them from the evils that men do, seemingly from birth.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

(another cartoon title reference!)

Jeez, last weekend was hot. Around 105 in some areas, and dry enough to cure jerky.

it was time for a haircut, in my humble opinion. My hair grows like wildfire if kept unchecked. I think it's either a trait within my family or an odd chromosome defect. I cut my own hair for two reasons: I'm cheap, $20 bucks for a haircut that would take all of 10 minutes and 12 snips is a crime! They should charge by the minute or weight of hair removed. And, being artistic, I can do it myself quite well, usually. I've even cut other peoples hair. After all, it's just sculpting with a sharp device.

Anyway, it was an exceedingly hot day, and my hair was in need of a good bitch slapping. I was so exhausted from the heat sapping my energy and my various illnesses (work being one ;), I stumble into the bathroom and get my haircutting gear out.

CAUTION: CHILDREN, DO NOT ALTER YOUR APPEARANCE IF DROWSY!

I thought I'd start from the side with the thinning attachment on the electric cutter. One arm move late, I felt a lot cooler! Then my mind seizes up and literally shocks me fully awake as my eyes spot something on the counter top: the thinning attachment. I look at the electric shears and see a bare blade with quite a lot of hair about the edge. So I swallow a huge psychsomatic lump, and look in the mirror...and find that the side of my head is a two inch racing stripe of bare white skin framed by dark brown hair. I look liked someone took some duck tape and ripped a section of hair off of my head.

In mere microseconds, my mind races from perhaps reapplying the hair back in with a hot glue gun, to using a black magic marker. All stupid ideas. And I feel even more stupid for not being more alert. And I double that feeling by reminding myself, i've actually done this exact thing before, just not this bad. Man, my head feels weird...

So, I call Kim to come down to try to "fix" it. I don't know how you can "fix" the absence of hair, but i'll try anything right now. And she owes me, as I cut off 10 inches of her hair to send to cancer children, and then fixed the length afterword. I did an artistically masterful job, an absolutely no one noticed! It also helped she had about a yards worth of hair to begin with.

So she arrives, and I sort of hide the side of my head to her. She askes if I can turn my head so she can see. I first make her promise NOT to laugh, and turn my head.

She's lousy with promises. And very loud when she brakes them.

I make her sit in another room untill she can control herself and catch her breath without the aid of an inhailer, while I stew angrily.

Twenty minutes later she reappears trying not to laugh and eyes watering. I send her off for another five.

Afterwards, Kims assessing my hair (thank god she can cut hair), and telling me stuff like, "Why did you do it?", "I can't beleive you did this again...", and "you should have checked the shaver before you used it". Gee, thanks. Lets get to the Wayback machine and try those theories out!

So, the only thing she could do to "fix it". was to go shorter and shave the sides. I guess I'm lucky I didn't first cut from ear to ear over the top. I actually like it now, as I haven't had my hair this short since I was 20. It was tricky though, as my head is a morass of scars from all the head traumas i've suffered over the years since childhood. I guess that explains a lot, huh?

And when I went back to work a few days later, most of the hair grew back in so I didn't look like I was assulted by a rogue barber gang at a busstop. It's quite nice, and no one really noticed other than I got a short haircut.

Except my dumbass assistant manager, the ear muffed bald pate Chris.

"Hey, Mike! Looks like you had you're hair cut! Now you look like me! he he..."

I winced at the comparison and stared back at him with a tired anger.

"No, we don't, Chris. My hair loss was an option..."

Cybering and...YOU!

Once upon a time, the internet was made only of the magical fairie ether-realm called AOL. And this magical land of AOL, which was ruler of all internet gumption, had a dark, dark underworld that bred a river of decite and gluttany. Where everyone was compelled to be someone other that what society proclaimed what was "acceptable in mixed company"

The AOL chatrooms of the 90's. Yes, I was one of those neophyte "World Wide Web" users that know of the internet world through AOL only. We didn't know that we were living vicariously though someone elses backyard. This was an era where you bought books that gave you http addresses to find things like where to buy a hat. And that book had a "hats" chapter.

My error was going to the AOL chatrooms for some interesting conversation. Never have i've seen a collection of egotistical, crass, immature, childish, users who took revenge on their petty lives by trying to be someone else online, usually someone you'd never want to know in real life. Unpleasant misfits from all walks of life.

Here was a few simple things I found out from those times:

1. Never talk to anyone who says (types) one of the following:
"Hello to all the lovely ladies out there..."... Next step is to find someone to cyber with...

"@-\--/--- for all the ladies..." Nothing says "commitment and trust" like a hastingly typed "and" symbol, some dashes and slashes freshly cut from your garden of love...

"Age/Sex check..." I hate this one. I know what i am, why do i need to check every couple of minutes?

"anyone wanna cyber?"...See?

2. Avoid anyone using "gangsta talk", i just reads silly... :
"Wassup ladies", "Whassup sluts", "da partyboy has arrived!" ...I swear to god, I always get a kick out of infantile chatters who start beating their chest and threaten you this way ..,. "dont yo be diss'n me! Me an my homies is gonna comon over and bust a cap in yo ass!" Bwah-HA-hahh-HAA!!!

3. Everyone claims to be any of the following professions in a chatroom:
Fireman, Marine, Police Officer, Proffesional surfer, Stripper or Dancer...
Common "professions": Student, unemployed, paper delevery, magic card collector, McDonalds fry supervisor, loner, outcast... never seemingly chat online.

4. NeVeR TaLk To AnYoNe WhO's pRoFiLe iS tYpEd LiKe ThIs:
This is just annoying and only anyone under 6 still thinks this is cute. Or use "U' and "R" instead of "you are".

And, I don't think real women would choose a name like, "BiggJuggs" or "Sexy4U".

Then, you get the same question over and over if a chatter even THINKS you're a female, "Wanna Cyber?". What is "Cybering"? Thats when a chatter male tries to get a chatter female to go into a private room, and type/pretent to have sex. It's like phone-sex, but both callers have no idea what sex is really about. I can imagine that if someone did ever do this, when you get towards the end, there would be a long pause till someone asks, "er...so...we done here, or..". Maybe it is like the real thing...

Back then, I wanted to get an example of the so called "Cybering", but from a female perspective, since the males were the predetor here. So I created a name that wasn't sexual in any way, but was female. I would identify myself as an educated female by my profile with no sexual terms or suggestiveness, and I "spoke" with intellegence, not the cyber-bimbo. Wanted to see if a female online would get some respect as simply someone who chats...

Y'know, it didn't matter! I had to turn off paging and private messaging just to talk in a chatroom! "Do you want to go to a private room?" I got TONS of requests as soon as "ARCHASHLEY" showed her head. It was like chasing dogs off the back of a meat wagon!

Below is the true adventures of ArchAshley.

No names have been changed to protect anyone... (the language might be harsh here, be forwarned.) And yes, you can see my annoyance with everyone there. Try to guess what a real female would feel like all the time, just wanting to chat and thats it!
____________________________________________________
Ps9994: any hot p***y want some action
ArchAshley: PS9994 seems like a p***y to me....
____________________________________________________
Shagy169: ANY BITCHES WANT TO FUCK
Shagy169: I'm a real man
ArchAshley: ....and?
ArchAshley: so am I! are you naked?
ArchAshley: hello?
(deathly silence)
____________________________________________________
SGJOEKERR: hi sexxie t*** how are you?
ArchAshley: deathly ill after the spinal menagitis. lost some muscle in my vertabre SGJOEKERR: lol
ArchAshley: i don't think that it's funny!
ArchAshley: do you like laughing at other peoples pain?
SGJOEKERR: lol..you are kidding..you gotta be
ArchAshley: what makes you think i'm kidding?!
(deathly silence)
____________________________________________________
G Bullet77: are you really 36
ArchAshley: nope.
ArchAshley: 23
G Bullet77: 23 is my lucky #
ArchAshley: or 17+ 6
ArchAshley: or 28 - 5
G Bullet77: math major
ArchAshley: or 6 x 4 -1
G Bullet77: age/sex/loc?
ArchAshley: or 3rd prime number + 12 x 2 - 13
G Bullet77: you talkin or multiplin
G Bullet77: hello to all the ladies in the room
ArchAshley: or square root of a natural sine / 68 + difference between F and C degrees till Absolute 0 is reached
___________________________________________________
Baseb11111: want to go to private room 27/m
ArchAshley: why?
Baseb11111: to cyber
ArchAshley: okay...
Baseb11111: think u can handle me
ArchAshley: i said "okay", dumbass.
___________________________________________________
OnlineHost: OnlineHost: *** You are in "Baseb11111 Chat70". ***

OnlineHost:
ArchAshley: okay. we're here...
Baseb11111: hey baby
Baseb11111: u have a pic
ArchAshley: "hey baby? you have pic?" this is not cybering...
Baseb11111: well i want to know what i am going to fuck first
ArchAshley: I'm guessing from your sweet talk, usually your closed fist...
Baseb11111: i am going to fuck u all night long
ArchAshley: you've never done this before, have you...
Baseb11111: nope can u help me out
ArchAshley: oh god! an amature!
ArchAshley: "think u can handle me"...jesus!
Baseb11111: take advantage of me then
ArchAshley: Where did you learn that line?
ArchAshley: you can't just go at it like a dog humping a table leg...
Baseb11111: the question is can u handle 10.5 inches of rock hard dick inside u all night long
ArchAshley: sure I could, but then, what will you be doing?
Baseb11111: u like it in the ass
ArchAshley: did you actually measure yourself?!
Baseb11111: nope ex did
ArchAshley: and don't give me the ex-girlfriend routine...
Baseb11111: ook
ArchAshley: no girl would ever take out a tape measure...
(long pause)
ArchAshley: you measured yourself, huh...
Baseb11111: sure
ArchAshley: jeez, there are other hobbies, y'know!
Baseb11111: i am sure u will like it
ArchAshley: how do you know, psychic friend?
OnlineHost: Baseb11111 has left the room.
ArchAshley: hello?
ArchAshley: Hehehe......
______________________________________________________

Stupidity is My Armor

Digging about 15 years into my past for this one! This may be proof that being oblivious can be your savior.

I used to work at a pizza place called, oddly enough, Pizzamania in Whittier, California. I worked there on and off for 6 years. Loved the place, as I practically grew up there. Made my first real friends out of high school there. My first real girlfriend. My first real occupational injury (rotary pizza ovens are set at 550 degrees). My first real drunken party.

And my first real brush with death. Although I didn't know my own mortality was in crisis at the time.

When I first began, I was sorta the outsider, evidently, as the rest of the crew liked to play practical jokes on me, from time to time. They even spiked my food with things like pure jalopeno juice. So I was content to be the bartender for the dining room which was an ajacent area from the main counter and kitchen.

One evening while I was washing mugs and glasses, I get the usual half drunk guys using their pizza slice as a impromptu sponge when they knock over their beer mug on the table. And I get something else that night. A guy rushes in the room with a wool mask covering his face, a black zipper jacket, and a 38 snub nose pistol. He comes up to the counter and points it at me...

"gimmie the money...The MONEY!!!", he shouts.

And what did I do when someone points a weapon at my head? What went through my mind that split second? Did my life flash before my eyes? Was I frightened with the thought of being shot?

No. I can tell you exactly what I was thinking: Those coworker bastards! They got a guy to come in here to pretend to try to rob me. Oh, well played, Mr. Manager Bill...Well played! But alas, I am on to your game, my friend. Do you think me a puss? Am I an oaf? Nay, sir! I am on to you this time!!!

And then, I burst out laughing. I laugh at the futility of this facade. I laugh at my little actor (and a bad one in my opinion...Totally unconvincing) long and hard, and I give him a look like he's way in over his head here.

I throw my bar towel down. "Ah Christ! You gotta do better than that, buddy!", I say to him, a bit annoyed that I almost fell for it for just a second.

"I'm not playing here man! Open the register!" And I think, the guys in the kitchen are probably having a very good laugh at my expense right now. I'm so done with this joke. They're probably taking bets on when I'd crap my pants. Then, tell me I was sooo gullible. The perfect dupe. Not today.

"Knock that shit off! I got a lot of crap here to do! If you wanna help get that bussing cart from the hallway to the kitchen." And I ignore him. What a stupid joke. He takes off to the side hallway where the cart is staring at me with an odd look. I assume he was going to take my cart of filthy dishes to the back sinks as I asked, and I help the next drunk guy in line.

After about 10 minutes or so, I round the corner and see that the cart hasn't been bussed. So, I take the large tub of dishes, forks and platters and head on to the back. And here I see an unusual site: The entire Pizzamania crew is lined up facing the wall with their hands up... You got to admire their dedication to the joke, I think. I also see an open floor safe.

It seems the "robber" wasn't a joke.

The entire front end, kitchen, and back safe was robbed of all monies. Everything but the bar. Two guys came in to rob everyone, even took the delivery guys stash as he walked in the back door. One of them decided to walk around and steal from the bar register, and got the guy who had it being the butt of jokes that day. I may have been totally clueless, but you don't see me kissing wall and broke. Stupidity is my armor.

And I guess practical joke karma is a bitch, huh?

Happy IndependaZAARP!

I hope everyone had a "safe and sane" 4th!

I almost made it unscathed this time.

It always seems that holidays are the nexus point of calamity in my life. Something always goes wrong, it can never be anticipated, and only my staying home and hiding, can it be averted. They usually involve car accidents, and I try to only walk those days. Memorial day, sideswipe and car totaled. Birthday, went to then girlfriends house only to be rear ended and have THAT car totaled. St. Paddys day this year...Read that blog...

Needless to say, I'm not partial to driving.

So here we are at the 4th of July 2006. My car is parked across the street to avoid any firework discharges. But I feel like getting some food this evening, and I figure, "the store is only a few blocks away, driving should be safe on the rual streets". Why I chose to ignore my past I'll never know. But you'll see, it was for a good reason I did.

I go to the store and pick up a frozen pizza. As I walk to to the car, ignoring that fact I decided to no purchase any fireworks this year, I notice that the ugly clouds above were thunderous...

Then I see a huge blot of lightning slam into the ground a few blocks away! That was incredible, I think! I hope my cat is okay. He's usually hiding under the sofa on a loud explosion day like this. Then a few more stikes. Even another one almost where the first biggest one hit. Just like an awesome fireworks display!

I start to drive back home a few blocks, I notice, No lights are on in any house or street. Completely black. Wonder if the bolt hit a transformer. I remember a presidents birthday that I was almost struck by lightning when it hit a power pole transformer I was next to. Kinda cool actually.

Wait a sec... My house is right about where those bolts struck...

Then I see.

There's a 75 foot oak across the street from my house. The first bolt stuck the tree and blew the top 25 feet off. The bolt traveled down the tree and stripped it of all bark, exploding branches all the way down and sending it hundreds of yards in all direction, including the alvoves and windows of houses across the street. The second bolt hit the tree nearby, shredding it in half and sending the charge through the powerline...That goes to my house.

I drive past people out in the streets with candles and flashlights and run up to my house. My house is completely dark, and the lights start to flicker back on as I desperately call out to my cat. My God, he must be terrified that this happened!!

The light come back on, and I search franticly. As I pass my the TV, I turn it on, as the sound comforts him. It doesn't go on at first, then a big spark and it now looks like my TV took acid and is listening to Jefferson airplane. What the hell? I run upstairs and see not only are clocks not running, but some are actually fallen off the tables.

And here I find my cat lying on the bed. I touch him to check, trying not to think of the worst...When he shocks me. Literally shocks me with a static charge! And he get's up all annoyed that I woke him! He's a big statically puff ball now! If I were to rub him and toss him against the wall, he'd stick.

After I feed the now mutated electo-cat, I check all my electronics in the house, and find that most of them are shorted out! My TV, my router and phones, my computer and monitor, and dammit, my x-box! Aww dammit! What about my surge protectors? It seems, they're all okay

Here's what happened. The first bolt of lightning took out the big tree, and exposed the second lower (now tallest) tree. The second bolt hit that tree and traveled to the powerline and internet coaxial that was next to tree. That traveled across to my house And across the roof to the grounding poles, which happen to be located just outside my back window. The hit created a pulse, that bypassed all surge protectors (as it didn't travel through a powerline at that point) and fried all my electronics...and supercharged my cat.

Needless to say I had too much fireworks for one night.

But, here's the irony. I was the lucky one.

My neighbors TV's exploded. Computers fused. Windows broken from the missile like tree shards. I spent all day repairing fuses and wiring network cards and de-gaussing screens with a gadget I wipped up, and repaired everything except a modem, phones, and dammit, my x-box.

But that isn't the irony I was talking about. remember the tree that had the top 25 feet of it blown off? Where did that tonnage of tree go? Right where my car was parked not 10 minutes before. If I didn't ignore all my warnings and drive, I'd have no car, but a large metal planter. The same tree I thought was the safest placew to park that night.

So the street was closed off while all kinds of ciry workers cleared the way, and I sit here petting a cat that gives off a slight spark.

All in all, not a bad holiday. maybe next year, I might actually go out.

After grounding my cat.

Robot Bastard!

Get your geek on!

I use to do a lot of movie production work and concept art, but this...this...my good friends, is what it's all about! This was done on the cheapest budget possible, and it looks amateur, but I dare you not to watch this over and over again.

This is better than the usual Sci-Fi channel Canadian straight to DVD crap. Better than Revenge of the Sith and Catwoman (well, what wasn't better than Catwoman...I'll redefine...).

What I'm about to share with you is a wonderful film that has produced some wonderful memories for the movie production/comic book geek in me. The Creator/Writer/Director/and anything else of this epic is Rob Scharb, creator of the comic Scud. On an incredible non- budget, this unforgettable film is made. The costumes are trash bags and cardboard, the sets are flattened out boxes, and yet, this movie is better than anything shown on cable!

Prepare to be geeked out with Robot Bastard!






By the way, I had the opportunity to watch Revenge of the Sith in Spanish, and it was way better. Even the Hispanic Darth Vader at the end yelling, "NooooOOOOOOO!" was better! The only problem I had was that everyone sounded like a Mexican novella soap opera, and yoda had the voice of the Taco Bell dog...

Lets All Go to the Lobby, But Knock First!

I got free tickets to see a movie at the theater, and took advantage of that. I figure If I don't take out a loan to purchase a watered down drink and popcorn, I should be okay. And, unlike many others I see, I have the bladder of a God, a God , I say! It brakes my heart, it's so sad, when I see someone get up in the middle of a movie to shuffle off to the bathroom, and come back just after the spetacular action scene.

And you can always here them whisper, "what did I miss..."

I always thought if you can't hold it for the duration of two hours, you shouldn't ever go out without an adult diaper. Makes you wonder if these people plan their day by 120 minutes and waypoints to relieve the pressure between. Sorta like planning an assault on Mount Everest. You need to plan out every camp, and hope your sherpa brought the two-ply paper.

Anyway, for whatever reason, I needed to "use the facilities" after the movie.

I think I know why. As a awaited the previews to start, a crowd of people pushed a wheelchair with a disable person on a respirator next to me. As they backed her up, I could clearly see on the backpack LCD "low battery", and they all sat somewhere else! The whole movie was me worring about her, carefully listening for the respirator functioning, and her rhythmic breathing. everytime she took a swallow, I desperately looked for an electrical outlet. I was now her guardian, and that shattered my concentration.

As soon as the credits rolled, the throng of people surged towards the door. To go out? No. To go to the bathrooms. Moving like cattle, with slight "moo's" as some people were clustered together in a bottleneck. I waited until almost all them moved on through. Remember: God's bladder...

Passing by the long but orderly line to the "ladies powder room", I go to the entrance gateway that is...the mens bathroom. By the way...What's this "powder room" crap? Like we don't know what goes on in there? Is everyone fixing their lipstick? Do women get "the vapors" still? Call it like it is...GirlToilets. And why the line? Is everyone taking their sweet time with a good book on the can? Can women use the bathroom at home before they go to the theater? And they're so catty! I witnessed a few women whisper to their husbands and boyfriends/girlfriends, "See that lady? she didn't wash her hands!"

Walking through a doorway big enough to drive a volvo through, I try to find an unused stall. I don't like the peer pressure of society that dictates that men must used the chorus line of uninals. And there are reasons there are sneeze gaurds on salad bars. I 'll let you come to the conclusions.

Stall, closed. Stall, closed. Stall, closed. Ah...this ones opened...

I push the ajar door inward, and accidently proceed to push forward a guy in the stall with his pants down to his ankles, face forward into the toilet. The absolute fear in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder at me, I will carry to the end of my days. He didn't even try to save his flight forward because he was too busy protecting his "shame".

If he's gonna pee in a public toilet, can't he latch the door? You'd think he was expecting a UPS package here. And technically, I assulted him in an inimate moment. I just became a "masher'.

So I left, and left him to deal with the issues i've just provided him. besides my work was a block away, and I can use the bathroom there.

I arrive at my work and say hello to the staff on the sales floor. then I go to the mens room, and open the stall door...only to find another guy squatted on the can, playing a game on his cell phone. And he looks up at me with the most surpized, pathetic, helpless look a human can muster. It was a deer caught in my headlights. Jeez people! There's a lock on this stall for a reason! At least give the door a good swing close!

Now i'm seriously traumatized!

Dance of the Stubbed Toe

Good God! Nothing seems to be more painful than a stubbed toe! And, it's the one pain in the world that the ratio of pain is in direct opposition to anyone caring. Sympathy from your friends is non-existent. You can't call work and take a sick day because of your toe stubbing. (if you did, you usually pump it up by saying 'it might be broken'). You'll feel embarrassed to wait in a doctors office to tell him your foot was traumatized a while back. If you call 911, you'd better be ready to be ignored...

Why am I writing about this? I'll give you one guess...

I had another thought I was going to write about, until tragedy found its way to my metacarpals. And I had to pay homage to the pediatric gods and perform the Stubbed Toe Dance ritual.

Com'on, you know what I mean. We all do it. Without fail.

You're walking along, doing whatever you do. When this curse that strike both kings and peasants affects you. Your foot digits strike the corner of a semi immovable object. The irony is, at the point of impact, and even before possibly, you knew that item was there on the floor! You've bypassed it hundreds of times. You're not a rookie at walking. And in the second of transition from bliss to agony, your mind is working overtime trying to find an explanation on why this happened now.

Someone must have placed the object a few millimeters out of place to foul your day! There was a minor tremor, that slightly displaced objects, so your area is no long a positive feng shui, but a hellish deathtrap.

Or you're just a clumsy oaf...But no...NAY! This can never be!! I am a bipedal human, master of all creation! I cannot, WILL NOT, fall prey to common objects! I don't see lowly monkeys and meerkats tripping because of their own goofiness? And MY brain is like 11 times their size! I poop in a semi-carpeted desgnated room! No other creature on earth can claim that!

But, then again, no other creature can claim leisure suits. Pet rocks. Paying for designer water when the same thing is free. Oxygen bars. Crustless bread. And sequels to Van Wilder...without Van Wilder.

But, the deed is done, and the electric spark from your toe trauma finally makes it's way to your cranium. And what does "God's greatest creation" rationalize is the best course of action to this conundrum? What it the defining moment where we prove that Man is superior to all species?

We start the dance around the room, hissing through gritted teeth and waving our hands about to try to stave off the pain, as our eyes glass over and try to get enough breath to bitch out the item that caused this instant subtraction to your intelligence.

"Damn you, coffee table leg! Damn you to hell!! I'm coming back here and taking an axe to you! I've had it with you and the wicker chair!! Arrrghhh!!!"

Hissing to the God's I can understand. That's probably a primal instict to appease that, as it's obvious that you've upset them, and you've received penance. But, waving your hands? You're hands aren't injured at all, nor on fire. And probably these are the safest parts of your body at this moment. I figure your head is so messed up in that spark of pain, that people remember why desert foxes have such big ears. They act as heat dissipater to cool down the lil' fox. Maybe, our tourchered mind erroneously, but instectively, thinks this also can work with pain. Not having huge ass ears...Hands.

Either way, we complete the dance by quickly prancing about in either a tight circle, or an elliptical course. And a lot more quickly than we were walking just before I might add.

And before anyone say that the pain might be a broken toe: I've broken a toe once before, playing raquetball when my foot when east into a corner, and my toe continued to travel up the wall north. I thought after that initial pain, "Well, that wasn't a bad stubbed toe..."

We are all creatures of instinct. Next time you feel obligated to do the Dance of the Stubbed Toe, and try as you might, you cannot deny it, think about all this: If there is a God, it's proof not only he exists, but he has a wonderful sense of humor, and probably laughs himself silly at "Jackass"...

And if there isn't, we're all just natural idiots.

ps. the spell checker wanted to replace "penance" with "penis". make of that what you will...

So, It's Your Birthday Lets Get Humiliated!

Once a year, people think that there is a time for you to be humiliated and embarrassed. And because it's this "certain" time, you have to be a "good sport" about it. Any other day, it's acceptable to rebuke the way your treated.

But, not on your Birthday.

There are some benefits though. 25% off goodwill. You need to get a new photo on your expired Drivers License. And, if you know how to play your cards right, free birthday food and cake at restaurants.

I had a free gourmet burger at Red Robin coupon. Since that place is hideously expensive, and they have bottomless steak fries, I'll take them up on the offer. All I have to do is navigate the birthday mindfield. I know what food joints do. I need to be extra careful today.

So, I was talked into going the day before my birthday for lunch, some people I know went with me (my first misstep). When I got back from the bathroom, I see a small huddle of the server with the others at the table. When I get there, trying to be sneaky as to overhear what I know is going on, I can almost cut the awkwardness with a knife. My Spider-sense is tingling. The server stammers, "so...Um..I'll get that...Um...Drink for you...", and he scampers off. Nice acting, the daytime emmy is going to someone else this year, me thinks.

Now I'm in full paranoid mode. I see every movement from my peripheral vision. I flinch when a bunch of servers get together. I take small bites as to not have them all spring out when I have a big mouthful. I can hear "Charley" in the bushes.

I try to ignore the inevitable, but I know what going to happen when I finish my lunch. It's as inevitable as the green mile walk to the executioner. Waiting for a dentist. I take advantage of my bottomless steak fries and get 3 more baskets. But, I can only eat so much before I must fall to my predators.

And I see balloons coming closer...

These guys aren't too stealthy. The main server wraps the strings of a balloon around my head. Wraps! Oh, but for the quiet dignity of an actual balloon hat. Since making a hat by tying together balloons is too much of an effort. I now need to balance two balloons with my ears. I am so happy with this, so far. Where's my damn ice cream.

"ladies and gentlemen!", my server cries out to the near empty room. "Michael here is celebrating his 21st birthday today!" I was told my expression was priceless on hearing this. Later, I found out that I arrived at the table before anyone could tell Mr. Red robin how old I really was. I guess that is flattering. But saying I'm "celebrating" at this place is taking huge liberties.

Then the rest of the serving mob comes, and the main server speaks, "Okay. Happy Birthday on three..."

What?! You need to tell them this is a birthday, and the proper song needs to be synchronized? The balloons wasn't clue enough? Do they have a huge song list they refer to? Was someone going to mistakenly sing the "We hope you pass your stone" song instead? Please, lord, please let them at least "sing" happy birthday, and not that damn "clapping song"

What's wrong with actually singing the "happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Michael, happy birthday to you!". I wont sue them for digital theft.

They start the clapping song. My mind just tunes out at this point. I guess the falsetto parts of the original happy birthday song is a little stressing to these rythmless minimum wage workers.

"Happy happy happy! Happy day to you..." I see Ren and Stimpy dancing in the background of my subconsious. Clap clap clap clap. "Happy birthday...TO YOU!!!" Then they all peel away, as if someone farted, to get back to busing a table and muttering "hrm...happibrrthduh..." as they dont even make eye contact. That final greeting was as energetic as if I just asked "so, who wants to clean the cat box?"

By this time, my pathetic ice cream was half melted. Somehow, I don't think that was worth the price of free.

But, at least through this humilation crubicle, I know I look like I'm still 21! happy happy happy! Happy day to me! I am now a real man once again, thanks to the magical elders of the Red Robin village!

Clap clap clap clap...

The Funniest Thing I Ever Saw at Disneyland

I love Disneyland. It's my perfect happy place. I used to go there almost everyday, with one of those passports, when "passport" ment something. When there were ticket books and the passport people were special.

I'd go there to eat lunch, draw people, or just look around and unwind. I'd know when something changed on a attraction, when there was fresh paint, and when to avoid the churros just my smelling them from afar. I would feel the surroundings and forget my day...

And this is where I saw the funniest thing I ever saw.

One day, I was tooling about Disneyland and happened upon a small birthday part in Fantasyland. These are nice affairs with human sized costumed characters dancing about and giving out hugs. Now, there is a official commandment from Walt himself: NO actor (employee) shall never be see in public without the full costume.

Ever. On pain of death, I believe. Costumes ripped or missing a glove, you don't leave the cast area. Period. There are secret Disney police for this that hop out of the shadows, inject you with pixie dust, and "re-condition" you in case this ever happens.

Anyway, this was a Winnie the Pooh party for some 2-3 year olds. And everyone was having a good time. There was Eeyore, Tigger, and Pooh dancing about in a small circle, tra-la-la...

Then, all my hopes and dreams of a unfortunate circumstance happened, and I was there to bare witness to the spectacle. Cuz, y'see, like I said before: If somehing terrible happends to you, that's tragedy. When it happens to someone else, that's comedy.

Tragi-comedy exploded when on a dancing turn, Eeyore slipped on some random cake slice with those big metal shod, stupid feet. He when down like a shot duck! And then the wonderful happened...

His head flew off.

Instantly, all hell broke lose! Pooh and Tigger, like trained swat, dogpiled on Eeyore to cover his head. Pin him down but good and covered the exposed humans head with there furry bodies. They then quickly and without being gentle, dragged human-head Eeyore to the now opening backdrop and away from the public. Those Disney goons respond fast!

After a breath of a pause, the ear splitting screaming and crying of 12 children start up, and I bust out laughing, wishing I to God had a camera.

Do you know what those children saw?! A dancing mule, bear, and tiger, all of a sudden pouncing on the mule, violently, a head flying away, and the bear and tiger dragging their be-headed prey back into the lair to finish the job. Those kids just witnessed the food chain...live!

Happy birthday, Youngsters! See Pooh maul a donkey! You cant get better entertainment than this, unless you're in the wild! Those poor kids will be in therapy for life.

"Mommy! Mommy!! Why did Tigger kill Eeyore! *sob*" "Did they eat Eeyore?!" "Is Pooh bad?"

As the frazzled moms and attendants tried to calm the children down with a sing-a-long, out came a maintenance worker. He walked over to the bushes, fished out the now dead-eyed head of a gray mule, and walked backstage with it.

And the crying began anew. Ah, the Circle of Life! Live...At Disneyland!

As my birthday comes up, it tickles me to think of this day. Maybe I'll go to a Chucky Cheese, and see what happens.

Like I said, Disneyland forged the best memories from me. Even working at Disney Animation, the perk was the park pass.

When I die, I hope to have my ashes spread about the park. I know they wouldn't take to kindly on that, and the street sweepers are diligent, so I came up with a plan. Place my ashes inside a crutch. Pop that rubber stopper on that puppy. Pretend to have a foot injury and walk into the park. Unstop the crutch and sprinkle to taste!

Maybe a anamorphic animal will slip on me, and behead himself in a parade route. That would be awesome.

Happy Birthday to me!

Time Flies When Things Suck

I apologize for not writing anything for quite a few days.

So much has happened, and I don't like bogging people down with my poop.

He's the "previously on..." Teaser:

Car resolution. Broken tooth. Root canal. Bone contusions. Ripped ligaments. Shock therapy (no no...a tens unit to help my torn tissue). Cats sick. Better Business Bureau. Doctors, doctors, doctors. Enough pain killers that'll make Keith Richards swoon. Garlic Jims Pizza. Amoxicillin. Taking over the Legendaries (just temp!). Hypertension. Isn't lupus a rabbit? Upcoming birthday.

Speaking of birthdays, i'm finally starting to feel old.

I've felt like I'm 16 all my life. I revel in the fact that I think this way. But yesterday, my resolve was shattered...

An old old man came in my line when I was covering the brake of the cashier. He paid with cash and took the change out of this little plastic purse with a slit on top. I And oh my god...I automatically thought...

"say... That's a great idea! I can use one of th..."

Before I could finish the thought, my mind almost seized on me as punishment.

I'm surprised I wasn't also jealous of his wide white belt and long shorts, gardered black socks, net golf cap, and chain for his "bifocals".

Didn't help my bones and teeth hurt. Oy vey. Who are you? Where's my soup?

Mmmm...soup....

by the way, why do people carry buttons in those change thingys?

Good news? My glucose level is excellent and normal with diet alone.
Bad News? My bloodpressure is like a frightened birds.

Could be worse, I guess. Gas could go over three dollars a gal...

aw crap...

A Food Servers Dirty Lil' Secret

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. You may think i'm full of it, but, you'll know I'm speaking the truth...If you just observe.

This is a little dirty trick food servers do at restaurants.

You go out to eat, order your meal and it comes. You start to masticate. And, just when you have a mouthful of food, in sweeps the waitress to ask, "How is everything?"

What can you do? All you can do is keep your mouth close, nod your head and grunt what you hope comes out as a jovial yes! You tell me THAT has never happened to you!! The food may be crap, but you cant say anything! All to save your open mouth embarrassment!

So what does this accomplish then? Well, the server is almost guaranteed a tip. After all, she did come by the table and ask you if everything was okay. And, she didn't have to do anything for it extra! You couldn't say the food was off and you wanted it taken back, you couldn't say that the meat was dry. You couldn't say that you need steak sauce or that your missing your bisket. And she didn't have to come back to do your bidding, until she brings you the check!

Where was she when you needed a waitress to get you another coke or a clean fork?

Try this next time: fake chewing. Look for your waitress lurking nearby. And they do lurk. Not near enough so they can claim they didn't see you, but close enough to see you chewing but NOT swallowing. If you swallow, the games over and the waitress will have to attend to you.

So fake the chewing a huge load of foodstuff...And like a magical song from a Disney movie, in comes the waitress to ask you if "everything okay?". Go ahead. I'll wait.

So now that you know this is not an urban myth, what can you do? Lucky you. I'll tell you...

Make index cards made up that say the following:

- come back in 47 seconds if you wish to really know.
- I think I taste an old toenail.
- Please! Sit down, join us, and await my amazing and informative answer!
- I've been chewing this cud for what seems like days, and it aint goin' down! Help!
- Tell me all about the dessert menu...In interpretive dance
- pull up a plate of this slop, have a big bite and then I'll ask how's everything with you?

Then just show the cards as needed.

Other things to do: Place a stack of dollars on the table near the edge. Take one away every 5 minutes in a showy flair. When the waitress asks you when you're mouth is full, take one away every 10 seconds of chewing.

Simply spit all your pre-chewed food into an empty glass and talk normally. Also ask for another glass.

Take your plate with you and follow your waitress around while you eat.

Get up from your table, follow the waitress from table to table and ask, "okay, how do you REALLY feel?", after her lil' trick.

Just don't do any of this before you get all of your food. You don't want to know what the serving staff can do to your meal if you piss them off.

Things that annoy me for March...NASCAR edition.

It's that time again: Things that annoyed me for March...

1) March: Nuff' said! Whatta wussy wuss puss of a month. A month that leads to...

2) NASCAR: The owners of the nascar frenchise so desparately want to make some mechandise money off of this. Now they're tring to get the women involved...you may think i'm making this up, but I saw at the market a NASCAR harliquin romance novel series. Time for that pit stop and a tire rotation, ladies!

Next target, males 17 - 65. Hmm... Lets see. Cars. Budwiser. Beer guts and lack of activity. Next?

Kids! Pez dispensers. Childs wear. Action figures of dreamy Jeff Gordon. I remember a saturday morning cartoon "NASCAR racers!", to hook the kids to the exciting sport. And If we all know kids, they love, just love, to sit still and watch cars circle a track 500 times. I remember seeing Spider-man 2 in the theaters, and durring the incredible subway fight with Doc Ock, a child was squirming to get away and started crying. The poor parent had to take the child outside and miss the $9.00 movie. Which brings me to...

3) Theater Babies: going to the movies with hundreds of other people? Leave the baby at home!!! You don't want to hear me talking or a cell phone ring? I don't want to hear you're screaming sugar fueled brat. I think they should not only have that "Please silence your cell phones" slide on the screen, but a "Please tape your damn kids mouth shut" as well.

But back on NASCAR for a bit. I watched it at work because it was the only thing on. And I actually laughed out loud when the anchors said durring a brake in the action, "While we have a moment, we'd like to wish Bob Smith a happy birthday and...oh wait...I apologize. We'd like to send our condolenses to his family. And our sponser, BUDWISER! the King of Beers!"

So touching. I wonder if the Beer King will send his birthday/funeral wishes from his royal court as well?

4) Guys that high five each other: unless they totally miss, then thats funny. What is it with some good ol' boys hooting like a couple of idiots at a bikini clad girl, then they turn to give each other a high five. Whats that?! That doesn't look cool. Even if the "hooting" turned a woman on instantly for some bizarre reason, that overhead hand slap will spoil the deal.

...man i'm exhausted...thats annoying too...

The Kessel Run in 2 Weeks

Lando Calrissian walks towards the Millenium Falcon, to commence the final assault to the Death Star. He tells Han Solo he'll take good care of her.

"Not a scratch!" Chides Han, obviously worried about his pride and joy.

"Would you get going, ya pirate!", Laughs Lando as he walks towards the starship. Leia, seeing the look on Han's face...

"what's wrong?", She asks.

"I dunno.", Han says looking at the Falcon one last time, "But why do I have that feeling like I'm never gonna see her again?"

Today, Leifs Auto Collision towed away my lil' blue Geo Metro. And I remembered that scene from Return of the Jedi, as I saw the ol' gal carted away on a flatbed, out of the parking lot.

I know, I know. I'm over worrying, but I can't help that feeling. When will it be back? In what condition? Will a mechanic steal all my pennies in the ashtray? I miss the blue thing already.

Even when the auto repair place got me a 2005 mustang as a loaner. And mind you, that is a sweet ass car! Power everything, CD player, and I took it over 85 mph just to see what it can do (It can do much more.). But I truly want my Geo back. Is that bizarre or what?

And Jeez, The insurance company, who is supposed to do all this, is dragging their feet so much, they probably only have stubs above the ankles! They told me I had to find a place to get an estimate, and Leifs told me in the state of Washington, the insurance company is supposed to do all that! It took 2 Weeks to get the offending driver to actually report the accident! And when I needed a loaner car, the insurance people said that I had to pay it all, and maybe they'd reimburse me later when their "investigation" is over. Whatta load of steamy crap! And I told them so.

Once again Leif Auto sprung for the rental and will be charging that insurance. Something else they are supposed to do. The guy at Leifs, his job is to help with these kind of problems, says these companies do that all the time. They take advantage of people like me and try to get off easy. Just like the Imperial juggernaut in Star Wars!!! Gasp!!!

The trucking company who hit me said they were so late with the report because of a death in the family. Well, I understand and sympathize, but there was almost a death in MY family when I was vaulted across a busy intersection! Then the driver didn't "have time" to report to matter. Meanwhile, I sleep maybe 6 hours all week because no one else had the time to do anything. Oh, they had time to try to bribe me with a small petty cash payoff. And they had time to avoid my calls (depleting my phone minutes twice) asking for their insurance...

So, I'm thinking lawyer. Much like the Jedi Council, just more money grubbing, no morals, and bad floral print ties. Okay, maybe not like the Jedi... More like Jabba the Hutt, or that spindly little cackling green thing on his lap. But thats what I need obviously to tread these murky waters.

And with my luck, that stupid insurance company will probably say they wont pay the $2500 to fix my car to pre-collision status. Well, too bad, they have to as it was all their policy holders fault. You're not junking my car. I want my Geo Metro back! (although we can talk 2005 mustang...) Come to think of it, that huge black dump truck did look like an engine of oppression the Empire would use. I was blindsided by my own Death Star dump truck! I'm a wreck right now, and when the car is taken car of and I have her back, I can start worrying about my own injuries.

March went in like a lion, and left like a lamb... Being eaten by a lion.