Sunday, May 31, 2009
I happen to know Rosie very well. We kind of have had a thing going on ever since I moved into this house. I used to admire her greatly and although I was new to the street, I spent some time getting to know her better.
That relationship leads me to have to confess that Rosie has a bush that is way out of control. My goodness it is a tangled mess. Who knows what else might growing inside there.
Being the overly friendly neighbor I am, I decided to help Rosie out. I trimmed that bush for over two hours. Now, she’ll make you look twice and maybe even stop to take a big sniff of her neatly manicured bush.
I’m not fooling anybody am I? This is what I get for already writing two similar blogs about a stupid tree. Now I’m writing about a giant rose bush. Two stuffed garbage cans, bloody cuts and punctures, lots of sweat, cuss words that the neighbor kids will now be repeating to all their friends, and 26 sneezes later, Rosie is looking good. Check out the carnage and the results (pictures provided as a courtesy to Cunning Linguist so he doesn’t have to actually read this nonsense).
I hate gardening and really anything having to do with yard work. Only crazy people like this stuff (you know exactly who you are, jackass). Yah, I know, you’d think I’d like it then, but I don’t. You can’t really tell, but there are also four garbage bags of branches, weeds and other random dead foliage. I was like a psycho Edward Scissorhands with my clippers snipping anything that wasn’t green.
As long as I’m sporting photos, check out the Drew-boo and how he dressed himself after his nap today. This poor kid really needs to lighten up and try to have fun with his young life.
And then here is my non-sports lovin’, would rather be wearing a dress, and why can’t I wear earrings to baseball guy Will in his Cubs uniform at his first game. Pure coincidence that we got the Cubs, by the way. But I love how shit like that just works out.
Lastly, my midget infatuation continues to thrive. He turned out to be the best thing about the Nuggets lost playoff game to the Lakers Friday night. It looks like a friendly patron was giving the little fellah a toy to play with for after the game. Look how happy he is! I know!
Friday, May 29, 2009
The meeting was at a coffee shop. It is an independently owned cool hip coffee shop. But they let me in anyway. I got a chai and a giant chocolate chip cookie. I thought I saw an undercover cop lurking on the sidewalk. The client showed up and interrupted my people watching. I was sending an email out with the play by play, but got cut off way too early.
There was a chick in a short mini skirt with a black t-shirt sporting a big skull. It was cool. I like skulls.
There was a dude wearing a fedora that would have looked good on my dad, but I didn’t think it was too hot on this twenty year old chump with checkerboard shorts and smug look on his face.
Two people next to me were having a muffled conversation interspersed with laughs. I heard ‘teabagging’ and something about ‘bad-ass yoga moves.’
My client had on a lot of makeup. I wonder whatever happened to Tammy Fay Baker.
The barista finished making a latte and yelled out the name Littlewood. This Littlewood guy was a weasel. He looked like the kind of guy that would punch a girl in the stomach.
Luckily my co-worker was paying more attention to our client than I was. Somebody asked me a question and I responded, “Sure sure.” I don’t know if it made any sense but my mind was wandering in outer space. It doesn’t hurt up there you know.
It has been an interesting day and no, nothing funny was in my chai. Just another ride on the crazy train.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
This will be an interesting endeavor. Last time was pretty straight forward as a meet and greet. This week was a little more of the same, but also some expanded conversations beyond the where are you from questions and revelations about what body parts don’t work so well anymore.
One guy I thought was fully capacitated last time is actually a few fries short of a Happy Meal. He likes to repeat the last word or two of every other sentence you say. Somebody was telling a story and he’d pipe in with his verbal affirmations that are a little loopy but also prove his is a fabulous listener. Plus, he mimicked hand gestures.
The story and his affliction went something like this:
Story Teller: “We quickly turned the car around because we saw a big bear.”
Man Going Mad: “Big bear!”
Story Teller: “We got closer and the bear saw us coming toward him.” She leaned closer on the table and said, “We were afraid it was a hungry Grizzly!”
Man Going Mad: He leaned closer on the table and said, “Grizzly!”
Story Teller: Ignoring Man Going Mad she said, “The bear turned away and crossed over a bridge to a bigger road where lots of other cars were parked. Suddenly, people jumped in their cars…”
Man Going Mad: Interrupting with, “Cars!”
Story Teller: “…. and started driving behind the bear like he was leading a parade.” She cupped her hands on the table and moved them along like they were cars in a parade.
Man Going Mad: “Parade!” He swooshed his hands along the table.
Different Old Guy: “Did you see any wolves?”
Man Going Mad: “Wolves!”
Story Teller: “We did see some wolves.”
Different Old Guy: “Sounds like that story by Jack London.”
Man Going Mad: “Jack London! Jack London!”
Me: “Into the Wild.”
Man Going Mad: “Into the Wild. Jack London.”
This went on for an hour. I don’t know how I missed it last time. Additionally, Man Going Mad is very religious. He makes a guttural sound when anyone says something remotely racy. It sounds like Scooby Doo confused. One old man joked about dating one of his daughter’s friends. Man Going Mad raised his eyebrows and said from the bottom of his gut, “Mmmeeeeehhhhhhhhhhh?
I have a feeling this will be a very intimate experience where hopefully the benefits will far outweigh the difficulties. The ex football player and Vietnam Vet told me he is trying to move back home to the Southeast. I had already taken a strong liking to him last time and will be sad to see him go. I will miss him, but it is easier because he is going on his own free will.
All of these men have some kind of physical and/or mental problem that will likely only get worse. Most of them will be leaving because they need more intensive care. I will have to learn to handle that. If I’m making a positive difference for them now, then it will be worth it later when its time to say goodbye.
But that won’t be easy.
Man Going Mad: Shaking head, “Not easy!”
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
My first ever experience with a scalper was when I was about ten years old. My dad took me to a Cubs game on a weekend at Wrigley Field. We didn’t have tickets. He figured we’d wait until the second or third inning and hopefully pay even less than face value.
Some guy that was a cross between a homeless man and circus pitchman approached us with his snake oil and jacket full of "luxury" watches. This guy had box seats. Face value $25 that he was willing to let go for $18. My dad eagerly agreed to the transaction. He bought the pair and we happily went through the turnstiles talking about the great deal we got and how we’d spend the savings on Cracker Jacks and hotdogs (with chopped onions spun from the wheel).
We got to the concourse and handed our tickets to the usher. He said, “Okay, this seat is down the third base line to your left. This other one is in the upper deck towards right field. Enjoy the game.” Daddio had checked to make sure the tickets were for that day’s game, but it didn’t cross his mind to see if the scalper would scam us with two single tickets that would separate the father from his ten year old son. We managed just fine, and we learned a big lesson – scalpers suck donkey balls.
Fast forward to this past weekend. The Nuggets are in the Western Conference Finals, playing the Lakers. I share season tickets with a bunch of guys. As a season ticket holder, I was able to get extra tickets for the series during an exclusive pre-sale period.
I managed to score a pair for the first game at a total cost of $450. I got a pair for the second home game for $120. My intention was to re-sell these at a profit* to offset all the cash I’ve been spending on the games I had been attending myself. Between eBay and Craig’s List, it looked like the tickets I had were going for double the value.
This is where my sucky scalping* capabilities became evident.
My first mistake was to do the TicketFast option which is to print out the tickets from the computer. I chose this option thinking how easy and convenient it was and that I wouldn’t have to go pick up hard tickets. Well, savvy buyers understand that there are scammers out there printing out multiple copies of tickets and trying to sell as many as they can. So I had to convince people my tickets were legit.
Next, I had to place an ad. I went with Craig’s List. Plus, that gave me an excuse to spend a half hour (okay, it was at least an hour, maybe more) perusing the Casual Encounters section for a good laugh (are those people for real?!!). As I placed my ad, I thought about how illegal it is to do this and wondered how smart it was to advertise that I am trying to break the law.
Next was pricing. Even though the $450 tickets were being offered for $900, I thought about what a fucking rip off that is and decided to post them for $700. I figured I’d be happy making two-fiddy. But then illogically, I thought those $120 tickets should go for $280 because the overall quantity of dollars wasn’t so high and why not try to see if I can get that much for them.
I got tons of inquiries. I handled them as first come first serve and being the lame scalper I am*, I decided not to create a bidding war. The first guy wanted to buy the cheaper $280 tickets.
I met him on a busy corner in downtown Denver. I told him to bring cash and show up alone. I said no funny stuff, or the girl gets it. The deal didn’t go down because he was concerned about the printed out tickets. I had to pick up my three year old from school so I told the guy he was lucky I didn’t cement his feet and throw him in the ocean for reneging, despite Colorado being a long car ride with a dude locked in a trunk with his feet set in cement from any ocean. I suppose I could have found a lake, but most of our lakes are reservoirs and are accompanied by regular fecal matter counts. Apparently there are acceptable levels of fecal matter in our reservoirs. Screw that. I am not going near a reservoir with fecal matter in it, even if it’s to drop off a body.
The next guy wanted the $700 seats. He was a grandpa wanting to take his six year old grandson to the game. I actually thought about giving him the tickets at face value. But then my dirty scalper* side won out. I explained the printout situation and although he was a little unsure, he agreed to the transaction. We met at a Starbucks. He wrote down every word I said. I gave him my business card, I showed him a copy of my receipt, I showed him my drivers license, I showed him pictures of my kids and told him how I felt about going through puberty. This guy had the goods on me, but it wasn’t enough. I ended up giving him my own two tickets to the game (hard tickets) and we agreed to meet inside the stadium on game day.
The second inquiry on the cheaper tickets was from a kid in the military based two hours away from Denver. Apparently he had driven up to Denver twice to buy tickets and the people he did the deal with blew him off. Again, I thought about giving him the tickets for face value, especially since the game was on Memorial Day!
By the way, isn’t it wrong to say, “Have a great Memorial Day?” Should people be joyous and getting drunk in the neighbor’s backyard or should we be more reflective and subdued?
My need for cashola supplement won out again. I explained the dealio to him and he was much more trustworthy than the old man. I met him at my safehouse, the Starbucks, and we did the deal while Drew played on the floor with his racecars. On game day, I texted him from my seats asking him if he got in okay. That is scalper* customer service, baby!
I have owned my own business for nearly thirteen years. I make big presentations to high level executives all the time. I have to sell clients on our ideas and recommendations. I have to gain their trust and confidence. And I do it. In fact, I’m pretty good at it.
However, I am not a good scalper*. I was so fucking nervous selling those tickets. My armpits were schweaty and I developed a nervous twitch. I shuffled my feet and didn’t make great eye contact. I kept looking over my shoulder. My tickets were priced at lower than the going rate. There are lots of ways to make a buck. Scalping is not my choice.
But let me tell you about this great Ponzi scheme…
*Scalping tickets is illegal in Denver. For the purposes of a meaningful and hopefully interesting blog, I have imagined all of this (allegedly) and am not admitting to doing anything illegal. There may or may not be writer’s embellishments throughout this blog. If you perceive something in this blog to be illegal, wrong, unconstitutional, obnoxious, dirty, or downright bad, then that part is simply a figment of my imagination and I can’t believe you think I’d actually take part in something so utterly despicable and I demand an apology.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The real draw was to hunt for dinosaurs. There is a pretty cool exhibit throughout the gardens. Every time we found a dinosaur, we growled at it and made threatening gestures. Here is an iPhone photo recap of our lovely stroll back in time.
This was a frightening moment for us. This dinosaur came to life and jumped on Drew's head. And this is right after I told Drew I was so hungry I could eat his arm. He got really protective of it after that.
There was a Buddha head on the ground that Drew thought was funny. I told him the Buddha was buried up to his shoulders and that luckily he is a great faster and they only need to feed him every few weeks. Drew then asked me what fasting is and I said I was going to eat his arm at which point he took off running like the wind.
I was trying to make it look like the fish sculpture was inserted through Drew's head via his ears. I couldn't quite get it done because Drew kept moving and was yelling at me to stop taking so many pictures.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
This same man I was angry with helped me go from an uncoordinated kid that couldn’t field or hit to a Little League All Star. He did it with unbelievable patience and an ability to make me keep at something that I didn’t enjoy at the time. He threw countless hours of batting practice to me and some of my fondest memories ever are of playing catch with my dad in our front yard.
This man made me sad and angry when he argued with my mom. I found hidden little notes with pencil scribbles my mom had written to document the things she wasn’t happy with in the marriage. I was too young to be reading those notes, much less hearing those conversations. I would grab my basketball and go shoot in the park until it was so dark that the only shots I could take while seeing the rim were layups.
This same man, ten years later, cried uncontrollably over the phone telling me my mom was coming out of surgery and that she was going to live. His love for her wasn’t desperate or new because she was in duress. His love for her was deep and from forever until forever. I could feel it over the phone.
This man made me angry when I was a lazy but headstrong teenager. He’d harass me for laying around on the couch and sleeping in instead of doing something with my day, with my life. I just wanted to chill and I thought he was a pain in my ass.
This same man just wanted us to be a family. To do things together and also to do things on our own. Just do something. He was wary of the Sociology degree, not because he thought it was a foolish choice over business school, but because he was worried about his little boy. This man is so proud of me for having built up my very own successful business.
This man angered me even when we’d watch a game together. We couldn’t agree on why the Cubs were perennial losers. We couldn’t agree on what plays the Bears should have run. We couldn’t agree on what calls the coaches should have made. Watching sports with him was like having an argument.
That same man and I discuss baseball almost every time we talk on the phone. We only see each other a couple times per year due to geography. If a visit is during baseball season, we plan our days around when we can watch the Cubs game together.
This man angered me because he always seemed mean. I didn’t think he treated my mom with great respect. He didn’t tip wait-staff well. He was rude to strangers. He didn’t seem to care.
This same man is loved by all his friends. I laugh at how the tables have turned and it seems like now my mom is always yelling at him. He takes it all in with a sense of humor. He is one of the nicest men you could ever meet (just don’t let him tip if you go out to dinner with him).
I don’t know why I was so angry with him. I remember some incidents, but nothing so big or major that I had to hold so much darkness inside me. There were issues, but all were able to be resolved. My dad paid a price. He deserved to pay some of it, but not all of it.
I had a really good, safe, healthy and positive childhood. There was some darkness. But it turned to sunshine. I turned out just fine. My mom and dad are fine. Our family is great. Why was it so hard at times when I was a kid? I never had to go through anything close to some kids with abusive parents, broken homes, lack of financial support or some other trauma.
That man that made me so angry did what he thought he had to do. I love him. He is my dad.
I am a dad. I look at my two boys and know I am lucky. I know they are lucky. I know they will be great. I hope I don’t ever cause my kids to feel the darkness I felt. And I hope I never have to pay like my dad paid, deserved or not.
I am a dad. It is scary. But it is also the coolest thing I have ever done. I just don’t want to fuck it up.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
If I were in the market to buy a futon, you can bet I would never pay full price. I would estimate that 97% of the time I have driven by a store that sells these people eaters, they advertise with a big sign that says, “FUTON SALE.” I have seen more “FUTON SALE” signs than I have seen “PERSIAN RUGS – GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE” signs.
People like getting a deal. I think it starts early; like when you are a kid. For example, I’d go to the grocery store with my mom and pick out cereal based on the free prize inside. I had a big pool to choose from – Fruit Loops, Apple Jacks, Frankenberry, Crunch Berries, Fruity Pebbles, Peanut Butter Crunch, Lucky Charms, etc. The winner would be the box full of sugary goodness that included a plastic piece of crap disguised as a toy I had to have.
I am supposedly a grown up now (despite still being told to grow up by an alarming number of people) and yet I am guilty of making stupid decisions based on a ‘good deal.’ Ironically, I am probably guilty of not being frugal enough. I am really good at stimulating the economy. Cash in my pocket disappears faster than my kids at bedtime.
I had pretty much eliminated McDonalds from my diet until we had kids. You just can’t avoid the golden arches when you have rugrats. Now and then the little stinkers are getting a Happy Meal. And I need to eat too, right?
Last week, I went through the MickyD’s drive-thru. I could have minimized my bodily abuse by ordering a chicken sandwich or a salad, right? Instead, I saw that dollar menu with something called a McDouble on it. Dayum. A McDouble must be twice as good as a regular burger and it’s only a dollar! I probably had two dollars in change lying on the floor of the car.
I asked the sign that speaks at you, “What is a McDouble?”
The talking sign replied in a female voice, “A McDouble is like a Double Cheeseburger but it only has one slice of cheese between the patties instead of two.”
“Wow, and that only costs a dollar?”
Incredulously, the talking sign with a female voice confirmed that this masterpiece of allegedly consumable food is indeed available for just one dollah.
So instead of ordering something as healthy as I could at McGreasePit, I enthusiastically ordered TWO McDoubles. What? They are only a dollar!
The talking sign with a female voice asked if I wanted anything else. I asked for ketchup and a cardiologist. The talking sign with a female voice had no sense of humor and it just emitted a static filled response to pull around to the second window.
Two hours later, I had a stomach ache. But at least I only paid two bucks for it!
Monday, May 18, 2009
I was dressed down because I had to move about forty bankers’ boxes of archived files from the back of our office to my truck. I don’t really have a truck; it’s an SUV. But truck sounds cooler and I clearly have some image problems. I had on a t-shirt that says something about Rock n Roll and a pair of jeans. Here, I’ll just go take a picture.
I’m winking at you. Perhaps this is part of my image problem. *Note to self to consider stopping the winking*
It kind of looks like I lost an eye in a horrible wet-vac accident. If I did only have one eye, I would absolutely get a black eye patch and address everyone as matey. I did not wink at the twenty year old or her hoodlum friends.
I probably had the look of a very important business man rushing from his power lunch to get back to a meeting with the mayor. Except for the wardrobe. My blue Chucks don’t exactly exude professionalism. But damn are they comfortable and Wilt Chamberlain used to play basketball in them. Not my Chucks, but his own. I played hoops in Chucks in seventh grade. We were the Thomas Trojans.
At the time, I don’t think I fully realized that our team name was synonymous with a birth control device or I wouldn’t have been so bummed out for being one of the only basketball players to have never been named Trojan of the Week. My best friend Zippy got Trojan of the Week for good citizenship. Isn’t that complete bullshit? There is no way some ass-kissing brown-nosing fucker in seventh grade even knows what good citizenship means. This is the same kid that used to dip tennis balls in gasoline, light them on fire and kick them under cars in drive ways. He may as well have worn a condom on his head (the one above his shoulders – c’mon, he was in seventh grade) to really deserve Trojan of the Week.
Anyway, that's how I looked walking out of Quizno’s when I was verbally accosted by the twenty year old chick. She yelled, “Hey!” I didn’t know she was yelling to me so I didn’t look toward her. She yelled it again.
I turned around and said, “Me?”
She said, “Yeah you. Martin Lawrence is sexy and so are you.”
I said, “Okay,” and kept walking toward my car.
I have no clue what the heck she was talking about. Although I was born a poor black child, I am all white. And I don’t even look like a white Martin Lawrence.
I do believe this sassy whippersnapper was ridiculing me. Is there some new street lingo about making comparisons to Martin Lawrence that means you are a total dork? Should I hang out on the sidewalk in front of my office and yell out to random strangers that Martin Lawrence is sexy and so are they? Will this get my eye poked out for real?
Then I could get that cool black eye patch.
All I know is that twenty year old chick was dissing me to try to be cool in front of her bitches. Next time, I’m gonna wear a black eye patch even if I still have two good eyes and I’m gonna grab my crotch a lot. I’ll flatten the bill on my Cubs hat and wear it sideways. I’ll pierce my nipples and wear a fishnet tank top so everyone can see my manboob bling.
I’ll show her sexy. *pelvic thrusts with every other stride*
Sunday, May 17, 2009
I enter the office (late). “Good morning Mr. Wow, how are you?” *They don’t really call me that*
“Great, how are you?”
“Good. How was your weekend?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I’d smirk and head upstairs to my desk.
I’d plug in my laptop and my phone would ring. “Hello, who is this?”
Some client, vendor or associate would likely be on the line. Let’s just assume that their end of the conversation is along the lines of the teachers in all the Charlie Brown cartoons and that they are represented with the “Wuh wa wuh wa wa blah blah blah.”
I’d say something like, “Do you think you really need that?”
“Wuh wa wuh wa wa blah blah blah.”
“When do you need it by?”
“Wuh wa wuh wa wa blah blah blah.”
“You want that by yesterday morning?”
“Did you know my time machine is in the shop?”
“Wuh wa wuh wa wa blah blah blah.”
“How ‘bout by the end of the day today?”
“Your what hurts?”
“Wuh wa wuh wa wa blah blah blah.”
“Have you had that looked at by a professional?”
“Should you be out in public?”
“Wuh wa wuh wa wa blah blah blah.”
“Can I call you back later?”
“Why don’t we continue this another time?”
“Bye then and will you please say hi to yer mama for me?”
“Wuh wa wuh wa….” *click* as I hang up on them.
Meanwhile, a co-worker has walked into my office.
“Hi Mr. Wow.”
“Whose your daddy?”
“What do you need?”
“The ACME account wants to set up a brainstorming meeting.”
“Did you tell them Hell no?”
“I told them we’d love to meet. When are you available?”
“Do I have to attend?”
“They are our biggest client.”
“Why won’t you answer my question?”
“Yes, you have to attend.”
“Will there be snacks?”
“When are you available?”
“Why do you keep asking that?”
“I only asked twice. When are you free?”
“Doesn’t that make three times now?”
My co-worker makes a big sigh of mental exhaustion as I smile slyly.
“What was the question?”
“How ‘bout anytime in the morning?”
“I’ll check and confirm with you.”
“Yes. We are taking Janey out for her birthday. Are you joining us?”
“Who is Janey?”
“Shut up. Are you coming?”
“Why don’t I get any respect around here?”
“Do you really want me to answer that, Mr. Wow?”
“If I go, will you sit as far away from me as possible?”
“Will you send an invite to my Outlook, smartass?”
“Will you leave now?”
Co-worker shakes head and walks away. I wonder how long I could actually pull it off before anyone would notice.
Some people, often times young women right out of college from the west coast, talk like they are always asking a question. You know these people. Their tone keeps rising and their statement is spoken like it was a question.
“I went to lunch with Janey yesterday?”
“I got a salad?”
“She got the butt steak?”
“Why haven’t you axe murdered me for speaking this way?”
I’ll let you know how the experiment goes on Monday. Peace out.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
I vowed to myself to get back on a good workout schedule starting this week. Yep, I said, “Self, you got it going on fo’ sho’, but you gots to sweat once in awhile from something other than walking up the stairs.” So I planned on hitting it hard starting Monday. Get my groove back, find my mojo, and all that good stuff.
Normally I play basketball every Monday night. But we are between venues right now and we don’t have a gym for a couple weeks. I figured I’d run on the treadmill instead. But then the Nuggets playoff game was on and my tummy ached from the fish tacos I ate for dinner and the couch was really comfortable and The Projectivist got me hooked on tiltshift and I read a few blogs and then I ate a half dozen Oreos dipped in milk and then I ate a seventh and then my tummy kinda hurt again and then I took a big dump and then I ate yet another Oreo and then I laid down on the couch and the rest is foggy because I woke up at like three in the morning wondering where the hell I was despite the fact I was in my own stupid house with a treadmill in the basement that went unused.
Okay, no big deal. Today is a new day. I figured I’d bring my stuff in to work and run at lunch. 2pm came around and my stomach was grumbling. I hadn’t eaten nor had I run. Work got really busy on me and I didn’t want to take an hour to hit the streets. So I went next door and got a BLT. That’s right. Instead of exercising, I ate bacon. With mayo.
Okay, no big deal. I was solo with the rugrats tonight and I figured I’d run them around at the park and tire them out like dogs so I could put them to bed a little earlier than normal. And then I’d do the running. But those little needy bastards apparently have to eat every single night. So I made them a sweet meal of chicken nuggets, carrots, and cheese sticks. And then they would get Eskimo Pies if they made happy plates. There is no better incentive to make a happy plate than getting an Eskimo Pie on a warm evening.
So the three of us ate Eskimo Pies on the front porch. FYI, many people have energy bars, protein shakes or fruit before working out. Ice cream is generally not widely consumed before exercise. And then we were all thirsty, so I poured the monsters some milk and I of course opted for a Red Stripe. Yah mon. I dig the Jamaican beer on a warm evening. Three Red Stripes later it was time for the kids to go to bed and for me to lounge on the couch.
Okay, no big deal. I blew the first two days of my declaration to get my ass in gear. There is always tomorrow. Let me check the calendar for tomorrow. Oh yes, I see I have a coffee/chai meeting at 10am and then a late lunch appointment. No time to run during the work day. And then I have a happy hour with my buddies before we all go to game five of the Nuggets playoffs against Dallas. I’d have to check the official records, but I believe I have never attended a sporting event with my buddies without consuming beer.
Okay, no big deal. There is always Thursday, the day I have a butt load of meetings and a client happy hour where believe you me, I’m gonna need a drink. On Friday, there is the going away party for the guy I had to lay off (fun!) followed by the family party in Wash Park that I believe includes entertainment for the kids in the form of clowns which absolutely means I will need a drink or four.
Okay no big deal. I’ll start my workout regime next week. In the meantime, are you gonna eat that Oreo?
Monday, May 11, 2009
“What, the big golden dome?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s a church.”
“What’s a church?”
Okay, I’m a heathen. The last time I was in a church was for a wedding. I don’t even remember who got married. I was at a church in October helping the boys pick out pumpkins. That was safely outside the walls of worship and the boys only know the hallowed grounds of that church as the pumpkin patch. Oh, I remember walking by an old church-related building in New York City. The sign above the doorway said, “Rectory.” I wanted to put a big “E” in front of the ‘r’ and wait for a priest/rabbi/preacher guy to come out so I could get a picture.
The point is that although I believe in some sort of God and despite unofficially officially being Methodist, I don’t go to church and I don’t know squat, really. One of my boys has been baptized, but that was mostly because I thought we were going swimming and I heard there would be lots of food afterwards.
Perhaps my kids should know what a church is. I just didn’t think it would be spur of the moment on the way home from picking up a pizza.
“A church is where people practice religion.”
“What is religion?”
“It is something you believe in, like as in God.”
“What do you do at church?”
“You worship and pray.”
“Pray. You pray.”
“What is praying?”
“When you are thankful and hopeful and ask God for good health, peace and good fortune.”
Clearly, I need lessons on this and am in no way qualified to explain religion and church to anyone, much less an innocent six year old. I’m sure there is something about sacrifices, faith, stained glass, and other Sundayish ceremonies to properly explain religion and praying. Give me a break though, this is a complicated subject! In fact, I heard wars have been fought over religion!
“Can we go to church to pray sometime, Daddy?”
“Hell no, dude.”
I’m kidding. I wouldn’t swear around my kids, nor would I shoot down one asking if he can pray for my good fortune. Okay, kidding again. I have sworn around my kids, but usually sometimes once in awhile it’s an accident. Oh, alright, I wouldn’t take him so he can pray for my good fortune, although I’ll take all the help I can get.
“Sure, we can go to church sometime Will.”
I found a picture online of the church we drove by – it’s a Greek one and they have a big festival every year – hence the carnival atmosphere in the picture. I think I’ll tell Will we can go there when they have their 2009 festival. He’ll think church is awesome!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I have started the process for volunteering work at a long term care facility. I am going to hang out with old people. My assigned main objective is to get them to talk about their lives.
I have wanted to volunteer somewhere and figured it would be mutually beneficial to get to listen to old phoggy stories. They get attention and can reach into the depths of their golden memories to talk to an eager and interested audience. I get to hear stories and perhaps pass on their legacy to others. It is great fodder for writing and inspiration for me to write more of my own stories for my kids to read someday.
I had a tour of the facility today. It is a non-profit whose goal is to help people get to live at home as long as possible. They are kind of like a daycare for old people. They are fully staffed with doctors, counselors, social workers, and other support folks.
I learned how to wash my hands properly and took a couple tests on hazardous materials and contagious diseases. It was great fun.
Then I spent a half hour meeting a group of men that I would be spending time with in my volunteer role.
There was the ex professional football player who got an accounting degree in college without ever attending a class. After his football career, he served in Vietnam.
There was the pastor from the Midwest who can barely see or hear, but boy can he ever talk!!
There was the guy from Chile who never attended a day of school and made his living as a tailor in New York City.
There was the guy from Chicago who has had five strokes and has a very difficult time talking. If you watch his lips closely, you can understand him telling you he was a bouncer most of his life.
There was a guy that spoke so quickly I couldn’t totally interpret what he was saying beyond that he is a god loving man that eats a lot of chicken!
I spent only a half hour with these men before having to leave for a work appointment. I wanted to spend the entire day with them. I apologized for having to run but asked if it would be okay if I came back in a week so I can hang out with them for a much longer time. I nearly shed a tear when all five of them gave me a resounding version of yes.
Imagine hearing at the exact same time something to the effect of:
“You come back again so I can tell you about Mississippi,” said the football player.
“The pleasure was mine, kind soul,” bellowed the pastor.
“Ahhh uh yess-sah, you now a come-a-back to us,” said the Chilean New Yorker in an accent that sounded Italian.
“Yesssssss,” in a quiet raspy voice by the bouncer on oxygen.
“YesSirYouGotToMeetBuddyNextTimeHeLikesChickenToo,” slurred the god loving chicken man.
My world is upside down. I am struggling with many things. These men are in an assisted living program. Some have lost major physical and/or mental capabilities. I don’t have anything on these men.
I can’t wait to see them again. Better yet, I can’t wait to hear them.
Monday, May 4, 2009
For those reasons, I usually don’t participate in the various awards and memes that tend to go around. I like free-styling as opposed to a format. This isn’t to say I don’t totally appreciate being nominated for anything, because I do. I am honored to have anyone read me in general, much less bestow a bloggysphere award on my ass.
Hannah and Media Junkie both got me with the Sexy Blogger award. Those two sexy beyotches certainly have earned the award themselves, but clearly it wasn’t for their judgment skills since they tagged me.
The dealio is to write five things about myself that are sexy. After reading their acceptance blogs, I decided I’d do this one because amazingly, we have the exact same sexy traits – just with slightly different interpretations. This means I actually have ten elements of sexiness. – woot woot!! Here we go.
1 – Hannah: She is an animal lover. Holy shit, I love animals too! In fact that has gotten me into trouble in the past as I am no longer allowed in any petting zoos. Apparently there is a threshold as to what kind of petting is appropriate. I am also not supposed to visit farms anymore, but what people don’t know can’t hurt them, right?
1 - Media Junkie: She listed her ass-ets. Meaning her ass. I have been called an ass so many times, it’s not even funny. I always thought that was more of an expression of anger and disgust rather than sexual attraction. So I guess I’m good and sexy being such an ass.
2 – Hannah: She is thrifty. Thrifty is a car-rental company. I have had sex in the back seat of cars. Too cheap to get a room. I’m sexy thrifty!
2 – Media Junkie: Her brain. I bump my head so often that my brain is now shaped like a sweet little heart.
3 – Hannah: She loves to cook. I love to eat. So when people cook, I eat all their food. It takes two to tango and if cooking is sexy, then the fact that I eat like a friggin cow must be hawwwwt!
3 – Media Junkie: Her hair. I don’t have much hair. Many people think a scantily clad person is sexier than a fully nude person. Going on that theory, I have a very sexy head of a little bit-o-hair.
4 – Hannah: She is goofy. Need I say anything here about my goofiness? I’m so Goofy sexy that I had Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck fighting for my attention on the Disney Cruise we took last summer. Don’t forget, I love me some animals.
4 – Media Junkie: Her skin. Dude, I am so hip and cool with my skin slapping skills. Hey now, I’m talking about high fives, not self lovin’. Unless you think self lovin’ is sexy, then I guess I’ll remain neutral.
5 – Hannah: She is crafty, as in the arts. I am crafty like an evil mad scientist in a lab coat. Except I wear a trench coat with yellow rubber boots and a red carnation, sans anything underneath. If that aint sexy, my heart shaped brain don’t know what is!
5 – Media Junkie: Her legs/height. I am tall and kind of a big guy, if you know what I mean. Wink wink nudge nudge, clickety click. Yep, I have big feet. Which of course means I have big shoes. Oh, and my hands are ginormous. I fondle the melons in the produce section like there is no tomorrow.
I am supposed to tag more people, but I really want to get Hannahbananahead and Media Junkie back, so I’m going to graciously accept another award from The Laughing Idiot. It is Neno’s Award which is a dedication for those who love blogging and love to encourage friendships through blogging. I suppose I fit that criteria. To accept this award, I have to give reasons why I love blogging.
Hmmmmm, why do I love blogging? Well, I’m an attention whore, nine out of ten dentists recommend blogging, it is safer than doing crack, the turkey buzzard told me to blog, I got a free bowl soup with my first blog, friends let friends blog drunk, I have absolutely nothing else to do anyway, a little bloggage makes the world go round, I am crazy and writing helps me forget, this is part of my community service sentence for that noodle incident back in ’08, and who the hell is Neno anyway?
There you have it. Thanks Hannah, Media Junkie and The Laughing Idiot. And now, to play along with the tagging, I of course award the Sexy Blogger to The Laughing Idiot and Neno’s award to Hannah and Media Junkie. Ha!