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Morning confessions, afternoon daydreams, and evening wind-downs. |
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This is dedicated to my daughter, Azalea Paige Kraynak. You're half the cause of some of these entries, but that's why I love you. There's rarely a day that you don't surprise me with the things you do and say. I recall a line of an old video game that should refer to the goings on of my thoughts "The beast contained herein should not be set free." Trust me... it shouldn't but I've always been somewhat rebellious. |
| Allow me first to say, this doesn't pertain to all men, just those whom I consider to be the unsung heroes - those boys that day in and day out go to work their asses off in some nasty, dark, dreary, scum filled box in the center of a power plant and come out covered in stink and goo, smiling. We end our 12 hour shift, return to our hotels, eat, and perhaps have a beer or two before we call our wives or girlfriends, or whomever we like to talk to. Granted there are more than just those boys that work in the power plants, but that is the example to which I hold the most affinity. At any rate, I don't define a man by what his job is, but rather his values. I work around a lot of what I, and those in my industry would call, old-timers. These are the baby-boomers, and the generation x's that are looking into retirement a few years down the road, and are now passing that torch to us youngsters. As such, I hold the values of these rough-necks in high regard as its something not often spoken of nowadays. I've managed to make many friends that are well older than me because we share those same values. I am fortunate enough to say, my father taught me everything there is to know about home improvement and tools, and my grandfather taught me everything there is to know about what is expected of a man. There are two lessons that I believe most boys are given as they are growing: Never cry, and never hit a lady. The first lesson holds us at a disadvantage if we actually stick to it. I say that not in jest, for I've experienced post-partum depression from my fiancé after our last child was born. I must say, I didn't have any idea what to do, because I honestly don't understand crying. Have I cried? Of course I have, but I've always been told to be strong, be solid, and don't cry, as such it's kind of handicapped me when it comes to understanding what it is that causes women to cry. As a husband in training, and a father, I do feel a bit helpless sometimes when dealing with her emotions. It's not at all easy. I'm not one to openly show those feelings inside, as I've been taught as much, but through much pressing, I can open up - I simply prefer not to. At any rate, as I said, there are times when I'm standing on the sidelines, maybe just offering a kind word here, or some encouragement there, but I don't even know if she wants that, or wants me to go away at that particular moment. That however, isn't what this particular post is about. I have yet to mention the latter of those two lessons taught to me as a boy. As such, I hold those men who would hit a woman, very low in my book. I haven't and will never raise my hand to a woman... unless she was trying to mug, stab, or commit unwarranted bodily harm, then I may be convinced that a left cross might be the better option than a trip to the emergency room, but it would take a lot of convincing. At any rate, I've now defended 3 women from what I previously mentioned. The first was a drunken rage during my time as a bartender. I let the verbal abuse go for a time, because honestly, she was holding her own, but once that man's fist was raised, I was over that bar faster than you can down a shot of Jameson. In terms of bartending ethics, that isn't exactly what you're supposed to do in that situation, but the lady was far less than half his size, and well... I snapped. I didn't pummel the man in question, but I did make him regret what he did. At any rate, the entire crowd backed my actions, and the police also put in the good word for me, so I felt somewhat like a hero that night. I didn't do it for the self validation however. I did it because that is what I was taught. That man apologized to me a couple of weeks later, and he even gave up drinking, and to be honest, he'd have drank himself to death eventually. The second time was during my current career. I was in San Jose, CA, returning from a job in the mountains in the lovely city of Middletown. At the time, I had a new hire with me. He was a young man, fresh out of high school and not a scrap of work ethic in his entire body, but I've always been a relatively easy-going supervisor, so I was understanding... I wasn't exactly the world's best worker when I was 19 either. At any rate, we were pulling into our storage unit, outside of the metro area of the city, and I'd heard some shouting about a half a block down the street. It wasn't any of my business, but it didn't sound very good, and given the neighborhood, I thought it best to pay some attention in case the authorities needed to be called. A punk... (I say punk as in the backwards hat, saggy pants, giant medallion, and a rusty Honda civic with rims that are worth more than the car) was quite loudly screaming at a young female likely the same age. I've witnessed a lover's quarrel before, and even been involved in a couple myself - there's some shouting... trust me. This wasn't that sort of thing however, this was a total explosive rage on the part of our punk fellow, whose target was cupping her hands to her face, crying uncontrollably. It wasn't long before he shoved her into his car, and... well... as I said, I snapped. Unfortunately for him, he was outnumbered two to one, though I wouldn't have needed help from my new hire. I'm not at all a big guy, but when you raise a hand to a woman, you've completely abandoned the possibility of a fair fight. Well, he saw me coming, pipe wrench in hand, and was quick to get in his car. I'm not one to go to jail out of state for battering someone with a deadly weapon - the pipe wrench was more for effect than anything, but I do regret carrying it. He said some words to me, but he wouldn't dare get out of that car. Keep in mind, I'm not a big guy, but 10 years in heavy industry does have a physical effect on the body. My arms are quite fit in simple terms, and 7 days of 12 hour shifts climbing ladders, roping buckets, ascending stairs, and overall backbreaking labor has trimmed me to a somewhat physically fit looking guy. As such, he was quite scared of me. Funny how they're always scared of a pissed off man, but not at all frightened to batter a crying woman... That said, he was immediately apologetic and tried to talk her into getting in his car. I told him that there wasn't a chance in hell that she was going anywhere with him, and like a punk would, he said how badly he'd beat me, but... well... that didn't at all frighten me. After a couple of weightless words, he drove off... fart can spewing its nonsensical sound the entire way down the street, whilst I memorized the numbers on his plate. My colleague was quick to call the police, and I offered our young lady a ride to wherever she liked. She had nowhere to stay so I checked her into our hotel with my personal credit card, and arranged for a cab to take her to the nearest women's shelter the following morning. Again, I didn't do this for the self validation... its because of the way I was taught. The third time happened about four hours ago at my current hotel. Again, a punk, and a crying young lady. This time the punk's car was nicer, but in general, it was the same person I'd seen before. This time, however, it wasn't a hard shove into the car, but a full on closed fist. Thinking back on it now, there's not anything in the world that would have stopped me from getting to that guy before a second fist hit the woman. This guy, however, was a bit more brave than the previous experience. He didn't shrink back into his car, but he was quick on the defensive. At any rate, I gave him two options, raise his hands to me, or leave. I knew he considered the first option for a few moments, but he was wise in taking the second option. During my talk with the police, I learned that he'd been arrested before for similar charges, and also learned that I likely would have been arrested for as I told the punk, "beating him into the ground like a nail." It seems a bit odd that defending someone whose clearly at a disadvantage is illegal, but I'm not one to argue with the police. As such, the woman, who happens to be a housekeeper here, thanked me as did the hotel manager, and offered my company a free night stay in the hotel, which of course is unnecessary but it is a nice gesture. That being said, I want to ask, despite the first lesson not quite hitting its intended mark, whatever happened to the second lesson? Perhaps its just that due to my travel I see things more often than others might, which has skewed my opinions on this subject, but it seems to me that some of those youngsters are in dire need of some 'man lessons.' Those old-timers I work with are quick to buy me a beer for these sorts of things, and happy to discuss what they consider to be the core values of us hardworking, blue collar folk. There's a lot that seemed to pass me by, but thanks to them, I've picked up my work ethics, my leadership ethics, and even some fine fatherly man lessons. I've been taught by these folk to always make time for your significant other, regardless of how exhausted you might be. I do occasionally miss a phone call, but I try quite hard not to. They have also taught me that its better to work everyday of your life doing a job you love, than to switch to that 9 to 5 that I most certainly would hate. I have to say, these rough-necks, whom are too many to name, are so much like my father and grandfather, I consider them to be family. It might be an odd thing to say, but I have a dad and a grandfather at home, and I have a couple on the road as well. They probably don't know I hold them to such high regard, but I feel that a lot of the credit of who and what I am goes to them. Granted, they've also taught me a fine array of curse words that were otherwise lost on me before entering heavy industry, but hey... a man needs to vent from time to time - often at the top of his lungs to nothing in particular. It might be wrong of me to ask whatever happened to the Man Lessons passed from father to son, and if I am, don't hesitate to say so. It just seems to me that these young boys could use a minor persuasion from time to time, or even a good fist to the teeth on other occasions. I do hope that when I get to be the age of some of my older co-workers, I can impart some of what I believe to be core values on to my peers. Granted, I don't have that sweet gray stripe from sideburn to the back of my head yet, but at 30, it does seem that ear and nose hair grows at an exponential rate... why did we not need that for the previous 30 years? I don't know... I really don't, but I take it as a sign that my day's coming. Granted, I don't think anyone looks forward to being old... and I'm certainly not counting the days to my first colonoscopy, but I do hope I can be even half as fine as some of these outstanding gentlemen. I'll end this rather lengthy rambling here... I do want to say to you young boys: don't be a punk, most especially while I'm nearby, and remember, you never know when someday you may raise your hand to a woman, and that woman proceeds to beat you into the dirt, after all, watch a couple Rhonda Rousey fights, that might make you think twice. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning, I was given a very vivid imagination. I mean that in a sort of light-hearted, personal jab at myself kind of way, but it is true. I was gifted with an imagination where I can picture worlds, and peoples, and creatures that don't really exist. I see it a lot in my daughter, who continues to discuss with me, her continuing saga of the shoe eating monster. (I swear this is absolutely true) I'm a bit hazy on the details of this heinous tormentor, but I know he lives at Grammy's and he ate her shoes. He's not a nice monster, he's scary, and he doesn't like purple. This is what I've gathered so far... You know, whilst reading this you might think that this is the adorable imagination of a near 3 year old. Well in all honesty it does sound that way, but truly, I'm hazy on the details because she's legitimately afraid to talk about the shoe eating monster. He's apparently quite scary indeed. Now of course, my kid is afraid of all things a 3 year old girl would in fact be afraid of... the shop-vac I have in the basement is a fine example, or my air compressor, or my router, or any of the other tools in my make-shift woodshop. But this is a different kind of fear from what I can see. It's the result of some terrible image that she just can't shake. (at least that's what I hope) And in all honesty, I've really pushed hard to not expose her to my horror movie collection, which is small, but still very much horrific. I try not to expose her to graphic content of any kind, whether it be strong language of a TV Show or Movie, or just something that a 3 year old simply should have no interest... unfortunately she does enjoy sitting with me and watching snips of "The Newsroom." Well anyway, I've rambled about the shoe eating monster, which to be honest, isn't even my original point I wanted to make, or even close to it. Well, I suppose it is in its own right, but anyway. Like my daughter, a monster haunted me for many years in my youth. I can still picture him in the back of my mind, and this figment of my imagination was the reason I was terrified of going into the basement alone for many years. This monster, of course was the result of my imagination, but it was triggered by a not so nice event that happened. I was five years old, and fishing with my dad and his cousin, R.J. We were walking the old railroad track on the shores of the Beaver River, just north of Pittsburgh, PA. It was mid-spring, but it was a cold spring that year, and a lot of the pooled water was still frozen in some places, and the last remnants of snow still lingered in patches in the woods. Anyway, it was cold that day. I don't really remember the walk too well, but I do remember we didn't go fishing that day, because we came across something that would end the trip quite early. We found a man. He'd been floating in the water, face-down, and he was on the shore of the river, half-frozen and bloated. I'll never forget what he looked like, and I can tell you with utter sincerity that I can't even describe it to you for fear of invoking total disgust. It was something a child of five shouldn't see, but unfortunately, I did. For years, I thought that man was following me around wherever I went, and I hated being alone. I don't really know what finally shook that fear, but eventually it ended... to an extent. Honestly, I still don't particularly enjoy being alone, but as such, it happens. Throughout my life, I've experienced a good deal of really cool, and often totally amazing things. I consider myself lucky to have been born to be honest. However, some of these things, I simply cannot explain with any discernible and credible scientific solution. An example of such things... I was 19 at the time, and I just recently moved out of my dad's and into my first apartment which was a duplex. My friend and former drummer visited one day to talk music and X-box, and I recall telling him, "Jeff, I'm gonna tell you right now, I think this place is haunted and it lives in my kitchen closet." An odd conversation starter, but I meant every word. I noted that my closet was unnaturally cold one day in the summer... so cold in fact, that I questioned why I bought a refrigerator. After making this profound discovery, I moved a chair into that closet, and a lamp, and that is where I did all my reading in the summer. (I tell you... that apartment was so horribly hot in the summer, I don't think Amityville horror could have kept me out of that closet to escape the heat) I was pretty up front and deliberate when I said it. I wasn't afraid or anything like that. Whatever was happening in there didn't really bother me to be honest, but it was happening daily. I considered it, either like a pet that I couldn't see, or like a homeowner who was kind enough to let me be a guest. Either way, it was a harmless haunting that made noises from time to time, and occasionally made its presence known quite loud and clear. Often times, I could hear it strolling through the apartment one footstep after the other. Other times, it would smack my television when the picture was screwing up (that was quite often.) Overall, if it was real or not, it wasn't harmful to my way of life in any way so I just accepted it. Well, my friend was quite skeptical. But, my haunting friend was an honorable one, and was quick in revealing itself to him. We were in my living room. I had a beaded curtain (I know...) that separated it from the bedroom, and I swear to you it split right down the center, and opened just like someone would do when they walked through it. It had never done that before, and never did it again, but he wasn't skeptical after that, and even asked me how I could live there, and I told him, it just didn't bother me. If it wanted me out, it would have let me know. It never did. Nobody ever talks about those hauntings that aren't malevolent, but well... I just wanted to point out that if it was real (from what I saw I think it was) it meant no harm to anyone. My landlord told me that that place used to be his mother's house. She had a heart attack in the afternoon while vacuuming, and died in that house. I assumed it was her, but honestly, perhaps I'm just crazy in my own way... I don't know. It's impossible to find reason and explanation to the unexplainable and I don't know why I'm trying right now, but at any rate, that's one of the more extraordinary experiences I've had. If you follow any of my writings, either my novels or short stories, you may note I have an attachment to the supernatural and unexplained. It's a favored genre of mine, and I try to write in the styles reminiscent of Poe and Lovecraft whom I consider to be masters of the art of supernatural and occult. At any rate, lately, I find myself getting so into a particular creation that I wonder if I don't begin to fabricate it into existence. I of course don't mean this in the literal sense but more of a sensory sort of thing. I'm sure you've experienced something similar before. Have you ever watched a scary movie, and were then afraid of the dark for the next three hours? It puts your senses and emotions on edge long after the ending credits have rolled. Writing and reading can do the same thing I think. I've been put on edge so many times in the past from a well written scene by Lovecraft, that I've jumped at the signature creaks and cracks of my old house more times than I can count. Recently however, I've taken a break from reading and writing and began to work on improving the house again. I finished installing hardwood floors in my dining room and office, and have added a lovely half-partition between the living room and dining room. The point however is, I've not put my senses on edge in quite some time. But lately, I've been having those weird sensory things happening to me that I just need to talk about. A couple months ago, on the fly, a story popped into my head, and I wrote it down. I titled it "Shadow People." The goal was to invoke a sense of fear in the tiniest but most apparent degrees. I don't know if it worked, but I hope it did. But those little pin-pricks and "Someone's watching me" sort of feelings have been troubling me for several weeks. We've had this house for 2 years now, and though I experienced it only one other time, shortly after we bought the house, I'm getting it now, so horribly powerful that I'm starting to think I could turn this into the next Paranormal Activity movie. My fiancé is skeptical as all hell, and rightly-so, she's simply never around when this stuff happens. The other day, I was at my laptop, likely watching a youtube video of a favorite wood-worker of mine, when I saw something out of the corner of my eye, in the archway between my living room and foyer. You can do google searches and come up with "Shadow People," but I tell you, this wasn't a shadow at all... This was a seriously, a person. A child, if I were to judge it by height. But I swear, I've never been more jump scared in my entire life. It seriously took my breath from me, and stopped my heart for a second. Later that night, I heard an odd sound, like a tree branch landing on the porch roof and sliding off, which is what I made of it, but I felt something right after that and it got me out of bed. When I went to go downstairs for a drink, I saw it again, right in the same spot I'd seen it before. It hasn't happened since, but hey, it's pretty damn cool if I can experience two hauntings in my lifetime! If this is real, which to be honest, I don't believe in "Scientific" equipment and paranormal investigation, at least not the ones on television, then by god I'm either the luckiest person alive, or quite frankly, the unluckiest person alive. Lately, I've had terrible feelings when I go into the basement, which is where my woodshop is for the time being. Of course, this could simply be because it's a dark, dreary basement which compliments a house that was built in 1906. There are many people who've had these feelings, and they can't explain them. I try to find any sort of discernable evidence that would suggest that it's simply a psychological anomaly that is in pattern with the things around me. This is in fact a very old house, in a very old town. Every old house has its nuances, creaky floorboards, sticky doors, and all in all, eerily constructed rooms. This basement is a glorified hole. It has walls and a floor, but that's about it. I think the ghosts from "A Christmas Carol" would be afraid of this basement. To be honest, you'd be crazy to go down there with a candle for fear of igniting the myriad of cobwebs which in itself is quite eerie. There's also a boiler down there, and if you've ever had boiler heat, you know that it too has a lot of signature noises. Ticks, and taps are pretty commonplace with boiler heat, as such, it does nothing to lighten the mood of the basement. This could in fact be the cause of my ominous feelings, but it doesn't seem that way. I don't really want to get going on the attic, but I just have to say, I can't spend more than a few minutes up there. Seriously, its the scariest place on earth in my opinion. You'd have to come here to truly understand it. It's not your typical attic. It looks as though the previous owners wanted to finish it, but they either didn't have the means, or simply lost the desire to. As such, it makes for a very quirky place in the house, and it seriously makes my skin crawl when I go up there. I have the desire to turn it into our master retreat somewhere down the line, but first I have to conquer the fear of being up there... yeah... sad for a man of thirty years, but I've never met someone who wasn't afraid of something. I honestly don't even know why, other than the thought that I might either have a haunted house again, or I'm just bonkers. I don't hear whispers or anything... thank god for that, if that were the case, I wouldn't hesitate to go see a psychiatrist :P. But I'm starting to wonder if that old monster of mine has come back for his last laugh. I wonder if we can ever really shake our childhood fears, and I wonder if I just let my imagination run unchecked for too long. I can say that when I'm alone in utter quiet, which is often as a woodworker and DIYer, my imagination takes me to all sorts of different places. Maybe I should rein it in a bit, I don't really know. But again I have to say... if I get to experience two haunted houses in a lifetime... by god that is just a statistical awesomeness that I can't even begin to fathom. At any rate, there was a sound just a few minutes ago that triggered my ramblings that damn near made my spirit jump out of my body. Never in my life have I ever truly experienced "Total Silence." Seriously, I haven't. When there's no other sounds around me, I always have a feint ringing in my ears. I've had it ever since I can remember... As such I've never said, "It's too quiet." Anyway, that's all I was hearing at the time I was reading my daily dose of political rhetoric (no offense) when I seriously heard fingernails rake down my living room wall. FINGERNAILS! I swear to god its the only thing that sounds like the sound I heard. They weren't that forceful nails on a chalkboard raking sound, but more like someone lightly touching their nails to the wall and sliding them down. It was light-hearted in tone, but plenty loud enough for me to say to myself "What the hell was that?" I immediately settled on one of my two idiot cats, but unfortunately, one is currently on my lap as he has been for the past hour and a half, and the other is lazily folded over a throw pillow on the couch. Which begs me to ask the question a second time... What the hell was that? And that in itself begs me to ask you... how many times have you asked yourself, "What the hell was that?" Or told yourself, "I could have sworn I just saw something over there." Or anything along those lines. I don't really mean the things you may see or hear right when you're on the cusp of falling asleep, because to be honest, during that time, I see and hear things that I can't even begin to attempt to imagine when I'm wide awake. I'm talking about those moments when you're just sitting there, and you get those perceptive glimpses that raise your hairs or give you that tingle in your nose. And if anything else, I'm asking you, if someone were telling this to you face to face, would you think they were nuts? If you've met me, you may think I'm a little eccentric. (Just recently we had a peer review at work, which was face to face with whomever we felt like reviewing, and two of my co-workers and brothers-in-arms, said to me, "My first impression of you was you were a wise-ass and crazy." They luckily toned it in a manner that would suggest it was a term of endearment, but perhaps I am a lunatic... A wise ass... well, yeah I am. At any rate, have a lovely evening folks... hope the things that go bump in the night wherever you're from, bump a little lighter tonight. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning, someone made me turn 30. And what a turn it was. In the months leading up to my recent birthday, I came down with a really odd sickness. It wasn't like one of those colds you get, that sort of build up. This thing hit me like a truck while I was traveling in Texas. I became so unbelievably ill, I had to pull over and make someone else drive. Well, tonight, I got it again. Out of the blue, BAM YOU'RE SICK, CONGRATULATIONS! This will be my third time getting sick this year. I don't understand it. I've gone years and years without catching anything and all of a sudden it seems I'm the catcher's mitt. It kind of sucks. At any rate, I'm huddled in a heating blanket right now, sipping some bergamot tea, and sniffling as I type this. It's not my most flattering writing style, but I just can't not write. As many of you celebrated Thanksgiving this Thursday, we did as well. Since we celebrate with her family and mine, this holiday kind of stretches itself over two days. Well, today we celebrated with mine. My family isn't your average family. We aren't all that particularly close with one another, but we don't dislike anyone. We just don't communicate as much as other families do, or I should say, I don't communicate as much as I should. That is likely the case. I'm just not a phone person, at all. I don't like texting, and I don't like phone-calls because they aren't personal enough for me. I prefer letters and face-to-face chats with someone. Letters are a little archaic, so we can scratch that from the list, but at any rate, I prefer our correspondence to be in person. That said, unfortunately, I just learned of a few mini-battles occurring in the family. When I arrived at my aunt's house, I noticed there weren't that many cars there. I recognized my sister's car, and my aunt and her husband's car, but that was it. When I came in, it seemed awfully quiet, so I went upstairs a bit perplexed as to where everyone was. Well, it turns out my dad refused to come because he's mad at my grandfather for whatever reason... I honestly don't get involved in stuff like that, but they don't have one of those picturesque father - son relationships and never have to be honest. I don't know the cause of this, but my dad can be kind of a glass is half empty type of guy. Honestly, there isn't a lot of sunny days in his world - very gloom and doom if you know what I mean. He's been like that for as long as I can remember, though he does associate with everyone, he doesn't particularly enjoy it. He does however, brighten up when he sees my kid, but unfortunately he didn't get to see her today. It was a little disappointing, but hey, I won't let it bring down the holiday mood so I don't press the issue. My first cousin also wasn't there. I say first cousin because that is what he is, but growing up, we were pretty much like brothers. We were raised in the same house, we were interested in the same things, and later on, we even worked together at 3 different companies. We're close, let me put it that way. Since I've moved up into the mountains we've grown a bit a part, but that's life I guess. He's like me, he'd rather not be bothered with "Hello" text messages and things like that, so the only chance I get to talk to him is on the holidays. That is the real downside to traveling for a living. It's very difficult to make any kind of plans, as I never know when I need to fly to San Jose or Riyadh, or Reykjavik or anywhere else in the world. It can be a little exhausting, but it's a great job and I'm very lucky to have moved up so fast in this company as I have. 5 years ago I was making $10.00 an hour when they hired me. I now make a little over triple that amount, and to be honest, I couldn't be happier. Money of course isn't everything, but it bought our house, and it keeps my kid's belly full, and if there were no other reasons, that would be enough for me. That said, you can imagine my disappointment when I heard that two of my closest relatives weren't coming. I asked why my cousin wasn't and my grandmother said, "He's a vegetarian now, and doesn't really want to be around meat." Ok... Hey, I've known him since I was 3 years old, and it sounds like something he would say. He's always had those odd phases like me, where I might draw for months, then switch to music, then switch to writing, then to something else. I cycle through all of my hobbies, but I always return to them. Jimmy is a bit different. He kind of has an interest in something for a while, and then just abandons it. I tell you, I've never seen such a great amateur boxer, but he threw that away many years ago. I think he could have made a great career with it, had he continued fighting, but I'm not going to judge him. He's older than me, so whatever he did, I respected. I always looked up to him that way. He taught me guitar, he taught me a lot about work ethics, he taught me some cool astrology things... he taught me all kinds of things that I otherwise would not have known how to do. Well, his strange, vegetarian self didn't show up, and all I wanted to do was share a few new writings with him. Oh well I suppose. I'll tell you something though. We aren't too close, but we know how to celebrate. It's not fun and games, but its a very nice family gathering, with good food, and good conversation. I have to say, we're terrible at dinner etiquette. We talk politics, we talk religion, we talk everything you're not supposed to talk about and then some, but we make it a family thing the whole time. We may get into debates over things, but in the end we're always happy enough to respect a stalemate. So despite our strange dysfunction, we make it work, and I guess that's good enough for me. So, on this Black Friday, I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving, and I hope you didn't trample anyone in the stores. I return now to my tea, and my heat blanket, wishing I didn't despise Theraflu. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning, someone cursed my daughter with a "potty mouth." My premonitions were correct in the previous entry. 9 hours is way too long of a time in this house for me not to experience some degree of bewilderment. In this case, it was caused by my daughter. When I say she has a Potty Mouth, I don't mean that she curses. I do that, in all honesty, I'm as rough as a badger. Such is the consequence of working in heavy industry my entire adult life. My vocabulary involves a whole lot of curse words... Well, at first, she was like a sponge, repeating anything that I said. Luckily we've shaken her of that array of obscenities. She now yells at me whenever I say a curse word of any kind. When I say potty mouth, what I mean to say is she likes to chat whilst going potty. To me this is fine, because it makes for some wholesome conversation with my kid, but tonight there was a specific instance that just left me completely flabbergasted. My fiancé was trying to take a shower, much to the dismay of my daughter whose been remarkably clingy today. Well, she shouted that she had to go potty, so I came upstairs just to kindly direct her to her potty. She assumed the position and then came the conversation. She began this talk with two words that left me so confused, I'm still a little shaken by it. "Bed Poop." she said. "Huh?" "Bed Poop." "Okay...?" "That would be gwoss." "Yes... yes it would." "I want my puppy." We don't have a puppy, but hey, I figured I'd humor her imagination. "I'm pooping." "Lovely." "There's a turtle over there. See it?" "Yeah, why not? There sure is a turtle over there." "Why me poopin?" "Because you have to. Holding it in will make you sick." "My leg hurts." "I think you should supplement your diet with a bran muffin then." "I don't like diapers." "Yeah I don't like them either." "Ok. Bye, daddy." That was the conversation. Honestly, I'm beside myself... It was one of the strangest conversations I've ever had. NaNoWriMo 2015 Here we go! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning, someone cursed me with a younger brother. Not really, he's a good kid. Dumb, but good. Who isn't dumb in their early twenties? I recall being awakened on a railroad track by four police officers and two paramedics at 23 with a vicious hangover, and twigs sticking out of my hair. Yeah I was real dumb around that time. At any rate, I've been spending the last four hours agonizing about the introduction to a contest entry when I received some news from my mom. She told me that I'm going to be an uncle!!! I'M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE!!! The youngest of us kids is finally having a kid of their own! I've been waiting for my sister to get this done, but she's a procrastinator like me. I mean, there's no shame in waiting until you're 30 to have kids. I didn't quite reach that number when I was blessed with my daughter, but I was close. I was 27 when we got the news, and 28 when she was born. We have another one on the way now, and now I'M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE! Granted, I'm a little afraid. My brother has my striking good looks, a testament to the fine Irish blood that we share, but he also has a certain childish stupidity. As I said, its not a bad stupidity, its just one of those trifling frustration sort of things. He's been rough on my mom in the past, not physical, just my mother's worry stone. I recall he vanished for about 30 days once. We couldn't find him, none of his friends knew where he was. Turns out, he ran off with a girlfriend who was almost twice his age to Arizona. Now, if you want to pursue romance regardless of one's age, I won't stop you... personally I think its lovely that people can find each other across all ages and state lines... but for the love of god tell us when you're going! Unfortunately, I probably won't get to meet this bundle of joy any time soon, as my Brother, Mother, Step-Dad, and step-siblings live in Kansas, and I'm here in Pennsylvania with the other half of my family. It's a little depressing when you think about it, but I just wanted to reflect on the great things that happen during the holidays, despite how much of a scrooge I am. If you've been following my rants, you'll know that we are expecting, but we've also had an additional 2 announcements of "we're pregnant!" Yes, my fiancé's Sister-in-law is now carrying their 2nd child, and now her step-sister is carrying her first. Are family is like a new baby boomers generation I guess. On top of this, I got the news of my brother's news, so I realize, Christmas is going to get awfully expensive... yeah I'm kind of the family member that goes a little overboard on the Holidays for the kids. I prefer big, noisy, and flashy toys. I'm considering getting my kid a remote control helicopter just because I know how much its going to get on my nerves. We're sort of like that in our neck of the woods. We try to outdo one another with annoying toys. Last year my daughter was gifted a drum-set by her uncle... you have no idea... But he was getting me back since I bought his youngest this toy that I can only describe as the most horribly and obnoxiously annoying toy to ever hit the stores. I bought his youngest daughter about 4,000 beads simply because I wanted to watch her spill them on the floor. That's what we do... I'm afraid for this year... really I am. It's hard to outdo a drum-set. At any rate, my family gets larger and my wallet gets a little smaller. No big deal to me, the money has to go somewhere, there's no sense hanging on to it for the sake of hanging on to it. And that's that. Wasn't much a rant but hey, I'm not an angry person all the time, but there's still 9 hours left in the day, and with a 2 year old, that is plenty of time. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning, someone cursed me with a woman; in the end someone blessed me with a fiancé. Yep, I don't say that lightly for two reasons. One, she might see it, and two because it is true. I have an awesome fiancé, and though she shares not one of my hobbies (and I have a lot) we have an odd connection that most others don't. Aside from the fact that we share a daughter, we also share a birthday. In astrology terms, this type of pairing is either remarkably compatible or horrendously doomed to fail. We are scorpios. In my case if you want the specifics, I am a Scorpio Pisces Libra Libra. If you actually understand that, that means you read too much  Honestly, I don't know what the moon, Mars and Venus signs really represent in a person, but I think its cool that I know what I am.At any rate, I was given the task today of repairing a cord to the hideous Christmas tree that now graces the corner of our living room. I say hideous for that is exactly what it is. THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A WHITE PINE TREE, maybe a genus or a species of some sort, but in the literal terms, I've never seen nor heard of a pine tree that happens to be white. As such, I hate the appearance of this thing. She tells me that its supposed to look like its covered in snow... it doesn't. If you want it to look like its covered in snow, cover it in snow. That said, it just doesn't fit with this house. When we moved in, our ceilings were about 2 feet lower than they are now. The previous owners had a thing for ugly ceiling tiles. I've since removed them, repaired the damage that they caused to the ceiling, and thereby raised it a good bit. As such, a 6 foot tree looks ridiculous beneath a 9 1/2 foot ceiling. I let it slide though, for the sake of preserving the Christmas spirit which I have supremely lacked since I became an adult, and for the sake of my kid. She loves lights, garland, sparkly things, and things that are easily broken. Just like my cats. Now getting off of this rant about an ugly Christmas tree, I'll move on to task number two. Cook Dinner. I have a mastery in this department. I don't want to toot my own horn, but I'm an awesome cook. I set out to cook dinner earlier this evening, settling on stuffed lemon pepper chicken, au gratin potatoes, and a spinach and cranberry salad with a Balsamic dressing. If that sounds gross to you, I dare you to try it! At any rate, she was a bit late coming home for work reasons, but when she entered, I was nearly finished preparing our outstanding dinner. The first words out of her mouth when she walked in the door were such an insult to my amazing cooking that I nearly collapsed. "What stinks?" Really? Would you come home to a hot cooked meal and initiate conversation with that question? I wouldn't. Well, I probably would because she isn't a very good cook, but to me, that's earned you a stabbing with my fork. I didn't stab her, nor did I want to, but I wasn't pleased with the question. "Something smells... rotten." Ok, now she was insulting my culinary mastery. To presume that I can't tell the difference between good and bad food is just insane. At any rate, I questioned my skills and took a sniff of the chicken. It smelled delightful by the way. Well, she was stuck on the idea that the chicken was no good whilst I'd already taken a few bites. It was everything you'd want in chicken. Moist, Flavorful, and stuffed with Parmesan and spinach. She did at least eat the potatoes, but in mid-chewing I noted her deplorable staring, and I stopped eating the chicken. Well its been about 3 hours, and I'm still fine with no detectable signs of gastrointestinal distress. At any rate, the chicken is in the Garbage, so with my amazing salad and au gratin potatoes, I also enjoyed a gourmet, microwaved corn dog. Yeah, I like to keep it classy, folks. Such is the story of committing yourself to a relationship with the one you love, compromise and compassion. The chicken really was delicious though... just saying. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning I was cursed with supersonic hearing. I just arrived home from my fiancé's mother's house. As such, I can only describe such a visit as the type of misery which begets such a profound lousy mood that I don't want to type like this. I want to type like this: aodsijfipoahgoiuerwhpoqihwegfahsiuodghpsiahgewiupoqhugiopehaiuogfvh!!!! At any rate, I'm home now, but the screaming, thumping, bumping and horseplay is still ringing in my ears. Her mother has 8 grand-children. 5 of which were there tonight. Before I go into this I want to say, I love kids. I love the funny stuff that they say, and I love the way they play around. I hate all the horrible, gut wrenching, nose scrunching sounds that they make whilst playing however, and her grandkids have mastered these sounds. I can only describe it as nails on a chalk-board, combined with a fork screeching against a plate, combined with crows cawing, combined with the lady standing in line, talking on her phone, who ends every sentence with a question mark and begins every sentence with "like." Does that paint the picture well enough? If it does not I'll simply say it's unnaturally irritating. I've been pushed to the brink of such agitation that I just want to cover my head up with a pillow and yell until my throat is hoarse. Yeah. I've never been a particular fan of visits with her mother. Don't get me wrong, I do like her, she's a very hospitable woman, and she's generally fun to talk to. I just don't like their house. It's a decent house, but it's not my house, it's an alien world for me, wherein I suffer from this strange affliction that I just can't use the restroom in another person's house. Therefore, I'd rather stay at home. I'd rather stay at home where I can sit around in my underwear if I want to, watch football, and drink unnatural amounts of coffee. Yeah they don't even have a coffee pot at their house... Let me just ask... WHAT THE HELL?! Ok, anyway, now that you know I hate visiting there, I'll add that my fiancé expects me to tag along each time she goes, which is generally every day. I just can't do it. Their house is not mine! My biggest and only real argument is I spent 100,000 dollars on this house of mine, why would I not spend my time here whenever I can? I'm gone roughly 6-9 months out of the year, so when I'm home, I want to get my money's worth. Well, I went today, if anything just so my fiancé wouldn't sigh... I hate it when she does that. I knew there would be kids there, which I really don't mind, but they were in a particularly robust mood today. At first it was nothing, I don't mind the running back and forth between rooms and door slamming. They're not my doors. Once the screaming and the shouting and the yelling starts however, I become a silent Mr. Hyde and Monty Cristo. I get this brute force anger and agitation inside me while at the same time going over thousands of ways I might make my escape. I never do though... I just sit there and take the abuse, and if you've been around this type of screaming, you know what kind of abuse I'm talking about. In the middle of all this chaos we were presented with one of those 8 year old awkward moment things. The Fiancé's brother has two sons. One is 11 and the other is 8, and that 8 year old had just spent the last half hour with a Sharpie drawing nipples on all his sister's Barbie dolls. While I think it's outrageously and wholesomely hilarious, it's pretty awkward... I mean, how exactly do you handle that situation, and where in the hell did he get that idea? He's probably a bit like me, I would have remarked that they aren't anatomically correct and done the same thing at 8... but I didn't. Still, I can't help but chuckle a bit at the notion. All this ruckus and high energy of course ignites the fuse in my daughter and she starts partaking in the uproar. The only problem there is she doesn't wind down so easily. She's home now, and running around the coffee table screaming "KITTY," I swear these poor cats must have the strongest legs on the planet. We're going to find out the sex of our next child within a few weeks, and I find myself wondering, If I ended up having a nipple drawing 8 year old boy, how would I handle that situation? I find myself wondering a lot of things actually. Scary when you think about it. And now, she just got back from K-Mart and I'm going to be forced to decorate this obnoxious Christmas tree... Yeah among other things, I'm also a Grinch. Have a nice evening folks. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning I was cursed with weekend insomnia. Yes indeed. It's actually not even 2 am anymore, its 2:24AM and I'm still awake with one of those weird side of my head headaches. I assume its from one too many cigarettes or one too many coffees but it could very well be a combination of both. Why do I do this to myself? Well, I had a lot of interesting occurrences today involving writing, so I just kept myself awake until my head was done screaming at me that it had another idea that fit with nothing I've previously established. Well... that's the story of my stories. I've began every endeavor of mine with nothing but a few words, and they just kind of happened. Yep, I admit, I'm not an outliner in general. I try, but there's more often than not, some deep inclination that tells me to wander off the beaten path that I so belligerently beat with my bare hands. I'm a masochist I suppose, after all I wanted a daughter first and see where that got me? I have a few extra wrinkles now, and I'm just starting to see that sliver of silver in my hair. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that sliver of silver, I think I'd look dashing with one! I mean, now that I think of it, my favorite fictitious characters all have that trademark bad-assness. Rogue, Two-Face, Boaz, and Pepe le pew to name a few. Once it comes in fully, likely around the time this next kid shows up, I think I might try out for a super-hero position, or maybe a looney-toons job. I think I could do well in either department. I mean, I've downed triple atomic wings at Quaker Steak and came out just fine. That's right, FIRESTORM AINT GOT NOTHING ON ME! I'm not saying I don't regret those mistakes like those. Trust me hot wings are always regrettable. And that leads me to a point I'd like to make, which prior to this random, middle of the night eureka moment I just had, would likely not have come and I'd still be droning on about nothing... like I am now. The point I'd like to make is: I travel for a living. I work in nuclear power plants, refineries, aircraft carriers, and I've even worked in the Pentagon. As such in my travels I spend a lot of my 'duty' time in public restrooms. Yeah... I'm going that direction. My gripe with this isn't about the cleanliness as most of them are pretty well kept, but rather the occupants. There's something about public restrooms, no matter how clean they are, I just don't feel clean coming out. Kind of like eating at a Waffle House. You think it's a good idea, and then reality shows up about 30 minutes later. This is right around the same time your triple, smothered, covered, buttered, diced, peppered, capped, and chopped hashbrown shows up, and you notice there's more bubblegum underneath your table than there is on the shelf of an airport convenience store. There I said it. I've been subjected to a great deal of strange occurrences inside of these places, bathrooms, not waffle house. Occurrences that beg me to ask, America... what were you thinking? Now I'm not making a cheap jibe at my beloved country, but I am making a cheap jibe at some of the people its produced. I mean... who goes into a bathroom and thinks its acceptable to spark up conversation whilst - going to the bathroom? It's just an awkward thing to do. I'm not going to go any further than that for the simple fact that I would likely lose a friend or two with this. Such is the consequence of writing anything at, um, 2:37AM. But I do recall a H.P. Lovecraft quote, “At night, when the objective world has slunk back into its cavern and left dreamers to their own, there come inspirations and capabilities impossible at any less magical and quiet hour. No one knows whether or not he is a writer unless he has tried writing at night.” Honestly, I doubt this rant qualifies me as a writer worthy of Lovecraft's notice, but I've done it. I wrote at night. And it is with that that I now write: Goodnight. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning, I was blessed with a love of cats and cursed with an allergy to cats... Yes indeed. I am a cat lover, I always have been. Ever since I was a little kid I've been more attached to cats than dogs for multiple reasons. One of the most important reasons is they don't drink from the toilet. Yeah... I just find it grotesque that one would allow a dog to lick them after having drank from such a cesspool of uncleanliness. Now I scrub my toilet bowl to a sparkling shine, but I just don't care, its not clean enough. Ew. The second most important reason is cats don't bark at everything. As a matter of fact, they don't bark at all. Yeah, I bet you didn't know that. Being a proponent of a quiet companion, cats in my opinion are the embodiment of everything I desire in a pet. They are independent, quiet (for the most part), and require attention only when it suits their purposes. There is one other reason I love cats. They are evil. I have to interrupt this for a moment because my daughter just handed me "Cat in the Hat," and told me it was my Christmas present. (As I said, this will happen a lot as this saga continues.) Yes, cats are evil. If you don't believe me well, allow me to give you an example. Other than humans, what other creature will kill for sport? A cat. Aside from humans what other creature will do things purely to annoy another? A cat. Assuming you accidentally drank that shrink concoction that cousin Kermit brewed up in R.L. Stein's "Monster Blood III," and you shrank to the size of a thimble, what creature would eat you simply because you were smaller than it? A cat. Yes, even if you were its master for a decade, the simple fact that you were now smaller would be all the reason that cat needed to now make you its next plaything. I respect that in an animal. To me, there is no animal more like a human in its personalities and reasoning than a cat. True, primates are far more similar to us than cats, but in a mindset sort of way, no they aren't. Well that aside, my fiancé is a dog lover. Now, I don't hate dogs, I just don't like them that much. They are loud, hyper, reckless, and require way too much attention for me to consider them as an ideal pet. Knowing that I simply would not allow a dog in my house, when we first moved in with one another, her dog remained at her mother's and she brought along her long haired cat. It was a lovely cat named Twix, there was just one problem with this cat. It shed... everywhere... all the time. That is the one setback to pets. I hate having to clean up fur, but with this cat, it wasn't like cleaning up fur, it was like cleaning up a rug. Seriously, I have no idea where all this fur came from. But, I still liked it. She was a good cat; smart, and stupid in the same animal. Having lived with this cat for about a year or so, and following the birth of our daughter, my allergies got too severe for me to live a comfortable life in our house. I tried all the different pills but none of them worked so sadly, we had to send the animal to her step-brother. We've since moved out of that house, having bought our lovely house on the hill. Well, for roughly two years, we lived pet free... until one day. My fiancé showed me pictures of adorable Siamese kittens for sale on a local flea market web site, and begged for me to get one. Well, I was thinking of my daughter when I said yes. I think that no kid should be denied a pet when they are growing up, so I figured I would suck up the allergies and just get it. $250.00 later, we were the owners of a male Siamese kitten that we named Odin (because its original name of Elvis just didn't fit it.) He warmed up to us as soon as we got him home, and I learned quite fast that Siamese like to sit on their owners' shoulder. Fascinating as that may be, my nose doesn't agree. Though I have only a very mild allergy to this guy, its a proximity thing, and it was well within the event horizon of my sneezing fits. After having played with him for a time, it was now bed time. My kid wasn't quite willing to go to sleep since we had a new addition to our house, but that was beside the point. The point was, the cat wasn't quite willing to go to sleep either. I didn't allow it into the bedroom for the simple fact that its my one and only place of solace and comfort that will remain untainted by pet dander. Well, that didn't seem to matter much to the cat and he used his body as a battering ram to get in. Well... needless to say the bedroom was now tainted with pet dander, but at least we could sleep. A day later we discussed getting him a playmate to calm him at night, so a quick drive and another $250.00 later, we were now the owner of yet another Siamese kitten we named Thor. Odin and Thor, the perfect pair. They were both brothers, so we knew they'd be familiar with one another, but Thor wasn't quite a fan of his new home, though it was much, much bigger than his previous one. Now when we bought these cats, I was still in the heart of repairing a $21,000 pipe explosion that occurred over the winter. As such, we had just spent $2000 on carpet in the living room. Well, Thor thought it was a good place to mark his territory... I can't tell you the level of panic that erupted in my body when I saw it. Truly, I was beside myself. Luckily, Resolve is a great brand of stain remover so it did clean up, but its the principle... At any rate, I showed him where the litter box was, and he was happy to mark his territory there once more. Problem solved. We had an agreement, my fiancé and I. These were her pets, so she would be responsible for their care. Now, I have no problem occasionally scooping some poop, or feeding them, but these were her cats. Well... one pregnancy later, and now I'm the primary pooper scooper... and I have to say, whoever discovered that pregnant women can't clean a litter box is a jerk. I truly hate that man. These cats poop more than any creature I've ever seen... god why couldn't we have got a fish? Well, upon my return home from my recent work trip, they ran to the door like they were going to attack me. Both of them meowed and purred and rubbed against my legs as I stepped through the door, and you know what? I was like the Grinch after his heart grew three sizes that day. At any rate, Odin has been my buddy since the day we got him. Thor... well he's a lady's man and is much more partial to my fiancé. Buddy or no buddy though, they are both royal pains in the butt. I've never had a cat that was so little like a cat than these two. They are vocal, they are hyper, and they are independent, but they would rather be in your face like a dog. Why couldn't we have got a fish? As soon as one of them handles their business in the litter box, its time for me to step up and be the caregiver. They aren't at all satisfied until that thing is spotless... of course, if I was a cat, I'd probably be the same way. Following my most recent venture in the world of foul smelling cat byproduct, I realized that we no longer have a house. We are starting on making it a home. Yes, the dining room is still in shambles from the winter destruction that occurred while I was away, but its coming along. These two silly creatures plop themselves in the rays of afternoon sun, content and waiting for their masters' calls, and my daughter runs about showing them stuffed animals and toys that they could care less about, but the fact is we have a home now. I guess the cats can stay, since they are part of this equation, but I tell you, I can't wait for her to be done with this pregnancy because she's going to have nine months of back pay owed on that litterbox. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| In the beginning someone gave me this profound hatred of shopping. I hate shopping. Really, there's no other thing in the world that I hate more than going to the store. Supermarkets, Pharmacies, and especially Walmart. I truly, truly hate Walmart, but yesterday evening, I was forced against my will to go to that dreaded place. And I have to interrupt this real fast just because I just stopped my kid from stuffing quarters in her pants... yeah... kids... (This will happen a lot, not the money stuffing, but the whole interruption thing) Anyway, I recently returned home from a 48 day trip between Detroit and Harrisburg for work. Now, what I'm about to get to has been an ongoing thing since we first purchased this house two years ago. When we first moved in, we had a nice set of silverware. Not lovely or extravagant, but nice. As my trips sent me across the country and back home, I began to notice that more and more of my spoons had gone missing when I returned. Where did they go? She still won't tell me. I'm starting to think there's a Lobelia Sackvile-Baggins stealing all of my spoons... At any rate, this last trip I returned from, I came home to one single spoon that just so happened to be in the sink. Now, aside from shopping, my second most hated thing is dirty dishes. I had a pile of them, but I didn't say anything, I was just glad to be home. She's pregnant anyway, and arguing about dirty dishes isn't a great way to get welcomed home. Well, I have a thing for shredded wheat. They should put me on their box. Really, that's how much shredded wheat I eat. Anyway, I had a big craving for it in the morning, and well... there was no spoons. I'm not about to try to eat it with a fork, or with my hands, so I just sucked it up and did the dishes. Following my good scrubbing, and very meticulous placement of dishes in my drainer, I enjoyed a wonderful bowl of shredded wheat. As the spoon came to my lips, my eyes fell on it, glistening in my dim living room lights, my one and only spoon. My connection to the deliciousness of a great cereal, and realized, I need more spoons if I wish to live a normal life at home. I shook my head and sighed as I resolved myself to go to Walmart and get myself some new silverware. With my kid in my arm, and her thousand pound diaper bag in the other, I fussed with that annoying five-point harness in her car seat. I always had a hard time with those. Well, after about twenty minutes of getting the thing wrapped around her to my satisfaction of child safety, I got in and started the car. I love my car. In my world, it is one of my prized possessions. It's not some classic GTO, or Fairlane or anything like that. Nope. It's a 07 Chrysler 300. Candy apple red, two-tone leather interior that just screams when the kid gets in the car. Between drips of apple juice finding their way to the backseat, and goldfish crumbs working their way into the creases of my interior, there's this thing just scraping in my mind. I just absolutely go nuts when there's any amount of dirtiness in my car. Well, roughly a quarter mile into the trip I heard that baggy go upside-down and those goldfish spilled out onto my backseat. I nearly wrecked the car in panic. Thank goodness there wasn't a cop behind me, because I definitely would have had to do a sobriety test. Calmly, I turned my car around and took it to the carwash. A tear nearly fell down my cheek as I pulled up alongside that super vacuum they have there. I hate spending $1.50 for six minutes of cleanliness, but I was in dire straits. My kid has always loved vacuums, so it was a fun thing for her to watch me curse under my breath as I took great care not to let that tube touch my pristine leather. Sucking up the cause of my distress, the six minutes weren't nearly long enough. I heard that vacuum die down, and the sucking power faded away, allowing hundreds of cheesy destroyers to careen back down the tube and back onto my seats. I turned into Ralphie's dad from "A Christmas Story" at that moment. Spewing out a tirade of uninterpretable obscenities as I fished for another six quarters, knowing I'd only need about another two minutes. I'm sure there were people there looking at me and considering calling up the local authorities as I kicked and punched imaginary things, but at any rate, the car was clean again. The door shut, and the car started with its signature 'beep beep beep' that it does. I put it in reverse, and then heard another beep. What was this? This was a new beep, and that couldn't be good. Eyes darted about the dash indicators and I saw it... Low tire pressure. NO! NO! NO! Again, Ralphie's dad possessed me as I pulled up to the air compressor, my kid clapping and singing some imaginary tune involving goldfish, fruit snacks and bears... I don't know where the bears came from. I opened up my center console, and slid out four quarters from my change holder. Yeah... a dollar for air. AIR IS ALL AROUND US AND ITS FREE!!! Somehow, however, some guy decided that it was worth charging for, so long as it needed to go into your tires. I circled around the car, putting my pressure gauge to each tire, until of course, I found it on the fourth try. Why is it always the last one? Well, I filled it to a perfect 32.5 PSI, having to let out some air every now and then from overfilling, but at least I didn't need to put more quarters in. I wrapped the hose back up and got back in the car. I looked in my rear view mirror, and there was something missing from the back seat. No, not my kid, and not the car seat. It was her sippy cup... Oh... my... god... no... Unbuckling my seat belt, I fished around the backseat in absolute panic as I slid my hand beneath the seats, trying desperately to find it before apple juice spilled out onto my carpets. My kid watched me the whole time saying, "Daddy's Silly," as I practically dove into the backseat of the car, but I found it. I sat it in my front seat cup holder and thanked my maker, for it was dry! And we were now on our way to Walmart. We pulled in, and she insisted that we get one of those carts that look like cars. No problem, except they are about two thirds too long, and they don't maneuver well in the aisles, and this close to thanksgiving, I'd need excellent mobility to weave between customers. I tried to reason with her, but their is no reasoning with a two year old. As folks walked by, watching me discussing this dilemma with my kid, I began to think they thought I might be a little odd, so I conceded. If for any reason, just to end this ordeal. As I expected, folks were out in force in every aisle of the store. These aren't your everyday customers at the supermarket, these are browsers. When I say browsers, I mean they are the slow-walkers, stopping at every special, every half off, every clearance, and every display and inspecting each of them as if they were some auditor looking for a non-comformity. That sort of thing just really grinds my gears, as I'm on a mission and this mission doesn't have time for browsers. Somehow, I found myself behind the old couple. Now I have no problem with elderly couples, because I think they are truly adorable, but they aren't fast moving shoppers like myself. I can't simply cut into the left half of the aisle, as I treat cart courtesies the same way I treat traffic laws, and that would be an illegal lane change as far as I'm concerned. I had to hit the e-brake this time... My kid added to this ordeal as she continued to call the old man "her." Everyone is "her" in her world. Well, I'm sure I was red faced, as it seemed he heard her, and turned round and smiled at her. They both took her in like she was the most gorgeous thing they'd ever seen, shrugging aside the "hers" and "Hi Grammas." They were kind enough to tell me how adorable she was as they made way for this lumbering truck of a cart. We came to the aisle I was looking for. Utensils. Somehow, the couple had turned on their afterburners and came up on us as I inspected each set, cursing at their price under my breath. As I held one closer, my daughter told me that she liked forks and well, I do too, but it was a weird thing to say. The elderly couple laughed and asked her age. I told them she was two, and they said they had never met such a well-spoken toddler. Well what can I say? It has to be genetics right? At any rate, I was dumb enough to go to the self-checkout, and of course my kiosk had a malfunction in between the scanning and bagging part. I waited there, watching families scan their groceries and moving on... waiting. I waited for an eternity in that holiday chaos until finally, a dear lady came to my kiosk and apologized for my wait. Don't apologize... It's busy, and I used to work at this place. I understand. She punched in whatever code would fix the issue, and then directed me on the use of the self checkout... I know how to use the self checkout. I put in the 45 dollars it required and took my receipt. As I exited the store, that old couple was outside, making their way to their car. They gave my daughter a wave and a smile as I lumbered past in that enormous cart. And it came to me then... all of this, over a spoon. Perhaps I get a little too hyper... perhaps I overreact to simple stuff, but we only had one spoon. That evening, my fiancé was ready to help herself to some of my famous Ratatouille. (It's not that famous, but I like to pretend that I'm on a cooking show while I'm cooking.) She placed a healthy portion onto her plate and opened our silverware drawer. She turned around and kissed me as though I'd just given her some twenty thousand dollar ring. "I love these!" I have to admit, I love them too, but if she only knew what I went through to get them. But, a show of affection over spoons was good enough for me. And now here we are, now enjoying a good stew with our lovely new spoons and our lovely daughter, awaiting our lovely new bundle of love; content and preparing for our holiday. One day I'll find time to get back to my NaNovel; hopefully this weekend but until then, treasure those little things as I do. Enjoy your evening folks. |
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