My mind is my enemy. Fighting like junkyard dogs over a scrap of day old meat, my mind keeps me from a restful night sleep. There are no sugar plumb fairies dancing in my mind when I rest. The people, places, and events change, but still I wake up going "what the hell was that about?" I read somewhere a good night sleep was God's reward for a guiltless conscience." Now I must search the harddrive of my mind and emotions to find the source of worry and guilt.
I don't necessarily buy into that whole guilt crap. I think I just watch weird Sci Fi movies, read part of a strange book, and then try to sleep. Sounds like I need to change my interest for sleep. That ain't happening.
...This was a draft from a couple of days ago, it's not really complete, but it won't have anything else added to it. Check back soon I'll have the interesting events of my past week.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Reverse Nap
It's 3am. The entire house is dark, both rooms opposite of my hold in it's bowls sleeping men, re-energizing for the new week. One spot in the house glows light, casting a reflection of a tired, aged man in the window. My computer connecting me to the outside world with silent judgment for being up this late. I've stopped sleeping through Thunderstorms.
At one time the melodic symphony of pidder padder outside danced with the drumming thunder and awesomeness of a light show, was what I loved. Nature's own audio/visual show inspires, scares, and brings to tears the heart of dime store novel lovers. But, now, I am set apart by worry. I wake up in the middle of the night listening to thunder in turn with the lightning. I hear every creek of my almost 70 year old home. The rattling windows, the deflection of rain from window to window sill and I worry about how the house will hold up. Will I wake tomorrow to find more areas in need of fixing? I silently think to myself "girl, I know you can do, stand strong." I have missed my last night of worriless sleep. It was in July of 04, a month before I decided to buy a house. No worries, few responsibilities, and deep rain filled sleep.
Also, is the nature of my job. Big storms, mean big work. Long days, filled with unhappy people whose homes are broken. The thought of waking up tomorrow and having more work than I can handle, but having nothing to do to stop it, also keeps the eyelids open at night. I don't know why I am worried about it. I am good when it comes to busy situations, I thrive well. I know what needs to be done and I do it. But, that doesn't mean I enjoy the bountiful times more than the lean. I like the small work load. The time to do things right as opposed to fast. I don't want to kiss my social life goodbye for the next few weeks. So I sit up and I think about it.
My bed is so comfortable, and my mind is not comfortable. Sleep is one of my favorite things, I guess this is like a reverse nap. You take a nap during the day, but when you wake up from sleep during the night, briefly, and then you return to sleep, I guess can only be a reverse nap. My mind is hazy with sleep and my words tend to make less sense at this point. With a quick prayer I will give my problems to God and try to salvage the rest of my night, maybe a extra pillow over my head will do the trick.
At one time the melodic symphony of pidder padder outside danced with the drumming thunder and awesomeness of a light show, was what I loved. Nature's own audio/visual show inspires, scares, and brings to tears the heart of dime store novel lovers. But, now, I am set apart by worry. I wake up in the middle of the night listening to thunder in turn with the lightning. I hear every creek of my almost 70 year old home. The rattling windows, the deflection of rain from window to window sill and I worry about how the house will hold up. Will I wake tomorrow to find more areas in need of fixing? I silently think to myself "girl, I know you can do, stand strong." I have missed my last night of worriless sleep. It was in July of 04, a month before I decided to buy a house. No worries, few responsibilities, and deep rain filled sleep.
Also, is the nature of my job. Big storms, mean big work. Long days, filled with unhappy people whose homes are broken. The thought of waking up tomorrow and having more work than I can handle, but having nothing to do to stop it, also keeps the eyelids open at night. I don't know why I am worried about it. I am good when it comes to busy situations, I thrive well. I know what needs to be done and I do it. But, that doesn't mean I enjoy the bountiful times more than the lean. I like the small work load. The time to do things right as opposed to fast. I don't want to kiss my social life goodbye for the next few weeks. So I sit up and I think about it.
My bed is so comfortable, and my mind is not comfortable. Sleep is one of my favorite things, I guess this is like a reverse nap. You take a nap during the day, but when you wake up from sleep during the night, briefly, and then you return to sleep, I guess can only be a reverse nap. My mind is hazy with sleep and my words tend to make less sense at this point. With a quick prayer I will give my problems to God and try to salvage the rest of my night, maybe a extra pillow over my head will do the trick.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Irish eyes are Smiling
Yesterday was not what you would consider a typical day. Even for those of us who seem to never have an "ordinary" day, yesterday was out of sorts. Allow me to illustrate:
My morning commute to my claims found me stopped at a red light staring at the ass end of this yahoo. With a half hearted "ugh" I felt it necessary to document the insanity of some people. As I have learned over the past couple of weeks, there seems to be lots of contradiction and conspiracy theories around the events of 9/11. I find it odd as to see this as in just earlier this week I read an article in a Maxim about a plethora of other theories. These usually start with digital nerds searching video archives for any excuse to abuse their first amendment rights, or those eccentric, old-money millionaires blowing daddy's start from nothing fortune on back door methods of being famous. Apparently having gobs of money is nothing unless it comes with obscure fame in seedy magazines. But, who am I to know...millions I don't have, but eccentricities I have a few. This kind of mania justifies the need for psychologist...so I say "Go Dad, heal the world of it's mental cases and save those millions because I want to prove how aliens actually landed in New York, not Roswell, to populate the earth." Whatever to those cats.
My morning commute to my claims found me stopped at a red light staring at the ass end of this yahoo. With a half hearted "ugh" I felt it necessary to document the insanity of some people. As I have learned over the past couple of weeks, there seems to be lots of contradiction and conspiracy theories around the events of 9/11. I find it odd as to see this as in just earlier this week I read an article in a Maxim about a plethora of other theories. These usually start with digital nerds searching video archives for any excuse to abuse their first amendment rights, or those eccentric, old-money millionaires blowing daddy's start from nothing fortune on back door methods of being famous. Apparently having gobs of money is nothing unless it comes with obscure fame in seedy magazines. But, who am I to know...millions I don't have, but eccentricities I have a few. This kind of mania justifies the need for psychologist...so I say "Go Dad, heal the world of it's mental cases and save those millions because I want to prove how aliens actually landed in New York, not Roswell, to populate the earth." Whatever to those cats.Anyway...It's too bad how unfortunate events over shadow the pleasant ones. You find yourself dwelling on the funny, yet disgusting occurrences and leaving the heart warming ones at the whey side.
Yesterday, my fist claim was for wind damage to a lady's roof. I knocked on the door, she greeted me with a smile, as did her daughter. I looked over her damages. Half of it was not covered and the other half didn't amount to more than her deductible. As I sat and explained this to her...words most would scoff and yell about...she patiently listened, asked valid questions and understood. Afterwards, she and her daughter, proceeded to invite me to their church for Easter and then extended an verbal invitation to a crawfish boil they were having in the near future. I was taken aback. Normally after telling them the company they have been giving money to for years and years is going to leave you high, and not so dry, they give the obligatory "screw off" nod and I leave. I don't know if the daughter thought I was cute, or what...maybe good people are good no matter what happens, but I left there feeling pretty good. Little did I know that would change.
I arrived at my next claim. I really old trailer in the middle of a really old trailer park. Not exactly an uncommon sight for me. I park my new car beside a truck older than I am, and proceed to maneuver car parts, beer cans, and mangy animals in my trek to the front door. Up one, two, three, cracked and broken steps, I stand firm on the temporary porch, that looks as if it has been there since the truck was new. I knock on the door and wait for someone to answer. I am greeted by a muffled "Come On" from inside. I peel back the screen door, thankful I had a tetanus shout a couple of months ago, and step through the threshold into the home. There, not three feet away from me was the man I was there to met. He was a large, old, black man...and he was completely NAKED! As he was toweling himself off, while sitting in a ratty arm chair with the stuffy hanging out in more than a few places, I didn't quite grasp what was going on. My eyes flashed from the top of him to the bottom and I quickly averted my eyes to watch a fly which had landed on the opposite wall. I ask "Did you say I could come in?" To which he responded "Yeah." I informed him I think it was going to be best if I just wait out side till he gets dressed. And without waiting for a response, I turned go the hell outta Dodge. I have been greeted with many different and unique things, from Great Danes, to scantily clad women, and I can definitely say large naked black men are my least favorite, hands down. Now if that was all to the story that would be good enough, but alas, it there's more.
As I was waiting for him to get dressed his cohort came outside to start showing me the damaged areas. I was looking, nodding, and flipping through the archives of my mind to find anything to push the vision of a few minutes ago out. Zeroed in on my happy place, I professionally proceed. At this point I am under this 28 year old mobile home, where I know there are large rats (I know, because the man told me they were there). Freaking out and crawling commando style on my elbows and knees I take a couple of misaimed pictures and bugger out. Standing up in the sunshine with mud, muck, and a something I didn't want to recognize on my rain suit, I stretch and whisper a word of victory for surviving with out being eaten by a Bossier rat. My noise burns and my eyes twitch. I started smelling something I haven't smelled in a while...I look around and see the other man standing there with both hands behind his back and then I know. This man has just lit a joint and was smoking it as if I was an old football buddy coming by for beer and dominoes. Agian, I am momentarily speechless, but resecure my happily place in my mind and push onward. I wrapped that claim up quicker than most, gravel shooting from my back tires as I peel away from scaryville, I utter a sigh of relief and cover my body with antibacterial lotion.
That was not what I would consider a normal adjustment or insurance exchange. I treated that more along the lines of I will do whatever it takes to get me out of here as quickly as possible. Unfortunately I will be haunted by this, but I do know, when all the adjusters come around, my water cooler story will be the blue medal champion.
The rest of the day was pretty standard. Finish work and go. I had an engagement part to go to. Not my first choice, but I had fun. Despite having to dress up, I suffered through it and my eyes lit up at the prospect of going to the Noble Savage, the only almost Irish pub in town, and enjoying a cold pint of Guinness. MMmmm, Irish beer on Saint Patty's Day. My very own Glenn here in town. I drank Guinness until they ran out and listened to Irish drinking songs, sung by old Irish immigrants. Not a bad end to an unusual day.
Today finds me staring out the window at the rain coming down and feeling relieved at any excuse to be lazy. I think today will be a day nerdom. Piddling on the computer, reading the paper, and maybe an afternoon matinee, solo. After a really crappy week of work, todays prospects look almost perfect. Now if I can just get those Irish songs out of my head I will be fine..."Oh, Danny boy..."
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Say What?
I find it discouraging that merely a day after I spent four hours filling 13 bags of leaves from my front yard, it looks as if nothing has been done. More leaves have returned to take the place of their falled brethren. Hiding in nooks and crannies like an insect afraid of the daylight. It took me a long time to work up the energy and motivation to rake. And when I say a long time I mean somewhere in the area of 4 months.
My diligent neighbor can be found on most Fridays, and even some Mondays, meticulously combing his yard with his rake, sweeping each particle of dust from the sidewalk, and occasionally spray painting his ornamental lions that greet his guest...gold spray paint, of course. I stare out the window and watch him, in the zone, taking pride in his manual labor. I am guessing he is wired differently than I am. My thought process during my experience of yard maintenance was "why don't I just pay one of my youth to do this?" Granted the end result and appreciation period of sitting on the porch sipping a cold beer was almost worth the blisters and sweat...almost. However, the looming dread of, at some point, tackling the backyard protruded through my euphoric bliss.
Does this make me lazy or just a stereotypical example of the "next" generation. One of quick, easy solutions, willing to throw money at the problems in exchange for ease and comfort. Is it sad that sometimes I would rather buy a new stove, than put forth the effort to make it spotless? Not what one would consider a fiscally responsible choice.
I did see something very unusual while I was cleaning my yard. A older Black man was walking down the street (not unusual, but his attire was). He was wearing camouflaged pants and a white t-shirt. The strange bit of it all was the emblem on the reverse of his shirt. It was the rebel flag, the stars and bars. Traditionally this was the battle flag for the confederacy. Something, to current society, represents slavery, oppresion, and more ignorant times. Usually the stars and bars are displayed by red necks, racists, and true Civil War buffs. It was, to say the least, comical to see this man wearing this shirt. To be more specific, the center of the flag had a soccer ball on it and a mention to dixie written above the flag in big letters. My reaction was the classic movie double take. The causal glance followed by the second more surprised stare of bewilderment. I chuckled to myself as I watched him walk away. I wanted to ask him of his intentions behind the shirt, but felt it better to just speculate as my current task came back to the fore front of my mind. I don't think I have ever seen a black man react positively to the confederate flag, better yet, I have never seen one wear anything that could be considered embracing the evolved stigma of the stars and bars. It was all very odd.
Now I must prepare the lesson for youth tonight. When I am in charge, weird things happen. Good, but weird.
My diligent neighbor can be found on most Fridays, and even some Mondays, meticulously combing his yard with his rake, sweeping each particle of dust from the sidewalk, and occasionally spray painting his ornamental lions that greet his guest...gold spray paint, of course. I stare out the window and watch him, in the zone, taking pride in his manual labor. I am guessing he is wired differently than I am. My thought process during my experience of yard maintenance was "why don't I just pay one of my youth to do this?" Granted the end result and appreciation period of sitting on the porch sipping a cold beer was almost worth the blisters and sweat...almost. However, the looming dread of, at some point, tackling the backyard protruded through my euphoric bliss.
Does this make me lazy or just a stereotypical example of the "next" generation. One of quick, easy solutions, willing to throw money at the problems in exchange for ease and comfort. Is it sad that sometimes I would rather buy a new stove, than put forth the effort to make it spotless? Not what one would consider a fiscally responsible choice.
I did see something very unusual while I was cleaning my yard. A older Black man was walking down the street (not unusual, but his attire was). He was wearing camouflaged pants and a white t-shirt. The strange bit of it all was the emblem on the reverse of his shirt. It was the rebel flag, the stars and bars. Traditionally this was the battle flag for the confederacy. Something, to current society, represents slavery, oppresion, and more ignorant times. Usually the stars and bars are displayed by red necks, racists, and true Civil War buffs. It was, to say the least, comical to see this man wearing this shirt. To be more specific, the center of the flag had a soccer ball on it and a mention to dixie written above the flag in big letters. My reaction was the classic movie double take. The causal glance followed by the second more surprised stare of bewilderment. I chuckled to myself as I watched him walk away. I wanted to ask him of his intentions behind the shirt, but felt it better to just speculate as my current task came back to the fore front of my mind. I don't think I have ever seen a black man react positively to the confederate flag, better yet, I have never seen one wear anything that could be considered embracing the evolved stigma of the stars and bars. It was all very odd.
Now I must prepare the lesson for youth tonight. When I am in charge, weird things happen. Good, but weird.
Monday, March 6, 2006
Did you just call me sir?
This past week or so has been pretty good for me. I was lucky enough to pass my Texas P and C adjuster exam, which has currently landed me in San Antonio for this week. Now I am brewing a cup of coffee and staring out of my 7th floor balcony to look over the city. Not a bad set up.
Work was slow this week leading the way to a restful Wed thru Fri. Working a combined 2 hrs for those three days. I went shopping earlier this week and bought a bunch of new cloths with the company bonuses. I have figured the trick to a pleasant shopping experience. Let me first start off by stating...I am a male. This means, I don't like to shop, I feel uncomfortable foraging for sales and competing with the latest trends for my age. When I must go shopping, I look for ten minutes max, try on the one thing I need, and then leave the store. I don't linger, I don't converse with the staff, I get in, get out, and get back to the sanctity of my home. Pretty typical for me, and I like it that way. But, this week was different. In fact, I think I have found the only way to shop. Find a girl to go with you. She picks out the clothes, tells you what looks good, and steers you away from the wardrobe regrets. It's a big step to put your money and your style into her hands, but if you trust her, then you come out looking great. Which I think I did. So, next time I have to go shopping I am bringing reinforcements.
But, the real downer of the week was coming to terms with the fact I am getting old. I always thought the process of getting old was going to be gross, but easy. You know, the longer recovery periods from nights out, being excited when you buy new appliances, or those newly discovered patches of back hair. But, I was not expecting aches and pains.
Through my life I have played 9 years of soccer, 4 and a half years of inter colligent sports, and many a night of stupidity at a Fraternity house. All of these with no major injuries and only a couple of scars. But, now, in only three weeks of church volleyball, I have injured myself twice, both pretty badly. The first was to my big toe. I jumped up and landed, with all my weight, on my left big toe. It hurt for almost two weeks. Then just last week, I made a beautiful point saving dive on the court to keep the play going. Unfortunate I landed on my right knee. That took me out of the games for the rest of the night. The next morning I couldn't bend my knee. It hurt to walk and it took me four or five attempts to get up from a sitted position. I started popping advil and called the doctor. By the time appointment arrived, I could walk and bend it some, but it still hurt like hell. The doctor took the x-rays and with a pensive "hmm" started to poke and prod my knee. The questions you dislike the most from the doctor is "Does this hurt?" Because you know, even if that spot doesn't' hurt, you will eventually get to the area that does, and when the doctor doesn't have to ask you, but can see from the grimace on your face...he knows he has hit medical gold.
The doctor told me I have a possible tear in my medial meniscus. He then explained to me what that was...which I have forgotten by now, but I think it is the area where the rounded portions of the leg bones meet and for a cup. He said, it didn't look severe enough to send me to another doctor, but told me it would hurt for 7 to 10 days, and if it didn't feel better then to call him back. I was told to not run, jump, play racketball, or basically do anything athleticlly fun. Which stinks, but I guess it is best to follow his orders and avoid surgery. So I guess this gives me a doctor's note to be lazy. I can dig that. He then gave me a bunch of free meds and sent me on my way. Four days later and I am not having any more trouble sleeping from the pain, but I tackled a mountain of stair yesterday and I can feel the effects.
Getting old I can handle. The added responsibility, the waning metabolism, the shifting of goals, all of that is fine and and acceptable to me. But, the deterioration of the body is not something I want to deal with. A buddy of mine told me that he wakes up every day with something new hurting. Not something I am looking forward to. But, I guess it is better than the alternative.
Work was slow this week leading the way to a restful Wed thru Fri. Working a combined 2 hrs for those three days. I went shopping earlier this week and bought a bunch of new cloths with the company bonuses. I have figured the trick to a pleasant shopping experience. Let me first start off by stating...I am a male. This means, I don't like to shop, I feel uncomfortable foraging for sales and competing with the latest trends for my age. When I must go shopping, I look for ten minutes max, try on the one thing I need, and then leave the store. I don't linger, I don't converse with the staff, I get in, get out, and get back to the sanctity of my home. Pretty typical for me, and I like it that way. But, this week was different. In fact, I think I have found the only way to shop. Find a girl to go with you. She picks out the clothes, tells you what looks good, and steers you away from the wardrobe regrets. It's a big step to put your money and your style into her hands, but if you trust her, then you come out looking great. Which I think I did. So, next time I have to go shopping I am bringing reinforcements.
But, the real downer of the week was coming to terms with the fact I am getting old. I always thought the process of getting old was going to be gross, but easy. You know, the longer recovery periods from nights out, being excited when you buy new appliances, or those newly discovered patches of back hair. But, I was not expecting aches and pains.
Through my life I have played 9 years of soccer, 4 and a half years of inter colligent sports, and many a night of stupidity at a Fraternity house. All of these with no major injuries and only a couple of scars. But, now, in only three weeks of church volleyball, I have injured myself twice, both pretty badly. The first was to my big toe. I jumped up and landed, with all my weight, on my left big toe. It hurt for almost two weeks. Then just last week, I made a beautiful point saving dive on the court to keep the play going. Unfortunate I landed on my right knee. That took me out of the games for the rest of the night. The next morning I couldn't bend my knee. It hurt to walk and it took me four or five attempts to get up from a sitted position. I started popping advil and called the doctor. By the time appointment arrived, I could walk and bend it some, but it still hurt like hell. The doctor took the x-rays and with a pensive "hmm" started to poke and prod my knee. The questions you dislike the most from the doctor is "Does this hurt?" Because you know, even if that spot doesn't' hurt, you will eventually get to the area that does, and when the doctor doesn't have to ask you, but can see from the grimace on your face...he knows he has hit medical gold.
The doctor told me I have a possible tear in my medial meniscus. He then explained to me what that was...which I have forgotten by now, but I think it is the area where the rounded portions of the leg bones meet and for a cup. He said, it didn't look severe enough to send me to another doctor, but told me it would hurt for 7 to 10 days, and if it didn't feel better then to call him back. I was told to not run, jump, play racketball, or basically do anything athleticlly fun. Which stinks, but I guess it is best to follow his orders and avoid surgery. So I guess this gives me a doctor's note to be lazy. I can dig that. He then gave me a bunch of free meds and sent me on my way. Four days later and I am not having any more trouble sleeping from the pain, but I tackled a mountain of stair yesterday and I can feel the effects.
Getting old I can handle. The added responsibility, the waning metabolism, the shifting of goals, all of that is fine and and acceptable to me. But, the deterioration of the body is not something I want to deal with. A buddy of mine told me that he wakes up every day with something new hurting. Not something I am looking forward to. But, I guess it is better than the alternative.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Do as I say, not as I do
Some times the memories wear you down. It usually happens when you are stressed or vulnerable. You reach out with you mind to find the times when life was less about where you are going and more about where you are. For me, flashes of college, failed relationships, and missed opportunities swim through my head. The fight against the questions of what could I have done differently or what if I had made this choice instead of that one are brought to the fore front of my conscience.
On my way home tonight I passed my alma mater. There was a rush of at least 20 memories, all of which made me smile, instantaneously pulled from the archives of my brain. These happy times were quickly replaced with a sense of dread at the lack of care free, no regret situations I face before me.
I have, recently, been the person happy with my current status. I like my job, I enjoy my accomplishments, and I have a personal relationship with God. But, this doesn't make me miss my "old life" any less. A by-product of growing up is embracing responsibility and forming a new life with what you have built upon in the past. Maybe my pessimistic side is taking over at this point, but I can't tell you how many times I want to, for lack of a better word, escape.
I have been a shreveportian for going on 15 years. I have watched the cotton fields of south Youree turn into the booming mecca for the economically comfortable. I have watched schools and neighborhoods go from respectable to shambles. Most importantly I have seen many friends leave, with their heads held high and their cars pointed East. This bothers me as I look at what there is here, and what there is not here. Many times over the past couple of years I have thought about forgoing my fiscal responsibilities and disappearing. Hitchhiking down to the tip of South America has always had an appeal to me. I would also love to just move to Colorado or North Carolina. Give up my educational roots and be a seasonal instructor, floating from river guide to snow instructor as the years passed. Unfortunately, or fortunately, my mind takes over where my body fails. I am here, making my living and pursuing the "American Dream." At what cost though? When you stop being defined as what you want and start being defined as what you do, where do you go from there?
Maybe it is the few beers I had tonight or maybe it is the truth finally seeping through. Am I happy? Yes, no questions. Is there more out there? Yes, no questions. Will there every be a meeting of what I want to do and what I am doing? Now that's the real questions.
It is easy to SAY give it all up and do what your heart wants, but doing it is something completely different. How many people make these decisions and end up ruining their life and others...but how many live their dream. I have the feeling tomorrow when I check what I have written my mind will have completely changed, but that is my purgative. Most of this is just my inner ramblings written down and then stupidly shared with the world, but seeing it written brings order to the chaos of my mind. I guess when it comes down to it(the moral if you will), do what you will, but don't regret your decisions. I may never go to South America or this be a precurssor to a future decision. If I, on a whim, sell everything I have and escape to South America, don't worry about me for I am attempting to tame my inner beast and longing dreams, I will be rocking it out with my Latino friends(but don't' count on anything happening for a while). Pulling it all together has not always been a strong suit of mine.
On my way home tonight I passed my alma mater. There was a rush of at least 20 memories, all of which made me smile, instantaneously pulled from the archives of my brain. These happy times were quickly replaced with a sense of dread at the lack of care free, no regret situations I face before me.
I have, recently, been the person happy with my current status. I like my job, I enjoy my accomplishments, and I have a personal relationship with God. But, this doesn't make me miss my "old life" any less. A by-product of growing up is embracing responsibility and forming a new life with what you have built upon in the past. Maybe my pessimistic side is taking over at this point, but I can't tell you how many times I want to, for lack of a better word, escape.
I have been a shreveportian for going on 15 years. I have watched the cotton fields of south Youree turn into the booming mecca for the economically comfortable. I have watched schools and neighborhoods go from respectable to shambles. Most importantly I have seen many friends leave, with their heads held high and their cars pointed East. This bothers me as I look at what there is here, and what there is not here. Many times over the past couple of years I have thought about forgoing my fiscal responsibilities and disappearing. Hitchhiking down to the tip of South America has always had an appeal to me. I would also love to just move to Colorado or North Carolina. Give up my educational roots and be a seasonal instructor, floating from river guide to snow instructor as the years passed. Unfortunately, or fortunately, my mind takes over where my body fails. I am here, making my living and pursuing the "American Dream." At what cost though? When you stop being defined as what you want and start being defined as what you do, where do you go from there?
Maybe it is the few beers I had tonight or maybe it is the truth finally seeping through. Am I happy? Yes, no questions. Is there more out there? Yes, no questions. Will there every be a meeting of what I want to do and what I am doing? Now that's the real questions.
It is easy to SAY give it all up and do what your heart wants, but doing it is something completely different. How many people make these decisions and end up ruining their life and others...but how many live their dream. I have the feeling tomorrow when I check what I have written my mind will have completely changed, but that is my purgative. Most of this is just my inner ramblings written down and then stupidly shared with the world, but seeing it written brings order to the chaos of my mind. I guess when it comes down to it(the moral if you will), do what you will, but don't regret your decisions. I may never go to South America or this be a precurssor to a future decision. If I, on a whim, sell everything I have and escape to South America, don't worry about me for I am attempting to tame my inner beast and longing dreams, I will be rocking it out with my Latino friends(but don't' count on anything happening for a while). Pulling it all together has not always been a strong suit of mine.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Novelette, as Previously Warned
Humility is a dish best not served at all. Or so you would think. My last post was a while ago, not because I have nothing to discuss, because lets face it, with all the idiocy in the world, there is always something to talk about. My reasons for not updating the blog has been more of a time issue.
As some of you know I took an exam to be licensed to do my job in Texas. Texas, unlike Louisiana, is a little bit more selective of who can work, live, and basically exist. Why, I couldn't tell you, but as they say "Everything is bigger...and better...in Texas." Due to time constraints and seminars in the future based on my performance on the test, I had to bump up my original scheduling of the test by more than a week. This limited my original study plans, forcing me to focus all of my attention on three things. My last week consisted of working, going to the gym, and studying till I fell asleep.
Thursday came and I believed I was adequately prepared...but, I was not. I miss passing the exam by two points. Needless to say I was a little pissed at the outcome, but more shocked than anything. I am not usually a person who performs below par. I, and it may seem cocky, am use to achieving what I put my time and efforts to. However, every now and then something happens and The Man up stairs lets me know I have little to no control over the events. A little taste of humility to put me in check.
I believe a reality check is important every now and again. Granted it is not the most wonderful feeling, and you are left seconded guessing all the answers you changed and decisions you made, but knowing you are not perfect and limited in you ability puts things in place and forces you to do one of two things. You either work harder or give up. Well, I am not a quitter so I will choose to balls up and do better next time. I am not going to say I am happy with the outcome of the test, but at least I know that it wasn't a bad experience and it will keep in on track for the time being. Until the bit of humility blind sides me again.
Enough of the deep, now for the condescending shallow...
I was studying last Saturday in the local coffee shop, a tradition I have recently started...and for soon to be known reasons, I have recently suspended. But I arrived early and I was going to get some good studying in. I sat down with my way too hot Colombian roast coffee, opened my new backpack and pulled out a studying necessity...my ipod. After lefty and righty were in place and Jack Johnson was sing just for me, I cracked my book. The knowledge was flowing and people were started to trickle in. This shop also serves breakfast, and as it was Saturday, there were patrons. You had you eclectic crowd. The two middle aged ladies quietly sipping coffee and discussing some "junior league" event of the night before, The college kid sitting in the corner with his computer hard at work on some project. The old man sitting alone eating his croisaunt and diligently figuring out the word jumble from todays paper (why the word jumble, I don't know, I have always thought that to be the least fun of the them all). These were the "good guys" and pleasant people. I continued to focus on what I was doing and time was passing. Periodically there would be a quite cell phone ring and the recipient would quietly excuse himself from the building to take necessary calls. Pretty normal
About an hour or two into the morning, I had a man, around my age, sit behind me. He was alone and he didn't bring anything to further his crannial capacity. I didn't think about this much as I have seen and been someone who has the ability to just sit and think things through without a distraction. I mean how often to do you get the gist of the book by only reading the cover. Well, I can think of one. This man proceeds to get on his cell phone and randomly call his buddies. A sporadic call here and there is not too bad, but a 20 minute conversation with someone who has problems is not what one would consider public info. This didn't stop ole boy as he continued at a less than inside voice. This went on for about 40 minutes. I kept stopping what I was doing, turning my tunes up louder, looking around at all the other people he was disturbing. With no end it sight, I had the thought of turning around to him and say..."You look like a quasi smart guy. What is the difference between everyone else in this place and you? Then I was going to sing him the "some of us are not like the other" song (it's more of an insult then and presentation of facts). But, as the vail of red fury closed on over my eyes and I turned to confront my day ruiner, I remember a bit of an earlier conversation he had mentioning how he wanted to and I quote "get my hands on a piece. I need something to shoot." For the anti-pop culture aficionados, this man was trying to get his hands on a pistol. Over the phone, in a public place. Luckily I remember this and as my mouth opened I merely commented him on his NASCAR hat (and I loathe NASCAR). I decided a couple of ruined hours was worth not having missing teeth or a new air vent in my forehead. Keeping my mouth shut was more about self preservation then the righting of a wrong...selfish, maybe, but I'm ok with it.
Next was the middle 40s man who set up his computer about 15 feet from me. Nothing out of the ordinary with this guy. Keep to himself, no cell phone I could see, but something happened (as you know it was going to because if it didn't that wouldn't be funny). Well, Mister Man decided he wanted to watch some videos on his computer. No big deal, I have done the same thing in there. However, I have the cognizance to do a couple of things. Namely make sure no one else can hear what I am listening to. He was wearing headphones so I only assumed it wouldn't be a problem. Now, I am not sure if he thought they were plugged in and they weren't, or if he just had the volume up so loud he might as well have had them unplugged, but something went awry. I endured rousing tunes by Kelly Clarkson, provocative clips of college cheerleaders complete with interactive cheers, and the occasional news story. At the least you could say this man ran the gamment of info, granted there was some border line sketchy, dirty old man stuff going on. It took me a while to pinpoint the actual noise, but I exchanged some glances and stifled laughs with those of around at the pure unawareness of this man's inner pleasures he was sharing with the shop. Another 20 minutes I couldn't study.
That's when I decided to study well I needed my quite room with Cold Play in the background and my comfortable pillows tugging me into a boredom induced sleep. Just the way a man should study...maybe that's why I didn't pass? But, for now, the coffee shop will be reserved only for recreational reading and internet browsing, and the occasional cup of coffee.
Part II
I know Valentine's day (VD) was a few days ago, but I can still comment on it. I was busy studying, so I treated it as just another day, but I have decided VD is bad for three reasons. It perpetuates the commercial nature of Americans and desire to acquire junk. A three cent card sold at a 1000% mark up is the only way to get across to my love how I feel, I'm calling BS on that one. Because nothing says I Love You like a mass produced, unorginal, poem delivered by a cartoon. I am all about the effort, end results aren't as important as the effort. Just a special kind word or something new and fun...Remember that Ladies (hint hint). Secondly, it has progressed to a competition between men and woman. Whose man can outdo the others. What lady can best read and please their man. The 14ths escapades become the topics of the 15ths water cooler club. I guess I don't regard it as a real holiday, because shouldn't everyday be a day to tell the person you love how you feel? Does it really take a special day created by Big American to convey those feelings? Maybe I am just bitter because I did spend it alone and also I know I am a part of the Corporate Little Guy Killing Machine World, and I am ok with that too. Thirdly, and most importantly, it makes woman crazy. Not the cute, funny...awe that so sweet crazy. No, the pull your hair, slice your wrist, bat-shit crazy you only see in Kubric movies ("All work and No play" type of stuff). I can't tell you how many conversations I had with my female friends guessing and second guessing plans, presents, and situations. There were coming out of the woodwork, in all stages of the relationship from 2 dates, to 3 weeks of "hanging" out, to long term relationships. I listened, I feigned concern, I even did the gratuitous nods, "uh-huhs", and yeses into the phone. You know the ones were you are actually reading or watching tv, but periodically putting in a word to keep her going so you don't actually have to pay attention. Kind of like rewinding the monkey everynow and then so it continues to beat the symbols and dance, and by doing so gives the kids something to do while you relax. Apparently, I don't give a crap wasn't a good answer either. This condition also extended into those without dates. I went over to a friends house that night. He was having a party with his female remote...they both like guys if that indicates anything. They party theme was Happy Non Valentines day. Not exactly a stunningly original idea, but they went to extremes with the decorations. For example heart cookies were purchase, broken in half and put out. Happy couple streamers where hung on the walls, minus their heads. Roses, daises, and other flowers where displayed around the home, either missing the petals or with burned petals. I had to admit to myself this was a little scary. So I lumped them in with the VD crazies, excused myself after one drink, went home, and made sure all my doors and windows were locked, turned off the lights and prayed that I did not become part of the collateral damage of VD. Fortunately, I made it out unsacthed. Now less than a year before we go through it all again. Oh boy, I just can't wait.
Well, if you have read this far you deserve a prize, maybe a medal. At the least you can halve is an "attaboy." So give me a call and I will give you your reward. I have rescheduled my test for next week, I will keep you posted on how it goes.
Until Next Time...Peace Out!
As some of you know I took an exam to be licensed to do my job in Texas. Texas, unlike Louisiana, is a little bit more selective of who can work, live, and basically exist. Why, I couldn't tell you, but as they say "Everything is bigger...and better...in Texas." Due to time constraints and seminars in the future based on my performance on the test, I had to bump up my original scheduling of the test by more than a week. This limited my original study plans, forcing me to focus all of my attention on three things. My last week consisted of working, going to the gym, and studying till I fell asleep.
Thursday came and I believed I was adequately prepared...but, I was not. I miss passing the exam by two points. Needless to say I was a little pissed at the outcome, but more shocked than anything. I am not usually a person who performs below par. I, and it may seem cocky, am use to achieving what I put my time and efforts to. However, every now and then something happens and The Man up stairs lets me know I have little to no control over the events. A little taste of humility to put me in check.
I believe a reality check is important every now and again. Granted it is not the most wonderful feeling, and you are left seconded guessing all the answers you changed and decisions you made, but knowing you are not perfect and limited in you ability puts things in place and forces you to do one of two things. You either work harder or give up. Well, I am not a quitter so I will choose to balls up and do better next time. I am not going to say I am happy with the outcome of the test, but at least I know that it wasn't a bad experience and it will keep in on track for the time being. Until the bit of humility blind sides me again.
Enough of the deep, now for the condescending shallow...
I was studying last Saturday in the local coffee shop, a tradition I have recently started...and for soon to be known reasons, I have recently suspended. But I arrived early and I was going to get some good studying in. I sat down with my way too hot Colombian roast coffee, opened my new backpack and pulled out a studying necessity...my ipod. After lefty and righty were in place and Jack Johnson was sing just for me, I cracked my book. The knowledge was flowing and people were started to trickle in. This shop also serves breakfast, and as it was Saturday, there were patrons. You had you eclectic crowd. The two middle aged ladies quietly sipping coffee and discussing some "junior league" event of the night before, The college kid sitting in the corner with his computer hard at work on some project. The old man sitting alone eating his croisaunt and diligently figuring out the word jumble from todays paper (why the word jumble, I don't know, I have always thought that to be the least fun of the them all). These were the "good guys" and pleasant people. I continued to focus on what I was doing and time was passing. Periodically there would be a quite cell phone ring and the recipient would quietly excuse himself from the building to take necessary calls. Pretty normal
About an hour or two into the morning, I had a man, around my age, sit behind me. He was alone and he didn't bring anything to further his crannial capacity. I didn't think about this much as I have seen and been someone who has the ability to just sit and think things through without a distraction. I mean how often to do you get the gist of the book by only reading the cover. Well, I can think of one. This man proceeds to get on his cell phone and randomly call his buddies. A sporadic call here and there is not too bad, but a 20 minute conversation with someone who has problems is not what one would consider public info. This didn't stop ole boy as he continued at a less than inside voice. This went on for about 40 minutes. I kept stopping what I was doing, turning my tunes up louder, looking around at all the other people he was disturbing. With no end it sight, I had the thought of turning around to him and say..."You look like a quasi smart guy. What is the difference between everyone else in this place and you? Then I was going to sing him the "some of us are not like the other" song (it's more of an insult then and presentation of facts). But, as the vail of red fury closed on over my eyes and I turned to confront my day ruiner, I remember a bit of an earlier conversation he had mentioning how he wanted to and I quote "get my hands on a piece. I need something to shoot." For the anti-pop culture aficionados, this man was trying to get his hands on a pistol. Over the phone, in a public place. Luckily I remember this and as my mouth opened I merely commented him on his NASCAR hat (and I loathe NASCAR). I decided a couple of ruined hours was worth not having missing teeth or a new air vent in my forehead. Keeping my mouth shut was more about self preservation then the righting of a wrong...selfish, maybe, but I'm ok with it.
Next was the middle 40s man who set up his computer about 15 feet from me. Nothing out of the ordinary with this guy. Keep to himself, no cell phone I could see, but something happened (as you know it was going to because if it didn't that wouldn't be funny). Well, Mister Man decided he wanted to watch some videos on his computer. No big deal, I have done the same thing in there. However, I have the cognizance to do a couple of things. Namely make sure no one else can hear what I am listening to. He was wearing headphones so I only assumed it wouldn't be a problem. Now, I am not sure if he thought they were plugged in and they weren't, or if he just had the volume up so loud he might as well have had them unplugged, but something went awry. I endured rousing tunes by Kelly Clarkson, provocative clips of college cheerleaders complete with interactive cheers, and the occasional news story. At the least you could say this man ran the gamment of info, granted there was some border line sketchy, dirty old man stuff going on. It took me a while to pinpoint the actual noise, but I exchanged some glances and stifled laughs with those of around at the pure unawareness of this man's inner pleasures he was sharing with the shop. Another 20 minutes I couldn't study.
That's when I decided to study well I needed my quite room with Cold Play in the background and my comfortable pillows tugging me into a boredom induced sleep. Just the way a man should study...maybe that's why I didn't pass? But, for now, the coffee shop will be reserved only for recreational reading and internet browsing, and the occasional cup of coffee.
Part II
I know Valentine's day (VD) was a few days ago, but I can still comment on it. I was busy studying, so I treated it as just another day, but I have decided VD is bad for three reasons. It perpetuates the commercial nature of Americans and desire to acquire junk. A three cent card sold at a 1000% mark up is the only way to get across to my love how I feel, I'm calling BS on that one. Because nothing says I Love You like a mass produced, unorginal, poem delivered by a cartoon. I am all about the effort, end results aren't as important as the effort. Just a special kind word or something new and fun...Remember that Ladies (hint hint). Secondly, it has progressed to a competition between men and woman. Whose man can outdo the others. What lady can best read and please their man. The 14ths escapades become the topics of the 15ths water cooler club. I guess I don't regard it as a real holiday, because shouldn't everyday be a day to tell the person you love how you feel? Does it really take a special day created by Big American to convey those feelings? Maybe I am just bitter because I did spend it alone and also I know I am a part of the Corporate Little Guy Killing Machine World, and I am ok with that too. Thirdly, and most importantly, it makes woman crazy. Not the cute, funny...awe that so sweet crazy. No, the pull your hair, slice your wrist, bat-shit crazy you only see in Kubric movies ("All work and No play" type of stuff). I can't tell you how many conversations I had with my female friends guessing and second guessing plans, presents, and situations. There were coming out of the woodwork, in all stages of the relationship from 2 dates, to 3 weeks of "hanging" out, to long term relationships. I listened, I feigned concern, I even did the gratuitous nods, "uh-huhs", and yeses into the phone. You know the ones were you are actually reading or watching tv, but periodically putting in a word to keep her going so you don't actually have to pay attention. Kind of like rewinding the monkey everynow and then so it continues to beat the symbols and dance, and by doing so gives the kids something to do while you relax. Apparently, I don't give a crap wasn't a good answer either. This condition also extended into those without dates. I went over to a friends house that night. He was having a party with his female remote...they both like guys if that indicates anything. They party theme was Happy Non Valentines day. Not exactly a stunningly original idea, but they went to extremes with the decorations. For example heart cookies were purchase, broken in half and put out. Happy couple streamers where hung on the walls, minus their heads. Roses, daises, and other flowers where displayed around the home, either missing the petals or with burned petals. I had to admit to myself this was a little scary. So I lumped them in with the VD crazies, excused myself after one drink, went home, and made sure all my doors and windows were locked, turned off the lights and prayed that I did not become part of the collateral damage of VD. Fortunately, I made it out unsacthed. Now less than a year before we go through it all again. Oh boy, I just can't wait.
Well, if you have read this far you deserve a prize, maybe a medal. At the least you can halve is an "attaboy." So give me a call and I will give you your reward. I have rescheduled my test for next week, I will keep you posted on how it goes.
A buddy of mine, who is an adjuster, sent me this picture. Always with the bad wrap. God forbid these morons actually evaluate the situation and blame the right person...themselves. (I'm not bitter, cant' you tell.)
I was driving done in podunk now where the other day when I say this bumper sticker I like. I took a couple of pictures. You might not be able to read it, but you wont' be surprised of this car's current place when I tell you what it is. The sticker says "Honk if anything falls off." I say well done to the owner of that car. They the get the winner award of the evening.
Until Next Time...Peace Out!
Monday, February 6, 2006
Wanna Be Ballar, Shockallar, 20" blades on the Impala.
at some point you need to live up to what you are. I have said this before, but in my mind I am still 22. In reality I am on the downward slide to 30. At 22 you have fast cars, fast times, and stupid woman. These things are great, but eventually you have to grow up. Your focus switches to retirement plans, sensible automobiles, and a well balanced diet.
I first noticed a change when I went to my parents house last week. I was hungry and decided an exploratory evaluation of the frig was needed. In my youth I can remember their frig being filled with cokes, hot pockets, bolonga, and other tasty processed meats, cheeses, and junk food. Now, my options were organic bean sprouts, low fat yogurt, skim milk, and whole wheat. I sighed to myself thinking, I guess I will settle with a non fat weight watchers bar that tastes like cardboard with raisins. I think I would have had better flavor and enjoyment if I had taken a knife and fork to my boots, but I needed them for work.
Not that I am better at my house. The frig reflects, turkey instead of red meat, skim milk, heart healthy/cholesterol lowering cereal, and 100% fruit juices. But alas, I have decided attempting a healthy life is better than living a short uncomfortable one.
Along with this, I got my new company car on Friday. I traded in a Grand Prix (GP) for a new Impala. The GP was awesome. It was sleek, fast, and had the body of sports car. I was able to tear up the roads and make the woman swoon. Now, I have the sensible car. The sedan with impressive gas mileage and stylish body commanding a young professional aire. It's not a bad car at all and I do like it. Now I didn't select this car with the mindset of being more professional and achieving accessories to lead me to mentally realize my age. No, I chose this care because the GP was no longer an option. I was willing and ready to hold fast to the mind games of being younger than I am. Small steps.
Truth be told I don't think I will ever act my age. I don't even think most people act their age. My outside may be forced to middle age, but my mind, my mouth, and my silver tongue will keep me young for years. However, if I you see me wearing gray polyester pants up past my belly button with a nylon belt, constantly complaining about anything, do me a favor...smack me around a bit. The directions on my map are short but adequate..."Second star the the right and on till morning."
I first noticed a change when I went to my parents house last week. I was hungry and decided an exploratory evaluation of the frig was needed. In my youth I can remember their frig being filled with cokes, hot pockets, bolonga, and other tasty processed meats, cheeses, and junk food. Now, my options were organic bean sprouts, low fat yogurt, skim milk, and whole wheat. I sighed to myself thinking, I guess I will settle with a non fat weight watchers bar that tastes like cardboard with raisins. I think I would have had better flavor and enjoyment if I had taken a knife and fork to my boots, but I needed them for work.
Not that I am better at my house. The frig reflects, turkey instead of red meat, skim milk, heart healthy/cholesterol lowering cereal, and 100% fruit juices. But alas, I have decided attempting a healthy life is better than living a short uncomfortable one.
Along with this, I got my new company car on Friday. I traded in a Grand Prix (GP) for a new Impala. The GP was awesome. It was sleek, fast, and had the body of sports car. I was able to tear up the roads and make the woman swoon. Now, I have the sensible car. The sedan with impressive gas mileage and stylish body commanding a young professional aire. It's not a bad car at all and I do like it. Now I didn't select this car with the mindset of being more professional and achieving accessories to lead me to mentally realize my age. No, I chose this care because the GP was no longer an option. I was willing and ready to hold fast to the mind games of being younger than I am. Small steps.
Truth be told I don't think I will ever act my age. I don't even think most people act their age. My outside may be forced to middle age, but my mind, my mouth, and my silver tongue will keep me young for years. However, if I you see me wearing gray polyester pants up past my belly button with a nylon belt, constantly complaining about anything, do me a favor...smack me around a bit. The directions on my map are short but adequate..."Second star the the right and on till morning."
Monday, January 30, 2006
342 Merrick Street
Do you ever get to the point where there is so much going on in you mind and you are so tired finding a coherent thought is more difficult than Ray Nagin pulling down the white vote? That's how I am now. I usually don't have any problems writing my thoughts or happenings of my scattered mind. But, the unusual thing is I have been thinking about what I wanted to write about for a week now. However, now that I have time I can't seem to write about it. I tried four different starting ideas only to delete them. But, I am going to give it the ole college try and see if I can't get it out.
No, I just can't do it. I will have to think about it more. Actually I started and had a good portion written, but then a contradictory idea plopped in my head and I decided I would have to contemplate it for awhile longer. So, as to not disappoint those who are hiding from a work deadline under the muse of a quick computer break or those blantantly not working ( and I know who you are) I will perservire and write about something near and dear to my heart...
I think dessert is fine, but I have finally determined my favorite after dinner treat (see you thought I was going to get political, spiritual, or deep in some other form or fashion...well not tonight buddy). I like cookies. I will choose cookies over probably 99% of every other dessert. That's just what I like. I like cheese cake, ice cream, regular cake, tiramisuu, and donuts and all that other jazz, but I have a weak spot for cookies. I can pass on the other junk but I am hard pressed not to skip the cookies. I don't like oatmeal and raisins, or oatmeal for that matter. But any type of cookie is great for me, homemade, store bought, pretty, ugly, sugary, sugar free, it doesn't matter, I'll eat it. I am not a cookie bigit, well expect for those nasty, low income oatmeal cookies. When put together in a "melting pot" of cookies they are always the ones to beat up the sissy, yet wonderful, sugar cookies. Then before you know it they are stealing the chocolate chips from others and claiming them of their own. Then they mate with the pecan sandies and leave you with oatmeal chocolate nutty cookies. Those are the ones who really start causing the trouble because they go straight to my hips. So watch out oatmeal cookies cause I got a plan to make a special "oatmeal plate" for you and that is a one way ticket to my buddy who eats oatmeal cookies like you for breakfast...mostly cause he doesn't like cereal. Who would be the mayor of cookie town I wonder. If you go by the popular vote it would have to be chocolate Chip, but the Oreos would pull in the diversity factor, and Elfn Fudge cookies would also have a lot of clout with those people suffering from a Napoleon complex. It's hard to say. Personally I think it would be Milanos. Those guys are Thin, ergonomically different, the upper class of the cookie family. Face it, if you were presented with all of those on a plate, something tells me The Milano would win. Then he would push all the other little cookies, and even oatmeal out to the outside rings so it could make room for it's brand buddies to fill the council and cookie city positions. Yeah, Milanos are the mafia of the cookies. That's it, this means war...we are hitting the mattresses...with plates of cookies, big glass of milk, and a Jane Austin novel. (No, wait, I am man...cookies, milk, and football, yeah that's it)
Well, if you enjoyed my tangent about cookies and society then good. I would like to say it was for you enjoyment but that's not it. I wanted to make you crave a cookie, but there are selfish reasons behind it. When you are on the way home and you stop to buy the fixins for cookies, make sure you pick up some extra to send to me. After all I wrote this to get you all to give me cookies. I want cookies, because I love the cookies.
No, I just can't do it. I will have to think about it more. Actually I started and had a good portion written, but then a contradictory idea plopped in my head and I decided I would have to contemplate it for awhile longer. So, as to not disappoint those who are hiding from a work deadline under the muse of a quick computer break or those blantantly not working ( and I know who you are) I will perservire and write about something near and dear to my heart...
I think dessert is fine, but I have finally determined my favorite after dinner treat (see you thought I was going to get political, spiritual, or deep in some other form or fashion...well not tonight buddy). I like cookies. I will choose cookies over probably 99% of every other dessert. That's just what I like. I like cheese cake, ice cream, regular cake, tiramisuu, and donuts and all that other jazz, but I have a weak spot for cookies. I can pass on the other junk but I am hard pressed not to skip the cookies. I don't like oatmeal and raisins, or oatmeal for that matter. But any type of cookie is great for me, homemade, store bought, pretty, ugly, sugary, sugar free, it doesn't matter, I'll eat it. I am not a cookie bigit, well expect for those nasty, low income oatmeal cookies. When put together in a "melting pot" of cookies they are always the ones to beat up the sissy, yet wonderful, sugar cookies. Then before you know it they are stealing the chocolate chips from others and claiming them of their own. Then they mate with the pecan sandies and leave you with oatmeal chocolate nutty cookies. Those are the ones who really start causing the trouble because they go straight to my hips. So watch out oatmeal cookies cause I got a plan to make a special "oatmeal plate" for you and that is a one way ticket to my buddy who eats oatmeal cookies like you for breakfast...mostly cause he doesn't like cereal. Who would be the mayor of cookie town I wonder. If you go by the popular vote it would have to be chocolate Chip, but the Oreos would pull in the diversity factor, and Elfn Fudge cookies would also have a lot of clout with those people suffering from a Napoleon complex. It's hard to say. Personally I think it would be Milanos. Those guys are Thin, ergonomically different, the upper class of the cookie family. Face it, if you were presented with all of those on a plate, something tells me The Milano would win. Then he would push all the other little cookies, and even oatmeal out to the outside rings so it could make room for it's brand buddies to fill the council and cookie city positions. Yeah, Milanos are the mafia of the cookies. That's it, this means war...we are hitting the mattresses...with plates of cookies, big glass of milk, and a Jane Austin novel. (No, wait, I am man...cookies, milk, and football, yeah that's it)
Well, if you enjoyed my tangent about cookies and society then good. I would like to say it was for you enjoyment but that's not it. I wanted to make you crave a cookie, but there are selfish reasons behind it. When you are on the way home and you stop to buy the fixins for cookies, make sure you pick up some extra to send to me. After all I wrote this to get you all to give me cookies. I want cookies, because I love the cookies.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Cold Coffee Sucks
Right now I am sitting in a local coffee shop, listening to my ipod, drinking a cold cup of french dark roast(pretentious I know). Contemplating the day. It started with a loud wake up call at 7am. My cell phone alarm annoyingly signifying the start of the day. After two snoozes and a two minute gaze at the ceiling I determined one thing...I need to paint the ceiling of my bedroom. I rolled out bed straight to the shower. The day had started.
I took my car to the body shop to get a couple of dings and scratches taken care of. I am going to be without my car for a week, so I needed a rental. I thought I had reserved a nissan sonata from the dealership, but alas, I was mistaken. Apparently when the guy told me I was getting a sonata he really meant, "you are going to get a PT Cruiser." Or, as my friend calls them, a PT Loser. I would have to agree, not my favorite car. I get in the burnt, red car, complete with matching interior trim, and head to my house. My first thoughts being, "God, I miss my V6." the tiny American motor whines it's way to my house where I quickly finish getting ready, load up my work gear and head for Arkansas. This is were I realize I am without cruise control. This is bad for I am a cruise control freak. Be it 3 miles or 300 miles, I use that cruise control. It allows me to regulate my speed and give my poor footsie a rest. So...1o0 miles to drive, 75 miles an hour and no cruise. I can let my mind wonder, as per usual, for fear of speeding and getting a ticket. PT cruiser strike one. I then put my favorite CD in the player and turn it up. Bad sound system. I sounds as if the player is routing the music through a box under the hood and then to a can with a string stretched to the speakers (other can). PT cruiser strike two. The awesome hatch back doesn't fit my ladder and I have had to fold down the seats and prop it up. A hatch back car, it reminds me of my mother's Matrix. Strike three, I don't like the matrix either. I am the recipient of a great big shaft right up the tailpipe.
I went to a fire claim today. I enjoy these. They are probably the most difficult, most time consuming, and detailed oriented claim I can have. But, they do allow me to do one thing most of the others don't. I get to think, I get to go CSI on it. The people also need to be reassured and comforted more, and I feel God has blessed me with an above average ability to bring ease to people in dire straights (future Calling? Maybe). I spent two and a half hours there talking with them, this is opposed to the half hour to hour I usually spend per claim. The claim was inspected, but there was still about 3 hours worth of estimates, reports, lienholder redtape, photos, and etc to do. I hit one more claim in AK and started the miserable drive home. My cell phone battery was almost dead, and I was falling asleep at the wheel. I risked it, I call a couple of friends and persuaded them to take a break from work to help save my life. Man my friends are generous.
I get home, check the mail to find my new company car is in. Hallelujah, finally, now the fear of them finding out the rest of the deterioration of my car. So be it, I will face it head on with no excuses and no pride. If they fire me, I will become a teacher. Yeah, that sounds like fun. Or maybe I will travel with my photog uncle writing commentary, I just don't know. I know I have options though. Anyway back on topic. So I will hopefully get a new car in the next week or so. The good of the day.
Work ends, I don't feel like cooking. I check my email. I have won a pink shirt on ebay. I'm happy, but wonder if by the time I get it, will it still be kosher for straight men to wear pink. I could be buying a brand new designer dish rag, who knows. Still don't feel like cooking. Call my roommate at work, cash in a favor and get a free pizza. Hell yeah, that hits the spot. I laid on the couch for about half an hour willing myself to think of something to do so I don't veg infront of the tv. Then Drew walks in, suggest coffee shop, I'm in like Flint ( I had always thought that saying was in like Flynn as in Errol Flynn, because he was a stud and popular, but I saw a movie on AMC, one of my favorite channels now, named In like Flint, so instead of researching why I was wrong, I blindly and abruptly changed my saying and I will hope people will not notice this not so drastic change of vernacular). And here I am. La Te Da.
Now, I know you are thinking I can't believe he wasted my time with a spotty blow by blow of his day, and for that I have only one thing to say. "To know me, is to Love me."
I took my car to the body shop to get a couple of dings and scratches taken care of. I am going to be without my car for a week, so I needed a rental. I thought I had reserved a nissan sonata from the dealership, but alas, I was mistaken. Apparently when the guy told me I was getting a sonata he really meant, "you are going to get a PT Cruiser." Or, as my friend calls them, a PT Loser. I would have to agree, not my favorite car. I get in the burnt, red car, complete with matching interior trim, and head to my house. My first thoughts being, "God, I miss my V6." the tiny American motor whines it's way to my house where I quickly finish getting ready, load up my work gear and head for Arkansas. This is were I realize I am without cruise control. This is bad for I am a cruise control freak. Be it 3 miles or 300 miles, I use that cruise control. It allows me to regulate my speed and give my poor footsie a rest. So...1o0 miles to drive, 75 miles an hour and no cruise. I can let my mind wonder, as per usual, for fear of speeding and getting a ticket. PT cruiser strike one. I then put my favorite CD in the player and turn it up. Bad sound system. I sounds as if the player is routing the music through a box under the hood and then to a can with a string stretched to the speakers (other can). PT cruiser strike two. The awesome hatch back doesn't fit my ladder and I have had to fold down the seats and prop it up. A hatch back car, it reminds me of my mother's Matrix. Strike three, I don't like the matrix either. I am the recipient of a great big shaft right up the tailpipe.
I went to a fire claim today. I enjoy these. They are probably the most difficult, most time consuming, and detailed oriented claim I can have. But, they do allow me to do one thing most of the others don't. I get to think, I get to go CSI on it. The people also need to be reassured and comforted more, and I feel God has blessed me with an above average ability to bring ease to people in dire straights (future Calling? Maybe). I spent two and a half hours there talking with them, this is opposed to the half hour to hour I usually spend per claim. The claim was inspected, but there was still about 3 hours worth of estimates, reports, lienholder redtape, photos, and etc to do. I hit one more claim in AK and started the miserable drive home. My cell phone battery was almost dead, and I was falling asleep at the wheel. I risked it, I call a couple of friends and persuaded them to take a break from work to help save my life. Man my friends are generous.
I get home, check the mail to find my new company car is in. Hallelujah, finally, now the fear of them finding out the rest of the deterioration of my car. So be it, I will face it head on with no excuses and no pride. If they fire me, I will become a teacher. Yeah, that sounds like fun. Or maybe I will travel with my photog uncle writing commentary, I just don't know. I know I have options though. Anyway back on topic. So I will hopefully get a new car in the next week or so. The good of the day.
Work ends, I don't feel like cooking. I check my email. I have won a pink shirt on ebay. I'm happy, but wonder if by the time I get it, will it still be kosher for straight men to wear pink. I could be buying a brand new designer dish rag, who knows. Still don't feel like cooking. Call my roommate at work, cash in a favor and get a free pizza. Hell yeah, that hits the spot. I laid on the couch for about half an hour willing myself to think of something to do so I don't veg infront of the tv. Then Drew walks in, suggest coffee shop, I'm in like Flint ( I had always thought that saying was in like Flynn as in Errol Flynn, because he was a stud and popular, but I saw a movie on AMC, one of my favorite channels now, named In like Flint, so instead of researching why I was wrong, I blindly and abruptly changed my saying and I will hope people will not notice this not so drastic change of vernacular). And here I am. La Te Da.
Now, I know you are thinking I can't believe he wasted my time with a spotty blow by blow of his day, and for that I have only one thing to say. "To know me, is to Love me."
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