How i'm going to die

Since I don't have to write anything, I'm just going to post this. If the picture wasn't so interesting, I doubt I would. That and the fact that out of over 185,000 people that have taken this. Only 3 percent got the same result I did. Hmmm....



Your death will be from jealousy...Most likely because you hated someone or envied someone so...your only goal in life was to be better then them...but soon you will be pushed to the limits which will end up killing you...you will most likely die in a freak accident like...sky diving or something simple like going bankrupt for trying to have enerything your enemy has and not being able to feed yourself....


How Will You Die And Why? .:Beautiful Dark Pics:.
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Wet Paint

OK - I have some stuff I wanted to post, but the length would clog Where have i been?. So, I've created a new blog called Cycle Time.

I've also implemented the ability to register for updates on Cycle Time. I don't plan on updating it that much (maybe at first then a little through the winter and increasing traffic in the spring.) So, rather than have my dedicated readers clicking to see if I've updated and being frustrated, you can just subscribe. Then if I update, you'll get notice in the middle of the night via e-mail.

I've already posted one story there. Check it out and sign up for updates. :-) If I get enough positive feedback, I may implement the subscription for Where have i been?.

My child, the tastebud

You want a what? (Look, I'm talking to my taste buds here, you might want to give me a minute or two.) A malted milk ball you say? Really? How long has it been since you had a malted milk ball? Too long? You are going to have to be more specific than that if you expect to get my attention and actually talk me into getting you a malted milk ball. Look, I know how good malt smells. Even better, I know how it tastes. Add some chocolate and you've got a little bit of heaven in your hand. You say you need it right now? Look, just because you have a little craving Mr. Tastebud, doesn't mean I'm going to put on shoes, walk my happy ass to the car and drive a few miles to satiate your lust for a little malted milk wrapped in chocolate. You should have spoken up earlier, like say... when we were in the car and could have made the necessary diversion to a sales outlet for said product. What do you mean you didn't know you wanted a MMB then? This urge just came upon you suddenly and you felt the need for immediate satisfaction? Let me play you some Rolling Stones on Satisfaction. Yeah, I can't get any either Mick. Malted Milk Balls? Shut up. You aren't getting them. 'Nuff said. End of discussion.

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I have two Blogger pet peeves I'd like to discuss. First, Word Verification. People. PLEASE remove this from your blogs. It's such a pain. I'm tired of squinting to look and see, "Is it a J or some other nefarious letter?" Deleting spam is not that difficult. The majority of it comes within 10 minutes of updating your blog. Hit the little trashcan and check the box delete forever and it's gone. Poof. It never existed on your blog. Your readers will thank you. I wouldn't mind if the images actually made words, but when I have to struggle to even make out the letterforms, it's ridiculous.

Second, black pages with white text. I know this looks sexy (my blog was originally this color) but it's an incredible eye strain to read. For those of you with black pages, I'd simply request you consider using a more eye friendly color scheme. 'nuff said.

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Have a great day!

HNT# 4

OK, I promised more of my arm, here it is. Not quite the artistic photo some people have, but my art is on my arm. The wizard on the forearm took 4 hours to do. The remainder of the arm took 26 hours and 5 sittings. All the color from the the elbow up was done in one sitting. 6 hours. Everyone in the shop was awed I could sit for it. I was awed the artist finally finished the piece. From the elbow up, it's a cover-up of 4 other tattoos. Happy HNT.

Blinded by the light

All hail the chemical gurus at Crest. They have managed to whiten and brighten my smile in a mere 9 days. (Well, 10 if you read the box, but who's counting actual days?) Not me. But the fangs are all nice and pearly. Instead of being rabid dog and yellowed like I chewed tabacky or something I shouldn't really have had my mouth on. The truth is that I've suffered from a less than star quality smile for some time. I fear that it has caused me problems in the dating game. Hence, my willingness to fork over 35 bucks for a 10 day treatment of the miracle elixer that is Whitening Strips.

For a mere $3.50 a day, you too can look more attractive to that hottie on the other side of blogland. (I mean bar... ooops.) Whether you think you need this product or not, odds are you do. I mean really. How freakin' white are your teeth? Unless you are sucking on a bag of Arm & Hammer baking soda, my bet is that you could do with some fang freshening. Come on, think about it. What is the first thing you see when someone speaks? You see their teeth. Your teeth. Has twilight fallen on your own little choppers? Is sunset imminent?

36 white chestnuts stand on a hill, first they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still. Tolkien's riddle doesn't say yellow chestnuts. He implies horses, but of course he is referring to teeth - white ones. The mighty instruments that rend and tear the flesh we so love to eat. The implements gnaw on the fruits and veggies that keep us from getting rickets. Be kind to your teeth, I'm betting it comes back three fold. White and dazzling is a smile that will wilt the opposite sex and have them on their knees begging for a piece of the pie.

Most embarrassing moment

OK - two years ago for Halloween, a friend of mine did all the work for my costume. Kind of like having a personal assistant. She did the make-up and provided the wig. Make-up? Wig? That can only mean one thing. Drag. Yes, I went as a drag queen. But not being one to half-ass anything, I shaved not only my goatee off, but half my chest hair as well to get the look right, high heels, hose... The dress was an evening gown with jacket in bright crimson sparkle glitter. Well, that's how it started out. When we finished with it, it was a formal miniskirt with jacket.

Now, sitting in my kitchen with a woman applying make-up and trying not to laugh while she does it is embarrassing, but not the crux of the story. Make-up finished. Dress on. High heels upon my feet (OK - how women can walk in those things is so beyond me.) We went to a party with a bunch of people I had been riding bikes with for a couple of years. People that knew me pretty well. My friend dropped me off and went to park. She missed the grand entrance... Shame.

I entered the house and made my way past dozens of people I know all without a word. In the kitchen at the back of the house I proceeded to pour a drink. The room emptied as I arrived and then suddenly filled up with people gawking at me. "No effing' way!!!!" The ruse was blown. Someone revealed my identity and no one had known. The costume was that good.

In the course of the evening, I was hit on by about half the women at the party and more than a couple of the gay and bi men that were there (including one that no-one knew was a switch hitter.) I also got a call from a woman that I had met on-line and had been trying to get a date with. Turns out she had been out partying and just arrived home, but wasn't done for the evening. Her house was only a few blocks away. When she arrived at the party, I was in for a pleasant surprise. Anyway, we ended up in the backyard kissing. Funny to leave lipstick on a woman for a change (she wasn't wearing any 'til we kissed.) The line of the night was, "Hey, there are two hot chicks out back making out."

My friend left me stranded at the party. Later she claimed she thought I had left. So, at 3 am, no ride home and facing a $60-$80 taxi ride back to the burbs, the girl invites me to crash at her place. She's dressed in regular street clothes and I'm in drag. I'm sure the taxi driver had a great tale to tell that night. lol

So, the next morning I wake up and realize I have no clothes. The girl is like 5'1ish, I'm 6'2". Yeah... like she's going to have anything for me to wear. She agrees to drive me home. Finds me a big enough T-shirt to squeeze into. Thankfully, I'd gotten all the make-up and fake eyelashes off. But I have no pants. No shorts. No underwear. She lives in a building with a human monitored lobby. Greeeeat.

Walking through the grand marble lobby with a shopping bag holding my dress, wig, shoes, clutch purse, etc. Barefoot. With a t-shirt and towel wrapped around my waist is one of the moments in my life that I'll never forget. There is no such thing as a walk of shame for me anymore. I've gone so far past it... lol

And the gates of heaven opened

So, the lawyer down the block got himself a little Hummer? No, not talking about sex. Talking about the gas guzzling truck that everyone seems to love to hate. What's that? You want to one up him and make him feel like a wuss? Want him to really get his panties in a wad? Never fear, the truck for you is out there. And I mean TRUCK all caps. It has to be all caps. This thing isn't made by Ford, Chevy or Dodge (what's a HEMI anyway?). This bad-ass truck is built by none other than International. Yeah, the people that make heavy duty long distance haulers and other behemoth work horse vehicles.

What is it? An International CXT. I saw one in real life today. No pretty web site, no thunderous music. Just the pounding of my heart as I looked at the promised land of truck ownership. The Holy Grail of Trucks. The ultimate in self expression and complete utility combined with comfort and luxury unmatched by the detroit crew of wee trucks. You think I'm kidding? At 21 feet long and sporting a DT 466 diesel engine with a horsepower rating of 220 and 540 lb. ft. torque that combine to provide over 6 ton hauling capability this is no wimpy truck (just imagine how much beer that is...). Add in a engine service guaranteeing 500,000 miles to overhaul and I'm positively wet with anticipation. Wait, I don't have a 'gina. I guess I'm just drooling.

Want my heart to threaten to beat right out of my chest? OK - throw in a personalized paint job that will have any cholo (yes, my new favorite word) nodding and signing the cross for his own savior to rescue him from idolatry. Throw in the drop from the ceiling DVD player and air ride suspension and my poor heart doesn't have a prayer. Did I mention the two brothers? The RXT and the MXT. Call my Doctor I'm having a myocardial infarction. Please. Help. Me. Must. Purchase. This. Truck. Or at the very least, help me change my shorts. I don't know where I'll park the SOB, but you better get your little Hummer out of my way Mr. Jones. It's US born and bred and it's coming to eat you alive.




Photos Copyright International Trucks.

Orca - the flip side.

I can't say I've written anything that has received the kind of reaction that Hey Orca did. (Scroll down two posts if you haven't read it.)

I received an e-mail from a friend that read it and I wanted to post it here. I'm doing so without permission, but I hope she won't mind. Before you read her comments, I'd like to thank everyone who did comment on that post. It's apparent that this issue is a very sensitive topic. I'd like to offer you some insight into my past and why the perspective I offered may be valid (perhaps only for men though.) I have been big or heavy most of my adult life. I often think about the benefits of plastic surgery (or more accurately liposuction.) Once a new doctor I was visiting for the flu was doing a full workup on me. At the time I was probably about 60 pounds overweight. He asked, "what's the least you've ever weighed?"

"Eight pounds, six ounces!" was my immediate response. Oh, as an adult. 194 pounds. I looked sick at that weight. All my friends asked me to go out to eat with them because I looked unhealthy. I wasn't in the throes of an eating disorder, but I was working out twice a day. In my mind, I looked great. The tiny waist is something I'll only see again with the help of a lifetime workout partner. :-) Honestly, I don't ever want to be that thin again.

I also spent 6 years in the military where I was reminded often about my size. (Always too late to provide help before it was trouble though. Those who have served know what I'm talking about.) I suffered the humiliation all too many times of having to be taped to see if I met body fat standards. Even when I was obviously thin, I was still over the BMI (Body Mass Index) or whatever they called it. It sucked. I always wished someone would have come up to me when I was a little heavier and said, "Hey, it looks like you are starting to gain a little weight." Instead of being proactive, they come at you later, when it's too late to take corrective action and then you get a flag on your file (No favorable action.) This means no choice assignments, no awards (even if they are deserved) and no schools. I'm told I'm thinner now than I was in the picture I posted for HNT 3 below. I still think I'm overweight. I'm pretty happy about how I look, but I'm still working on losing some more. :-)

Anyway, I promised a letter from a friend, here it is.

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Munkey, you know I love you like retirees love BINGO, but this post is so off mark I can't even figure out where to begin. You know I've never been aproponent of PC, but this has nothing to do with PC. It's just RUDE! And having seen my sister suffer with anorexia and bulemia because our "helpful" grandmother always had "truthful" things to say, like "Honey, you are just gaining weight so fast. What is wrong?" and shit like that, I cannot in any way, shape or form support someone's decision to "help" someone out by mentioning a weight gain. Should we also say, "Hey, that facial scar is really nasty. Let me get you in touch with my plastic surgeon friend." or "You've REALLY started to age. What can I do to help you take care of your skin?" or, "My goodness your teeth are so crooked. Why don't you get that fixed by an orthodontist?" so that we can help everyone with a less than desirable trait? You've been my friend for several years now, and you know I have the self confidence of a super model. I truly think I'm beautiful in every way, and I'm intelligent, with excellent shoe sense to boot! :) But with my struggle with my weight, if anyone ever mentioned I had gained weight, I'd be crushed. I have a mirror and a scale that will tell me that. I don't need a "friend" saying anything. And I'd rather cut off my arm than ever make anyone feel bad by drawing attention to any physical trait that's less than perfect. The impact the negative comment would make would FAR outweigh any good that one might think may come of it. JMO.

HNT 3

OK, the HI-RES version of this is missing. I'll try to find and post it early next week. Sorry.

Hey Orca...

This topic has been in my mind for years. I just never thought to write it down before. So, you have a friend, family member or co-worker who has been packing on the stray pounds (OK - they weren't stray, they were chocolate cake, soda pop, french fries and nachos before they were part of your friend.) Did you say, "Hey, are you gaining weight?"

Now, this might seem rude, but lemme ask you this. When your friend, family member or co-worker (random person - RP) loses weight, aren't you the first to 'support' them by asking, "Hey, are you losing weight?" Which one is more constructive. The attempt to make your RP feel better about the loss of a couple of pounds is really a failure on your part. When they really needed you, you were handing them the plate of lasagna or the high carb beer. A true friend friend would say, look, I know this is hard, but RP, my man (girl), you need to Just Say No!

Are we trying to boost someone's spirits by reminding them... Hey, you are fat. Which is what you are really saying when you say, "Hey, you are looking thinner today." Instead, compliment your RP (random person - remember) when they are still barely hanging over their jeans. Hey, you are starting to lose that great figure... Break the taboo. Talk to your RP about their health, how much they mean to you, your concern for them. Or take them for a walk, or a bike ride, or a game of racquetball... whatever it takes. You can do it. Make a positive difference before there is a problem. The words are simple. "Are you gaining weight?"

Sartorial Splendor

An admin in my office commented to me today that another guy in the office had a good eye for visual. "Conservative, but not too much. You know, he always dresses nice. Not as nice as you, but we're not used to your level."

My level. Hmm. Just what is my level? I've been reading men's fashion magazines for at least 20 years. Since I was a kid really. I've forgotten more about fashion than most men will ever know. Does this mean I'm a fashion plate? Hardly, but I do put together interesting combinations when I dress. I championed the chino pants with black shirt and shoes for Friday casual in one office. I quit wearing it when I realized both men and women had begun copying me. I moved to black slacks with french blue shirts.

I quit wearing ties when our corporate policy clearly states that men will wear ties and jackets. Yeah, right. I wear bright colors when warranted. I have clothes I only wear in the winter. Conversely, I have clothes I only wear in the summer. The same goes for shoes. I have pairs that are only for summer and a few winter only shoes. Yes, I'm a clothes whore. We've established that. Moving on...

Today for example, I was wearing a custom made shirt, in a beautiful gray/silver herringbone pattern and a gold/gray tie (yeah, I break my own rules sometimes too) with black slacks. I looked nice, but nothing special if you ask me. Oh, and before you get all bent about me getting custom made shirts, I have yet to find an off the rack shirt that fits right. If the neck and arms fit then it looks like Omar the Tentmaker made the shirt body. So, I don't have a lot of choice in the matter. It doesn't cost appreciably more than a good shirt off the rack either. Not to mention that with custom made shirts you don't get plastic buttons that shatter at the cleaners.

Name that guy

My apartment complex nickname is a topic that often came to mind as I unloaded groceries or wine cases from my car and carried them inside. You know how you give neighbors little nicknames? Redneck Bob, Chain smoker lady, Yapper dog lady, In dire need of birth control family, the inevitable single "MILF" (from far away), Workout girl, Tennis club lady, Steroid head, Crazy bitch, Cholo wannabe, etc...

I'm pretty sure mine is Redneck Guy, or Tattooed guy. Once in my last apartment complex there was a fire. Complete with shrieking homeowner that started the blaze by having her power shut off and using candles to light her home while she was in the bathtub. Trust me, none of us wanted to see her wrapped in a towel in the parking lot, screaming and crying. (Yeah, not even in a towel. Ewww...) I love how people gather to gawk when there is a fire. I think it's all about the gossip opportunity. I cracked up my neighbors by bringing up the nickname thing. Asking why she (lady in a towel) had run to Postal Guy's apt (in our stairwell instead of one in her own) screaming that her's was on fire.

I learned his nickname wasn't Postal Guy, but Alcoholic Postal Guy. It was then that I realized that I wanted nothing to do with my neighbors. They spent far too much time analyzing the lives of those they lived around. But, I couldn't let the nickname thing go... I kept cracking people up by subtly pointing out people in the parking lot/courtyard and giving their 'nickname'. I'm sure it was strange for other neighbors in the wash of the firetruck lights to see us laughing. I also learned that the guy that ran the carpet/apt cleaning business (thus the moniker Mr. Clean) that had just moved to another apt. in the complex from our stairwell was a pedophile. How nice to know that my neighbors were so interested in their neighbors that they would pass on THAT information. This caused me to do a little research. Strange, he wasn't in the pedophile database, but he was on record for sexual assualt. Hmmm... reduced charges perhaps or just a little wife beating? (I'm not making light of that, it's another rumor I heard later).

Maybe my nickname was Wine Guy, or Baguette Boy (since I often eat baguette with brie), I'm pretty sure it was Tattoo Guy though. I have a lot of them. Certainly Munkey never crossed their minds, but I like it when people refer to me as Munkey, so I'll keep it for awhile. Now I'm off to go read the exploits of Buffalo who I'm sure is Harley Dude in any apt. complex, but has so much more to offer.

Dear weary traveler...

We are sorry to inform you that your bid was not accepted due to the fact that each of our partner airlines are doing their very best to stick it to each and every one of our customers. They feel that you should have realized you wished to pursue holiday travel at least (AT LEAST) 6 months ago. Your failure to be pre-cognizant of upcoming travel opportunities makes us delirious with laughter to the point that our stomachs hurt. As you might notice, airlines have more than quadrupled airfare during the times and dates you wish to travel to see friends, loved ones (even Aunt Martha - yes, the one that smells.) We have done this to ensure that your ass stays safely in that nice plushy recliner all your friends love to sit in when they visit, but wouldn't put in their own home if you paid them.

Now, all that said, you are more than welcome to consider one of our selected high ass fares that match your desired itinerary for travel below. We just wanted to let you know that the cheap ass airlines no longer serve food on the plane. Feel free to bring your own overpriced airport food on board and eat it at room temperature several hours into the flight (if you get sick due to improper food storage, we really don't give a shit - we recommend Cinnabon which requires no further refrigeration or heating to eat (and incidentally, we own stock in it, so help a brother out)). We also must make you aware that the inflight snack has dwindled to generic pretzels in shapes you'd never see in a store. We swear these were not obtained at reduced cost (at least to us) in or near Chernobyl. Depending on which partner airline you end up with (not that we care) you may receive a whole can of soda midway through the flight or a small cup filled with ice and a few ounces of the precious liquid you so crave to moisten your throat.

In lieu of the above, we hope you have a pleasant stay at home alone this holiday season. Please consider booking flights with us now for the 2006 Holiday Season. We think we have a few seats in the tail of an old propeller driven aircraft. The craft may have at one time been used in China or other third world countries to ferry everything from smelly nerf herders to loose chickens. Beware any stains on the seats. As always, it is our pleasure to serve you (yeah, right). Sincerely Cheap Ass Travel Staff.

A toast

This is in response to a post by Audrey .

True love. My question back is was there ever true love or did people just work harder at it due to stigma or other factors. My grandfather was walking down the street with a buddy as a young man and saw my grandmother across the street. He smacked his buddy and said, "I'm going to marry that girl." He did and they were married until he died in his 60's. Today's generation the guy would turn to his buddy and say, I'm gonna nail her. He might, he might not depending on his charms. But he probably doesn't think too much about finding true love. He thinks about other things. Things that seem important.

I actually tried to follow my grandfathers footsteps and declared my desire to marry a woman I saw once. I did indeed meet her, surprised her enough to get to know her and lost her to a Dr. all in the same week. We remain friends, but I curse my grandfathers luck/skill in accomplishing his stated goal and then me not.

Love is ever elusive and it means different things to different people. There are still people going through with arranged marriages (yes, even in western culture). These marriages are far more likely to succeed. Why? Because family honor is at stake. It's a lot more difficult to walk away when you have family involved. Then again, are the people happier getting married to someone they don't even know? What is the sex like that first time? You might not even be attracted to the person. What kind of skill/game takes over at that point? I haven't a clue.

I used to tease my friends that I was looking for a 5 year contract marriage with an option to renew. Now, before you freak out. Think about it for a minute. Most marriages don't last that long to begin with. For 5 years, you are assured a partner. Since it's based on business and not emotion, you might find that you actually have more reason to stick through any turbulence that comes your way. Then again, maybe you'd just be waiting for that 1826th (yes, I added a day for leap year. If you wed in a leap year, make it 1827 days) day so you could move on. 1800 days. Is that really so many? And you never know. Maybe you'll want the option to renew to be exercised. A special clause with cause for celebration.

True love. I don't know is my answer. I certainly am not going to give up on finding it because my heart got bent or cracked a couple of times. Honestly, if there has never been pain or hurt in your life, you have not lived. Here's to living. Raise your glass.

HNT 2

OK, the picture I wanted to post got corrupted, so will try that one next week. This is my last second effort. I was going to wait awhile to post this. It was taken right after the artist finished, but the colors will still rock your world... yeah. Not kidding. Will post more of the arm in later HNT's. What is HNT? Click here.

Empty

Your silent whisper fills my ear
My pulse quickens with desire
The essence of your skin envelops me
Soft silk of your hair teasing my body
You dart away from my grasp
Only to return for more teasing
All my senses near overload
My hands twitch with need unfulfilled

Starbucks kind of day

I'm trying to figure out what we drank before there was Starbucks on every corner (and sometimes even on opposite corners). I'm not a big coffee drinker. I more of a social Starbucks drinker than a heavy drinker or even a Starbucksaholic. See, I've come to the conclusion that it's no longer about the coffee. I mean seriously, how often do you go into a Starbucks and just hear, I'll have a coffee black? Do they even serve that there?

I order my mocha caf or decaf depending on my mood. Iced or warm depending on the temperature outside. Even in winter, it's likely to be Iced over warm. Decaf over Caf. The two women behind me order: I'll have a Grande Chai, the other one says something I don't even understand. Starbucks coffee speak. Something nonfat with whipped cream and carmel... Uh, you want that in diet honey? How about low-carb coffee? I'll have the Atkins approved latté. Make it a double.

I ordered my blueberry muffin and was told, "I'm sorry, we are out of those. We have lo-fat?" What the hell is that? The look that crossed my face had to have been pure revulsion. She almost recoiled. Oops. I mean seriously, why would I want a lo-fat muffin? Can you bake that at home? Hello? Baked goods have fat in them. That is why they are so good. And why I only eat them once or twice a month. OK, what else do you have? Cranberry? OK. I can live with cranberry, but please don't try to serve me anything non-fat again. Ewww...

As I wait for my coffee (not long for a change) I contemplate what motivates the employees at Starbucks. Generally, they are smiley, happy people and they always tell me to have a good day without me having to tell them first. Perhaps that is what Starbucks really sells. Have a good day. Think about it. If you are one of the addicted, what is it that you are going in there for? Is it the caffeine? You can get that anywhere. Is it the little logo on the cup? The mermaid with a crown. Or is it the fact that someone is going to tell you to have a nice day? And you get to carry that out with you in the form of a little paper cup into the world at large.

I walk out into the gray day with the faint beginnings of a smile on my face. Mocha (warm and Caf) and muffin (fully ladened in fat) in hand. I look across the parking lot at all those lost souls without a Starbucks in their hand and I can't help but feel sorry for them. Hey, have a nice day!

Bring in the heavy equipment...

I began the day with visions of heavy earth movers, wrecking balls, crane's, heavy duty forklifts, hard hats, an army of laborers and metal lunch boxes with thermoses of coffee and a special note from a loved one inside. What I got, was me. Yeah, a one man team of Sea Bee caliber engineer, architect and builder all rolled into one. Too bad neither the engineer or the architect or the builder was required. It goes without saying for this project the heavy equipment wasn't required either. Just the laborer. Me.

Reorganizing a house you just moved into is never a pleasant task. You still aren't all the way out of box hell and you know if your heart that you unpacked the wrong stuff to begin with. Where is this? where is that? I decided today was the day. Moving large furniture items from one end of my manse to another simply to have an easier traffic flow. Suddenly, I appear to have more room? Is this an optical illusion? Of course, emptying those 5-8 boxes helps. Re-stacking is another great option that is widely under utilized. I mean, if you re-order the mess, it appears you've actually accomplished something right?

So, unveiled in the effort was the dish detergent I've been too stubborn to buy a new box of since I moved in 'because I have some already, dammit'. How it ended up mixed in with the wine cellar that had taken temporary residence in the office, I have no idea. Well, I do, but I'm not in the pointing finger mode today, especially not at myself. *Looks around guiltily, furtive even* Is that paranoia I smell? Hmmm... might be.

I can see more of the office floor, I rearranged the bedroom, I can see almost all the floor I'm ever going to see in the living room. The kitchen counters are nearly cleared of moving debris. I hauled no less than 5 trips to the dumpster ranging from clothes racks to emptied wine cases and clothing I've decided my re-burgeoning fashion sense dictates I no longer even consider putting over my naked body to clothe it. This however didn't open up an more room in my near to bursting closet. It just got more clutter off the floor. Not that this is a bad thing, but now I'm considering just how to reduce the amount of clothing I have in the closet and plans to obtain anything new in the future will certainly necessitate the removal and immediate discarding of seminal favorites. Grrr...

So, in the end, I have a greater sense of peace than if I had gone to some type of religious tent revival and had my heathen soul saved. Lay hands on me brother and you'll soon be able to demonstrate with great accuracy just how to remove a size 11 shit kicker from your tight ass. Strange how that particular image gives me even greater pleasure and sense of peace with the world isn't it?

Highway lines

We were driving through winding highways in southern Wisconsin on our way to an advertising competition in Madison. "What are you thinking?" D asked.
"I'm thinking of driving off the cliff," I responded. I looked in the rearview mirror at the 10 people in the van. I was just being honest, that's what I was thinking. What would happen if I just keep going straight and drove off the road? See, I used to think about it a lot. Just turning the wheel at 75 MPH. I didn't have a death wish, I had an experience wish.
"You are kidding right?" she asked.
I didn't turn to look at her. The highway was very curvy and the van I was driving with a trailer attached wasn't exactly a sports car with a tuned suspension.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to do it," I smiled.

We came in second place in the competition to everyone's dismay. The trip home was somber and full of sleeping people. Once again I had the wheel. The drive from Madison home was a very long one. Three hours from the end I asked someone else to drive. They declined. The weather was deteriorating. OK, I'll keep driving.

It was cold and raining. A typical Plains April. The rain was freezing on the windshield. I was 22. I was not happy. 35 more minutes and we'll be home. Then I got my experience. 8 people in my extra-long van. Pulling a trailer. Changing lanes we hit black ice. Trailer whipped. The van fishtailed. I remember saying, "OH, Shit." Clearly. Audibly. Only two people were awake. Sleeping probably saved their lives. The van turned backwards. I tried to steer it straight. (seeing the marks on the highway later, I'd see I kept it on the road for a long time. Not long enough. I recall seeing the ground coming up to hit the van. So slow.

Then I'm standing 30 yards away. Cars are already stopping on the road to help. The trailer was ripped in half. The side door on the van was lying in the ditch. All the windows were broken. The flat top was more A shaped. The girl who had been in the front passenger seat was wrapped about the front right wheel. How she was not crushed I will never understand. When I was thrown out, the van rolled over my leg in the soft mud. Looking down as I limped to the van, it looked like a gallon of blood was in my jeans. (It turned out to be mud.)

I got M out of the wheel well. Then proceeded down the side of the van checking to see if everyone was OK. All conscious. D screamed, "OMG [munkey] you saved our lives." I looked at the ground between the highway and the van. I looked at the furrows the van had dug as it rolled. We had rolled three times. I don't think I saved anyone. I didn't say anything. Another guy was bleeding from a severe deep laceration on his leg. I dug in my luggage (which had been in the trailer) and found a clean T-shirt to hand him. D again, "[munkey], you are bleeding pretty bad." The blood was at least 3-4 inches down my t-shirt like a giant sweat ring.
"Don't tell me that," I replied. When the van rolled, my head had split open on the roof inside. A huge spray of blood I saw later confirmed that.

The highway patrol arrived and put me in his car. Everyone else was shuttled to various hospitals. Finally an ambulance arrived for me. They put me in a neck brace. Put me on a back board. Strapped me down. I couldn't move. I could only see the ceiling. No faces. Just shifting voices in the semi gloom. I asked one of the paramedics to hold my hands. I was cold. So cold. I wanted to sleep. So tired and cold. Just let me go to sleep. Just gonna go to sleep. OK? They wouldn't let me.

As they wheeled me out of the ambulance the wheels collapsed. I fell. Neck brace, back brace. I'm falling. I'm going to be paralyzed. "Are you OK?" They shouted at me. "I don't know."

They wheeled me into the ER. I can't see anything but white ceiling tiles. I hear D, "Oh, my GOD. Look at [munkey]". The tears ran then. Straight down the sides of my face. I felt them creeping by my ears.

Happy HNT

First of all, I must apologize for my post yesterday. When I started this blog, my intention was to post only the good. To have people leave with a positive experience. I failed miserably yesterday for that. I'm looking for applicants to wield the wet noodle for my 40 lashes.

I've decided to try a HNT today. I don't think this will be a regular thing, but once is good right? Try everything at least once. :-) What is HNT? Click here.

So with no further crap. Here it is. Not the most creative compared to some the other HNT posts out there, but I hope you'll like it.

Lick me sideways...

I don't have time or the patience to write a nice piece of prose today. In short, I just don't give a damn. I have this incredible tension in my arms and hands. I want to shake them. Flail them. Sit on them even. In motion, they wish to be still. Still, they desire motion. I'm tired of sitting in this chair. I'm tired of everything around me. I need a change of latitude. I have more shit on my mind that I can't control than I can shake a stick at. Not that it would help any. Perhaps I'm just exhausted. The idea a futility is strong in my mind today. What good does it do anyway? I'm withdrawn, taciturn and I honestly don't care. Now go read some other blog. There are no smiles here today. Go on. Piss off.

Risk

Merriam-Webster OnLine defines Risk as:

Pronunciation: 'risk
Function: noun
Etymology: French risque, from Italian risco
1 : possibility of loss or injury : PERIL
2 : someone or something that creates or suggests a hazard
3 a : the chance of loss or the perils to the subject matter of an insurance contract; also : the degree of probability of such loss b : a person or thing that is a specified hazard to an insurer [a poor risk for insurance] c : an insurance hazard from a specified cause or source
- risk·less  /'ris-kl&s/ adjective
- at risk : exposed to a usually specified danger or loss [patients at risk of infection]

OK, so now that we have a basic definition to be on the same playing ground, I'd like to talk about how I see risk. Or more aptly, what I think is missing from this definition. The reason to accept risk. We often hear the phrase, nothing risked, nothing gained. Some might call this gambling. Others see it as business or even sport. You risk because the goal is something worthwhile. A person's ability to overcome fear of failure or loss defines the limits of risk they will assume. For a Million Dollars you might accept a huge amount of Risk. Whereas for $10,000 you might assume very little. Then again, depending on your need (or perceived need) you might go all out for $10,000 or even $500. You might accept public humiliation or degradation to get further ahead financially.

Socially, how willing are you to risk? A lot? A little? Assume there is a cutie you see on a regular basis. How far are you willing to go to attempt to create a liaison with them? Does the fact that you know or don't know them factor into your thought process? Does distance enter into the equation? For true love, are you willing to accept a huge risk in many areas with the payoff being the partner you crave?

Are there other rewards that you Risk for? Public recognition, personal satisfaction, kind words, career progression? What tops your list for Risks you will accept? What kind of rewards do you seek? Are they worth it? Are there things you could seek that would potentially bring greater fulfillment? Does your fear hold you back from achieving your dreams when the Risk isn't that great?

Synapse burn

In my rage my sorrow comes full circle
My throat raw with pent up emotion
My heart the sound of a wild stallion
Eyes burn with liquid crystal drops
Vision refracted through limpid pools
Hands twitch with unconscious cause
Body tense yet weak with inability

Pump up the volume

What was that? I can't hear you. What? Turn it down? If it's too loud, you're too old. Riiight. Here is the thing. While there was a short period in my life when I thought having a booming car stereo that could be heard a block away was cool, I am most certainly past that point. I'm not saying I don't play my stereo loud with the windows down which I'm sure irritates some people, but it's stock... it can't be THAT loud.

This in complete contrast to the guy that just drove by my house. My windows are shut and still let it a good deal of noise, but the bass was shaking the wall my foot is resting on. Now, if that happens, what do you suppose is happening to the persons body that is mere feet from the speaker that emanates this noise? Could his organs be damaged? Internal bleeding? Ass munch.

I am getting old though. Loud noises tend to really get on my nerves more with each passing year. Or is that month? I'm not sure. It began with loud talkers. You know the one in the restaurant that is letting everyone know their business? Like I give a wild donkey dick if your cramps are like a vice grips or that Marsha is cheating on Bob and you just don't know what to do beside share the gossip with your best friend and the entire dining room.

From there, it went to loud noise in general. Babies crying, children squealing, the guy farting in the bathroom stall (whole separate post I hope I never write), construction noise. Maybe I just hear really well? Doubt it. I do have a really great sniffer though. My sense of smell is off the hook. I can smell a cigarette in the car in front of me doing 25 miles an hour when we both have our windows open. And I mean just lit, not when he/she/it is blowing enormous clouds of foul smelling smoke into my atmosphere. Double ass munch.