This one is from the heart

Ya know, sometimes I just roll with things the way they are and don’t question them. Usually because it seems self explanatory and I don’t need to question it. But other times, things seem so unclear that I need to question it and get an explanation. For example…If someone has ‘All their shit in one sock’ it means that they really have it together. They know what they are talking about. ( ie. ‘Todd’s got his shit in one sock.’) Or, something that needs explanation… ‘Mikes got the dizzle with the wizzle on the izzle’. I have know idea what I just said…could someone enlighten me?
Well, I just found something out that I was unclear about but really never cared too much about it to ask (or Google) anyone what it meant. It’s an ‘emotioncon’. Ya, those little keyboard characters that in certain sequence appear to be certain things if viewed the correct way. Ie. : ) The ‘colon’ and the right parentheses appear to be a smiley face if viewed from the right, meant to show that your comments are not too serious or you are joking. These come in many different shapes and sizes as most of you know. However, one came across my computer screen one day that I had no idea what it was. Here it is.

<3

Now, I don’t know what you see here, but if I view this thing from the right, I see the top view of a chick bent over. If I view from the left, I see the top view of a chick bent over giving me a BJ. So I ask myself…WTF? Why would a chick add one of these at the end of her sentence that says….I miss you! <3. Does she miss giving me head? Does she want it doggy style? We’ve never even had sex, let alone TALKED about it. Is this a sign? Is she throwing signals out there for me? Do I act on them? Hind sight…maybe I should have, just to see what would happen.

OR – it’s some code for wanting to have sex with me…think about it…’<3 is the ‘less than’ sign and the number ‘3’…so…less than 3. She wants us 2 (two) to get together. She wants to have sex! No?

If I use my imagination…I can see an ice cream cone that’s been licked down the center. <3 See it?

It’s a set of boobs huh? <3 Could be!

No, none of the above….I just found out that it is a heart. I guess it could be if you look at it just right. <3 But it has to be from the left. I’m not used to that. I don’t like it.

2 seconds dude...Just 2 seconds!!!!

I'M BACK!!!! Sorry It's been so long. TONS have happend in the past few months and things are settling back down to where I can write again. I'll do my best to keep up on this with a couple of stories a month for ya for now then maybe more later. During my hiatis, I've managed to have a few things happen that are worth blogging about. Here's one of them...enjoy!



My 15 yr old son got on this kick of wanting to make some salsa. He got on the interntet and found a bunch of recipies and was totally stoked about making it. So the following weekend, while out grocery shopping, we picked up all the fixins for the salsa except habaneros. The Wal-Mart we were at didn't carry them. So, we stop by the smiths and they didn't carry them either. Well, after that, we went home and dropped off the groceries and headed out again to find some. We stopped at 3 other grocery stores this Sunday afternnon looking for habeneros and nobody in the area had any. Nobody!!! I needed a Mexican market and the only one I could think of was about 5 miles away in our old neighborhood. After our 20 minute drive to this market we pull in and it is packed. I find a parking spot and pull in. As I'm pulling into this spot, my son farts. He rips ass in the car just before were getting out! What a dumb shit! 'That stink is going to sit and ferment in the car with the sun beating down on it until we get back! Couldn't you wait 2 seconds to get out of the car BEFORE you shit yourself! Fuck!' As fast as I can to avoid the stink, I pop the sun roof open just enough for air to get out, roll up all the windows tight, unplug my IPOD and stash it, unplug my cell phone and get out of the car, hit the door locks button close the door. 'I can't believe you just did that!' I told him. 'Just 2 seconds dude! Shit! You could have waited!' He laughs and off in the store we go. It's packed with people and loud Mexican music like were in some kind of Mexican club or something. Really crazy. We spend maybe 15 min in the store and we are out. As we are walking to the car, I'm searching for my keys. Nothing. Left pocket, right pocket, back pockets....nothing. 'You got my keys Jordan?' 'Nope' he says. Shit! I try the door and sure enough it's locked. I look inside on the seats and no keys. I look at the ignition and sure enough, there they are, hanging, looking at me...laughing at me. 'FUCK!' What to do?....What to do?....I notice my sunroof is open just enough for a finger to slide in, maybe I can get a wire hanger in there and hit the unlock button on the door with it. I first call the nearest person I now...my ex-father-in-law. 'Hey, you busy? I locked my keys in the car and I'm just up the street for you, can you run a wire hanger to me?' After he stops laughing, he manages to say, 'we don't have wire hangers.' then continues on with his laughing. He manages to settle down and we get done talking about suggestions and hang up. I decide to walk over to 'big lots' next door and buy a wire hanger. Jordan and I spend maybe 20 minutes looking around the small store for wire hangers then finally ask a worker where they are at. 'We don't carry wire hangers sir.' 'FUCK!' Since we were in the hardware area of the store I'm looking for something, ANYTHNG that will work. Jordan mentions he 'KNOWS' his window is down a couple of inches. He 'swears' it is. I said, 'no way. I made sure the windows were up! Look at the neighborhood were in! Full of crime here. No way am I going to leave my window down here! I'd be lucky if my tires were still on the car when we get back from buying something to unlock the door!' I end up buying a $3 mini-magnet on a flexible wire that will fit in the window he says is down and unlock it from there. It's only about 18" long. Just long enough to stick in the window and go straight down to the door lock button, then were in! We get back to the car and sure enough, the window is up tighter than a nats ass. I need a wire hanger. Just then, a Mexican pulls up and parks in the spot in front of me. He and his wife get out and he approaches my car. 'Jew lock jur keys n jur car?' he says. 'Yep.' I say. As he walks around the front of my car he hesitates and puts his hand on the hood of my car and says, 'zit runnin?' 'What?' I ask. 'Jur car...zit runnin?' 'Is my car running? No, it's the van next to us with the people in it. My car is not running.' I say. 'No' he says, 'Zits runnin! Feel it!' I put my hand on the hood and sure enough, I can feel the vibration of the engine. I put my ear to the hood just to make sure and sure enough...zits runnin! 'FUCK!' I've spent 15 minutes in the mexi-mart, another 15 on the phone with me ex-father-in-law, another 20 + in the store looking for a hanger, and now another 10 trying to get in! All in this crime infested Mexican neighborhood! FUCK FUCK FUCK! Now time is of the essence here. I call the next closest person I know. M. She has TONS of wire hangers. 'Hey, you busy? I have a little dilemma here.' I give her the rundown and after she stops laughing and calling me an idiot, she says she'll be right down with a wire hanger. 10 minutes later she shows up with the wire hanger she almost forgot to bring because she was in such a hurry to get out the door for me. 'THAT would have been just fantastic!' I said. 'Just my luck right now. Shit!' I straighten out the hanger and stick it through the sunroof and down to the door lock button. I stick the hanger in as far as it will go and my fingers through the little opening in the sun roof and the hanger is an inch away from the button. 'FUCK!' It don't reach. Shit! M says, 'give me that hanger! I got thin long fingers.' She lays down on the top of my car and sticks the hanger and her long fingers through the sun roof, and in seconds, hits the unlock button. 'You're my hero!' I say. 'I know,' she says, 'and you're my idiot.' 'I know.' 'Keep the hanger.' she says, 'you may need it again! hahah' 'Fuck off!' I say. The moral of the story here is don't shit yourself IN the car. Wait 2 seconds to get out and everything will be just fine. FUCK!

Update...

Ok - I'm a slacker, I know. Been awhile huh? Well, it may still be awhile before I get another blog up. I've started a second job and I am working basically from 7am til 11pm nearly every day. Getting old real quick. So, to hold you over, I'm goin to refer you to a previous blog that is totally relevant to todays happinings. I'm talking about the 4th of July partying plans.... Here it is...
http://ishouldnotdothis.blogspot.com/2007/07/i-have-dream.html

Now - just so you know, I'm going to pull a few stories out of my childhood out for ya for the next couple of blogs. Stories that me and my best friends had done. Like, what happens when you get 2 13 year old boys, a sledge hammer and a .22 bullet all in one place together? A coffee can, bricketts, gasoline and a lighter? Or, the need to keep my friend from moving, his backyard and a shovel? Maybe even something to do with a kid by himself kicking a soccer ball around and the need for one of my friends to go kick his ass for no reason at all. That was interesting...what a dumbshit.

Beijing beef anyone???

Have you tried the new Beijing Beef at Panda! Wow….pretty good stuff.

Ya know, I’ve been going to panda for quit some time for lunch and when the got their new ‘Beijing beef’ I had to try it. Really, really good. The sauce it is covered in has got a nice kick to it. It’s cooked up in a wok with green and red peppers and onions. Quite tasty.

So, today, I’m at lunch with 3 of my groupies and 3 of us got the panda. I went for a split entrée of the noodles and rice, a side of Beijing beef and Orange chicken. I’ve had this meal many a times.

Today, as I’m enjoying my Beijing beef, I notice that a piece of beef had been folded over onto itself as it was cooked in the spicy sauce. I opened it up and exposed the actual color of the beef. What I found was quit surprising. The ‘beef’ did not look like normal beef. Normal as in what an Americans definition of beef is. Cow. This beef is not cow. It is something else. Next time you have the Beijing beef, look at it. Feel the texture in your mouth. Very different from cow beef.

So, this begs the question…What is ‘Beijing’ beef?

We know that Beijing is in China. And we know that in China, they eat dog. So this leads me to believe that Panda is selling dog meat and calling it Beijing beef. They wouldn’t be lying if this would be the case. I mean, ‘Beijing’ beef to me WOULD be dog. Just like ‘American’ beef is cow. So I can’t fault them for that. But….I had to know for sure, whether or not I was eating dog. So, I question the all knowing internet. I could not have been more wrong....

‘What is Beijing beef?’

One of the first sites that I noticed in the head lines that defined Beijing beef was the Urban Dictionary. Here is what I found….


1. Beijing beef

To perform intercourse so vigorously that the female is forced to squint.

"She requested a double entree platter of Beijing Beef, and I was happy to serve her up."

Here's the link:

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=beijing+beef

I will never order Beijing beef with a straight face again….but yes…I will order it.

'Where's Larry?'

Summer of 2001, friends of mine were planning a week long boating trip to Lake Powell. Two ski boats, a motor home and a bunch of tents. I was not planning on going on this trip at all. Although I was invited, I figured I just had too much to take care of at home with the kids and all.

Thursday, the day before they were leaving, Gary came to me and said ‘If you change your mind, be at my house at 7am. All you need to bring is your swim suit.’ I said ‘thanks, but I really shouldn’t. I’ve got too much to take care of at home.’

I get home that night, and my wife is doing her normal thing (nothing) and the kids are doing their thing. I think about what the week would be like without me. I really had no appointments. No agenda. Nothing to do. The more I thought about it, the more I realized everything would be fine even if I wasn't there.

11pm that night, I tell my wife I am going to Lake Powell for a week long vacation with my friends. Alone. After an hour long discussion about it, (aka: fight) she realized she had no say in the decision.

7am, Friday morning, I pull up to Gary’s house with one small bag packed. This bag included: Swim trunks, shorts, shirt, underwear, hats and deodorant. Aside from my shorts and shirt I had on, that’s all I was bringing. No camera, no food, no sunscreen and no responsibility what so ever. The best trip I never really packed for.

The first couple of days were great. I slept in the boat under the stars with a life vest for a pillow and a towel as a blanket. It was great! The days were filled with water skiing, beer drinking and cliff jumping. Lots of sights were taken in too.

One particular day, we headed up to Hite marina to get some ice. There were probably 6 or 7 of us in the boat. After we parked the boat and headed to the shop, I got drawn in by some t-shirts. As I was browsing, others went and got the ice and hiked up the hill to the bathroom. After a couple of minutes, I decided I needed to head up to the bathroom as well. As I’m hiking up, others from my group are walking down. I said I’ll be right down. Just need to hit the head real quick. They said ‘OK – Hurry it up!’

After I walked out of the bathroom, I noticed they were all piling into the boat. So, as to not make them have to wait too long for me, I started jogging as best I could, down hill, with my flip-flops on. As I’m half way down, I notice they start to pull away! Assholes. Screwing with me like that. So, I keep the pace knowing the are just screwing with me. I make my way to the store and they are reaching the edge of the wake break. Easily 200+ yards away. I finally make it to the end of the dock as they kick up the speed and pull away.

‘HEY!’ I yell. And keep yelling. Nothing. I’m waving my arms and jumping up and down trying every thing I can to get there attention. Nothing. They forgot me. ME! How could they forget ME!? I’m the life of the party! Don’t these assholes do a head count before taking off? Bastards!

Suddenly, I see a couple of them jerk their heads around and look back. Yes! They remembered me! Finally! The boat slows down and turns around. Good. They are heading back for me.

Then, the boat turns back around AGAIN. They then start going in circles. JERKS! There fucking with me….here we come…no were not….here we come…no were not... Assholes.

As I stand there waiting for them to make up their minds, they go in 3 circles, then, speed off once again. HEY! I yell out like they can hear me. Gone. They left me at the marina. Bastards.

I would later find out that the reason for them doing that was because something flew out of the boat and they went back to get it.

I start to think about how I’m going to make it back to camp and what I’m going to do to these assholes that night while they are sleeping. I look around and there is a boat that had just pulled up. They are now the only boat there. Some guy and his son.

‘Excuse me.’ I say. ‘When you’re done here, could I bother you to take me back to my camp. My asshole friends I’m with thought it would be funny to leave me behind.’

‘How far is it?’

‘Just 2 canyons down. Can’t be more than 20 min. away.’

The guy ‘ho-hums’ a second about it and finally agrees. He finishes getting his ice and what not, then me and his kid load up in the boat and head me back to my camp.

As we pull up, I see a few of them looking at me and realizing it’s me. I hear cheers…’Hey – there he is!’ ‘Yeah! Larry made it back!’ ‘Hooray!’

‘Fuck you assholes!’ I yell as I’m getting out of the boat. I thank the guy and he and his kid boat off.

Apparently they sent a recon car to track me down because after they got back to camp, the people there had asked were I was. The dipshits in the boat thought I had stayed back at camp! They never even knew I was with them. They never thought about it when they left the marina. Bastards.

After that, EVERYONE was always keeping track of me.

That night, Maga had slept on the other seat that laid down in the same boat I was in. In the middle of the night, it started to rain. Maga was sound asleep. I got up and nudged her to wake her so she could get some cover. I climbed in the hull on one side, thinking Maga was coming in. Fell asleep real quick. Next thing I know, I hear my name being called. You know…really softly. Still asleep, so not really clear. Then, I hear people talking…It was morning.
’Have you seen Larry?’,
‘Nope. He was in the boat last night. He’s gone now.’ Maga says.
‘I heard a splash in the water…did he fall in and drown?’
‘Laaarrryyyyy….’

This is when I finally wake up enough to poke my head up threw the door of the hull.

‘I’m in here! Now shut the hell up!’

I lay back down and try to sleep, but all I here are people talking about how they have to keep track of me from now on so I don’t get lost. Thanks guys! Your real friends.

Only a couple more days of that crap, so wasn’t too bad. Just being there the whole week with little to no responsibility whatsoever was nice. Never again will I have a vacation like that one.

Oh – until my business trip to Japan…..

Karma's a Bitch!

The company I was working for back in 2001 hired a new engineer. When I say new, I mean he was new. Fresh out of school. Probably about 30 yrs old. This guy, ummm… lets call him…Ken, was a bit of a germ freak. You could say he was obsessive about it. Most likely not taking his medications for it. Neatly trimmed and combed hair every day. Clean cut. Thin, but not in shape. He knew this too. He would even do pushups and sit-ups on his floor IN his tiny cubicle. He had Lysol Disinfectant spray handy on his desk and used it frivolously. I never saw him, but I’m certain that he sprayed the floor down every day before his exercising session.

Ken lived by himself and drove an old mafia type sedan. You know, like an old tan beat up Audi or something solid like that. For some reason, one day, he was getting something out of the trunk of his car and it was loaded, and I mean loaded with self help books. I have 3 or 4 books in my collection. I could see someone having a dozen or so. Maybe even some on tape or CD. This guy had at least 80 books and dozens of tapes of this shit! Even videos! I asked him if he stood in an alley way at night and sold them for a part-time job. He said they were all his and I was welcome to borrow them any time! ‘No thanks’ I said. ‘If I can help my self, why would I need HELP? Help would mean I can’t do it myself, therefore, I would expect someone else to assist me, not my SELF.’ I said this full well knowing I was going to get the ‘self help’ definition from him, so I immediately told him I was joking and quickly changed the subject.

Another day, he was at my desk, leaning up against it as he was looking at my monitor while we were working. I looked down to my right and noticed a small coffee drop stain on my desk near his hand. Very small stain and it could have been there for a day or so. As he was talking to me, explaining his thoughts on something work related, I wet the tip of my finger with my tongue and rubbed out the stain on my desk. Ken jumped away from my desk and in complete disbelief asked, “Is that how you clean your desk?” I laughed and said, “Why yes! That’s how I clean my entiiiiiiiire desk!” as I motion with my arms over my whole desk. He immediately turned around and walked away in disgust. I laughed my ass off! Later, while he was away from his desk, I licked my finger and wiped it on his mouse! Poor guy…Hahaha!

Unfortunately for me, the two of us were assigned to the same project, and, we were in need to go visit the job sites. Karma’s a bitch!

One job site was in Ft. Morgan Colorado, and the other was in Lincoln, Nebraska. The best way of travel time wise and financially was to fly into Denver, drive to Ft. Morgan, then to Lincoln, then drive to Omaha to fly back home. The whole trip was to take 2 and a half days. The drive from Ft. Morgan to Lincoln was going to be about 5 hours straight through. I wanted to stop off in Sidney and go to Cabelas sporting good store. This would take us about an hour off route, and maybe add another 30 min – 1 hour of driving time. The whole drive should not have taken us more than 8 hours WITH an hour shopping at Cabelas. As you will soon see, this was the longest road trip of my life!


The Itinerary:

Day 1:
Fly out to Denver Monday morning 9am. Arrive in Denver around 10:30.
Get rental car and drive to Ft. Morgan CO. Arrive around 12:00pm
Work until 6 or 7pm.
Get dinner.
Go to bed.

Day 2:
7am Breakfast.
Work until 3pm.
Drive to Lincoln NB. Arrive by 11pm.
Check into hotel.
Bed.

Day 3:
7am Breakfast.
Work until 3pm.
Drive to Omaha airport.
Flight home at 6pm.
Home by 9pm.



Day 1

Normally when I fly with business partners, we typically don’t end up sitting next to each other. Not that we didn’t ever intentionally avoid sitting next to each other, we just didn’t. I’m good with that too, because I don’t normally like to talk on flights. To me, it’s kinda rude to others that may want to have some piece and quite, and I respect that, because God knows there are times when I want it. However, this flight, Ken ended up next to me. And you guessed it…he wouldn’t shut up. I wanted to cough on him, but was afraid he would whip out is pocket sized can of Lysol and spray me down with it.

Thank God the flight was only an hour and a half long. But that didn’t seem to matter a bit, because I was going to spend the next 48 hours with him attached to my hip.

We FINALLY get to Denver on what seemed to be the longest flight of my life. We get to the rental car company and I find out the rental was reserved under his name. He has to drive now. This sucks for me because I’d rather drive, but I’m ok with it.

We get on the road and the speed limit is 65. He sets the cruise control to 63.

Me: Dude. The speed lime is 65. You should be going 72, or at least stay up with traffic.

Ken: The speed LIMIT is 65. That’s the LIMIT. That means you shouldn’t go any faster than that and I’m not going to get a speeding ticket out here.

Me: Semi trucks are passing us Ken. You’re a hazard on the road. The least you could do is the keep up with traffic.

Ken: No. They can get the tickets. I’ll stay at this speed.

Me: Well, at least put your ‘hazard’ lights on then!

Around 1pm we FINALLY get to Ft. Morgan. (nearly an hour behind schedule now). The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. We do our work, get our dinner, argue a little about what we actually get paid for on our per diem, then get to our hotel and to bed. (ya, we had separate rooms. Thank God!)


Day 2

We get to work. Pretty much uneventful as well. Ken does his typical “I don’t know why I’m here” stuff and I go off by myself to avoid him and all his stupid comments and get my work done. I don’t want to be on this trip any longer than I have to.

I’m done by 2pm. This is great! Even took a lunch! I tell Ken we can check out of the hotel and get on down the road.

So, we do. We check out of our hotel, and head to Sydney Nebraska. Cabales, here we come! Woo Hoo!

30 min into the drive, I’m done talking to him. Having a civil conversation with this guy is completely impossible. He is useless to have a conversation with. On top of this, we are going 53 MPH, because the speed limit on this two lane ‘highway’ is only 55. My clothes are going to be out of style before we get there. I’m going to die in this seat, I just know it. I hate him. HATE. Hate is a strong word. I don’t ‘hate’ anyone. Well, except one person, and that’s a different blog…

After what seemed like days, we finally make it to Cabalas. Shopped for about an hour then we were ready to get back on the road. I was getting pretty hungry by now. It was about 7 or 8 and we had not eaten since noon. My body apparently is on a schedule of eating before now and it was getting upset with me.

‘Lets stop at someplace along the road.’ He says.

‘We have Arby’s, Wendy’s and Subway right here Ken! What more do you want?’

‘Someplace decent we can sit down at. A restaurant.’ He says.

‘Fine.’ I say. And we are on the road again.

The sun goes down behind us as we travel along the long, desolate 2 lane highway at 53 MPH, passing a farm house every mile or so as I watch the diesels pass us. I was certain I was going to see a kid on his bicycle ride up next to us and ask if everything was alright. There is nothing out here. I mean, NOTHING.
9:00 – We pass an exit that had a gas station and a fast food place.
9:30 – We pass another one.
10:00 – Another….

I’m going to eat my arm.

10:30 – pass another exit…

At each possible sign of an exit with civilization, I’m cussing and yelling at Ken to get the fuck off the road to someplace to eat. I’m dyeing over here and I’m about to rip out the air bag and start chewing on it.

Finally, at 10:50, we pull off an exit that has a hotel and a truck stop WITH a restaurant! Big red neon lights that read:

‘RESTAURANT OPEN 24 HOURS’

‘There’s your restaurant Ken!’

‘I’m not eating at a truck stop’ he says. ‘This sign says there is a town 7 miles north. Lets see what they have there.’

‘It’s 11:00 on a weeknight Ken! Everything out here is going to be closed by 10:00! Lets just eat here!’

He turns the car and starts heading north at 35 MPH. For 7 miles. I’m going to kill this guy. 11:55 – we come up on a Subway sandwich place that is still open.

‘It’s open! We’re going there Ken! It’s better than that trucker food you don’t want.’

‘Well….Lets keep going into town and see if there is anything else.’ (BASTARD!)

5 min. later, we are in this ghost town and find a bar that looks like it might still be open.

‘Lets go there.’ he says.

‘You think this is going to be better than trucker food? You have got to be kidding me! I’m game if this is what you want. At least I can get a beer here too!’

We walk in and there are 2 people there. One sitting at the bar that is no more than 5 feet from the door. The other standing behind the bar cleaning glasses with a white towel. Both stop the conversation they were having and silently give us the ‘you two are obviously lost’ look. Rock music in the background coming from the juke box in the corner. Small place, maybe 3 tables and a pool table. Stairs going to a basement against the wall to the right.

‘You have any food here?’ I asked.

‘Ya – but I think the cook shut the kitchen down. I can get you a beer though.’

‘Alright! But first see if he’ll fire the grill up for a couple of burgers! I’m dyeing here. I’ll pay double what you charge!’ They both laugh as Ken says ‘I won’t!’ Moron!

‘I’ll go ask him.’ Says the bartender. He walks around the bar, past us, and down the stairs. We make small talk with the guy sitting. The bartender returns in a matter of seconds saying the cook is done for the night. Kitchen is closed. Mentally, I turned and hit Ken across the jaw with a right.

‘Shit! Thanks anyway. C’mon Ken.’

We head on down to Subway. As we pull in the parking lot, I notice the ‘Open’ sign is no longer lit. I look at my watch and it is 11:10. Then, the lights go out inside.

Again, I’m mentally beating the shit out of Ken.

‘Well Ken. Looks like it’s the truck stop restaurant.’

‘I guess so.’ he says. Moron.

We finally make it back to the truck stop. We walk in the restaurant and it seems very quite and dark. I blow it off thinking it is nearly 11:30 in the middle of nowhere. This is to be expected. The store off to the left is all lit up and hopping with customers.

We make our way to the restaurant area where the hosts’ podium is and there stands a white board next to the podium the reads:

‘KITCHEN CLOSED FOR MONTHLY CLEANING.

WILL REOPEN AT 7AM FOR BREAKFAST.’

Monthly cleaning? Did I read that right? MONTHLY cleaning? They only clean this kitchen once a month? Are you serious? Maybe it's best this way I think. But I'm not telling Ken that.

Mentally, I’ve got him on the floor on his back; I’m standing over him beating the living shit out of him. Not much I can do at this point. Not only am I ready to eat my arm, but I’m seriously contemplating killing him. We ARE in the middle of nowhere. He has no family back home. Lives by himself. No one would miss him. No one would ever know. I was actually starting to plan something.

Without looking at him, I turned and walked to the store to look for something. He follows and asks what I’m going to do. ‘kill you!’ I thought.

‘I’m going to buy me a muffin and walk across the street to that hotel, check in and go to bed. I’ll see you at breakfast at the hotel lobby if you make it through the night.’

‘What?’ he says.

‘I said I’ll see you at breakfast if you decide you are going to stay there too.’

‘Is that all your going to have? That muffin?’ he asked. I looked at him, then grabbed my muffin and walked across the street.


Day 3

Eating breakfast the following morning by myself, I was hoping I got up in my sleep and killed him in his room while he was sleeping. Just as I was thinking this, he walks in and starts gathering up his breakfast from the buffet. Damnit. I didn’t.

We finish our trip to the second job site with little conversation. We do our work and head home. I talked to him as little as possible. I really just wanted to kill him. Aside from my comments under my breath to him about wanting to kill him….slowly, the rest of the trip was uneventful.

After we got off the plane, he said, ‘well, see you at work tomorrow!’

‘Not if I see you first.’ I said.

I don’t know if he ever really knew why I was so mad at him after that trip. I never talked to him. Could not work with him at all after that. He eventually got transferred to our parent company in Japan, thank God! Only saw him one other time when I was there on business. The whole Japanese office had nothing but complaints about him. How nosy he was. The smell of the cleaners he’d use. The smell of the cologne he’d wear. Nobody seemed to be able to get along with this guy. No matter the country he was in. What a moron.

I got my fill just in time!

HEY !!! I did it! I finally filled up my car with gas the day BEFORE the MASSIVE price gouging occurred! WOO HOO! Prices went from a rock bottom $2.97/gal to not only surpass the $3.00 mark, but blew it out of the oil drum at an amazing $3.13 per gallon! Do the math on that. I'll wait.....OK - long enough. If you didn't get it figured out, that's $0.16 cent increase! SIXTEEN CENTS PER GALLON! I realize other places around the country are much higher than that right now, but I know you all feel my pain when the prices jump like this. Some may say, 'when you're paying 3 bucks a gallon, what's another 16 cents?' Well, on the other hand, I don't think anyone that pays for gasoline would say that at all. What was I thinking.
The thing that REALLY sucks about this, and I shouldn't complain to much because It was my decision, is I sold my little bet up old 4 banger car for an 8 cyl. 5.9 liter Durango! I went from spending $30 a week on gas, to over $130! That, my friends, is a killer for me. I need to sell this gas sucking machine as soon as possible!

Hope you all have a happy St. Patrick's Day!

The day I nearly killed my neighbor...on purpose!

I was washing my motorcycle one Saturday afternoon when one of my neighbors comes over to bullshit with me.

‘What’s up my brother?” I asked.

He IS black and yes, I got his permission to call him that. J was in his mid 20’s, had 2 kids with his white girlfriend, S. She was also in her mid 20’s. She just had all her teeth pulled and I think was pregnant with their 3rd kid. Not sure so don’t quote me on that. It’s just that she always looked about 8 months pregnant. These people always walked around everywhere barefoot. J rarely wore anything but his shorts. He stands about 6ft. Big boned and probably tipping the scales at around 250. Not a slim guy, and he had a gut on him that made it so he couldn’t see how long his toenails had gotten. His back was covered with the remnants of an old war battle he was in (and lost) with his acne. Not a pretty site. He had a short afro that hadn’t seen a pick since 7th grade. (which was probably last year).

S was pushing 250 herself, but she was only about 5ft 4. Always in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt with the 2 yr old twins attached to each leg wearing only a diaper. Each diaper was carrying that child’s weight in urine and sagging to the ground like it just can’t hang on to the kids hips any longer. The boy was white as day and the girl was black as night, both with the African American afro just trying to get big. The last time either of the kids had a bath was just before the nurse handed the kids over the their mother for the last time at the hospital after they were born. (I don’t count the spray downs with the hose after the ramen noodle or mac & cheese fights).

‘Man, I’d like to get me a bike sometime. What kind of bike is that?’, J asked.

‘It’s an 1983 650CX Custom.’ I said. ‘You ever been on a bike?’ I asked

‘Oh hell ya! I use da ride on em all da time back in Texas! Hell, we’d ride all day long, ya, I been on a bike! When yer done washin yours, you ought da let me take er for a spin!’

‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Na, It’s all good man! I swear! I’m a good rider. C’mon! Been so long since I been on a bike. Just a little spin around da block. C’mon brother.’

This went on for about 20 mins. Him telling me he can ride and me declining with stuff like ‘A bikes like your woman. You don’t lend her out to anyone to ride.’ He’d respond with stuff like, ‘dude, you can take my woman on a cross country trip! Hell, I don’t care!’ ‘ya – I’m on it! – HA!’ I say. He laughs.

After another 20 mins. I’m finishing up with washing my bike. He’s begging me at this point. ‘I’m not gunna steal it man! C’mon, let me take it for a spin.’

‘Alright! Hell, just shut the hell up already! You sure you know how to ride?’

‘Nutin to it!’ he says.


I move my bike from my patio into the carport of the townhouse complex. Across the drive is another carport for the opposing townhouses. I have the bike ready for him to just pull out into the drive and said, ‘ok, you ready?’

‘Ya I’m ready!’ he says, and climbs on.

‘Dude, you should probably put some shoes on.’

‘Na, It’ll be ah-right!’ This should have been my first clue he had not actually ever drove a bike before.
‘Where’s the clutch, right here on the left handle?’

‘Ya – and the accelerator is on the right.’

‘The what?’ he says.

‘The accelerator…the GAS!’

‘Awe – ya, right, I know where that’s at, shiiit!’, he says, ‘And the shifting is done where, down here at my feet?’

At this point, I knew he was just giving me shit. He had spent the last 45 mins bragging about how good he was. Now, he’s finally got his chance to ride a bike and he don’t know where to shift at? I hoped he was just joking….

We started the bike up and he suddenly became a bit more nervous.
His girlfriend and the twins are now outside watching this and asking if I’m sure I want him to do that, and giving her comments about how incapable he is. Even as a human being. (some how, looking back, I believe every word now.)

He said, ‘now I just let the clutch out and give it a little gas, right?’

I laughed (still thinking he’s blowing smoke up my ass) and said, ‘ya – just let the clutch out and give a little gas.”

Now, this is where everything starts slowing down for me. The next 3-4 seconds of my life ends up feeling like 5 minutes or more and I am paralyzed and can’t move.

He starts off slowly. I’m imagining him pulling out into the drive between the carports and on his way. This does not happen. Instead, he pulls straight out and keeps going straight. He realizes he is not turning and panics and tries to stop, however, he don’t know where the brake is. So, to stop himself, he puts his feet down on the ground. His BARE FEET ON THE GROUND! Mind you, this bike is over 400 lbs, and is moving at this point about 10 mph, ALREADY! And he puts his bare feet on the ground to stop!

As his feet make contact with the asphalt, they immediately kick back and now the tops of his long toenails are scraping the asphalt and leaving a mark. He is now about halfway across the 30 ft wide driveway and the bike starts to wobble from his feet hitting the ground and he is starting to loose control. (like he ever had it in the first place.)

The bike has turned itself slightly, just enough to be making a b-line for the carport post on the other side. If he misses that, he has the wall of the neighbors’ patio to stop him before he runs into the cinderblock townhouse.

I see my life with my bike pass before my eyes. All the good times we had. The solitary ride up the canyons. The polar bear ride with 1,500 other riders. The Safety awareness ride with 100 other riders at the race track. The nice cool morning rides into work. Awe, the memories…

As me and his girlfriend stand side by side watching this with our jaws dropped open, he continues his ride across this driveway. The bike wobbling more now and the poles for the carport getting closer. J somehow manages to narrowly miss the first pole as he enters the carport. The second pole is dead on now. No way at his speed is he going to turn away and miss it. Even if he does, he’s hitting that wall. My bike is doomed. I’ve had my last ride on it and I didn’t even know it. It’s like eating a cookie and digging in the jar for one last cookie to savor and there’s nothing! Your taste buds explode for more and there is nothing you can do about it. I needed one last ride, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit back and watch my bike get destroyed.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the brake lights came on and the back tire locked up! As the rear tire was leaving its mark on the asphalt, the front tire was approaching the pole, and fast. J managed to steer the wheel off to the right side of the pole missing it by an inch and the back tire stopped the bike just inches from the front turn signal hitting it.

He stopped! Somehow, he stopped! I could not believe my eyes. I looked over at S, and she looked at me like she was going to take him back in the house and beat the living shit out of him. I was probably giving her the same look. We both ran over to him and I shut the bike off. J was laughing and apologizing all at the same time. Admitting NOW that he had never actually drove a bike. He’d been on one once, but only as a passenger when he was about 8!

He climbed off the bike and I pulled it away from the pole. I told him he just about died, and not from nearly wrecking the bike. From me kicking his broke ass into the ground!

He apologized and I took my bike back across the drive and parked it. S and I then spent the next hour cursing him and checking out the skid mark on the ground from both the tire and his toenails. I wish I had a picture of it. His toenails actually left marks on the ground. Halfway across the drive and into the parking stalls. Not a mark on him though.

Needless to say, I never let him touch my bike again, nor did I believe ANYTHING he had to say to me. AND, I’d tell him too. Shortly after that, he left S and moved to Texas without telling anyone. Just one day, got in his car and left. 2 days later, he called S and told her he was in Texas and she can have the kids. She said, ‘Good!’ Life’s been good ever since! She says.

And I’d have to agree….

“Dude…You’re just like me!”

Several years ago I used to live in a Townhouse complex and one of my neighbors was mostly deaf and partially blind and a little slow in the mental capacity. He was around 23 but acted like he was 13. We’ll call him Dulain. Dulain is a really nice guy. Do anything for ya. He lived across from me, so when he looked out his window, he could see me out in my patio. Whenever he saw me, he liked to come and over bull shit with me and see what I was doing. Whether I was fixing my motorcycle or fixing up the flower beds, he was there putting in his two cents worth because nearly everything I was doing, he had already done or knew how to do it because he had seen it on TV or saw somebody else do it. Just so happens, I was always doing it wrong.

One day, I was out painting my patio and Dulain walks over and starts in about how he needs to paint his patio. He sees that I have a 5 gal bucket of paint and a paint pan to dump it in and dip the roller in. He says, ‘Hey – you’re just like me!” I laughed said, “How so?” He says, “you dump your paint into a roller pan and paint that way instead of just dipping the roller in the bucket.” “No Dulain,” I say, “you’re just like the rest of the world. This is how you do it. I know there are people out there that just dip it in the bucket, but they sell these roller pans so you can roll the paint on the brush to get the paint on the roller evenly. That’s how it’s done. I’m NOT like you…at all.”

Another time I was out doing yard work and cleaning out my flower bed, moving rocks around…you know, typical summer Saturday morning stuff. Dulain wanders over and says, ‘Hey – You’re just like me!’ I laugh and say, ‘How’s that Dulain?’ he says, ‘doing yard work on Saturday mornings. I love to come out in the mornings on the weekend and get this stuff done. Especially on a great day like today. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…’ I say, ‘Dude – Unlike you….I work all week. Saturday’s and Sunday’s are the only days I have to do stuff around the house. So, I don’t really think I’m like you at all.”

Another one…I’m out barbequing burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Dulain, being the nosey neighbor he is, mosies his way over to my place and asks what I’m grillin. “Burgers and dogs” I say. “Dogs for the kids?” he asks. “Yep” I said. “Dude – you’re just like me. I cook up the good stuff for me and the wife, and the hot dogs for the kids. No since spending a bunch of money on food the kids won’t finish or even like.” “No dude, I’m not like you. My kids ASKED if they could have hot dogs in stead of burgers. Has nothing to do with money. I’m nothing like you.” He says, “Well, tomorrow night after I get my food stamp money, I’ll be cooking up some ribs for me and the wife and the kids can have whatever they want. Hot dogs, cereal, candy, hell, I don’t care. I’ll be fat and happy on my perfect ribs. Blah, blah, blah…blah blah, blah…”

“So, when you going to get a job Dulain?” “I applied at dominoes pizza to be a driver, but I need to get my license first.” The state took his license away when he got in an accident and the officer realized he was legally deaf and don’t have a hearing aid. “Dominoes has basically hired me, I just need to go get my license.” “When you going to do that?” I asked. “I’m just waiting for the state to send me some money to get a hearing aid. But I need to first go get tested and fitted for one. My sister just needs to get me down there to do it. You know her. Can’t depend on her for anything.” (that’s another story I’m not going to get into right now. God, what a train wreck.)

“So Dulain,” I ask, “Where’s your car?”
“No car.” He says, “It got totaled in the wreck.” “How you going to deliver pizzas if you don’t have a car?” “I got a buddy of mine that is going to sell me one of his cars for $200 as soon as I get my license.” He says. "You have $200 for a car?" I ask. "No, But after I get an attourney and sue the guy that hit me I should have it."

“So let me get this straight. You don’t have a job. You don’t have a car. You don't have money for a car. You don’t have a drivers license. You are deaf, and live with your mother-in-law and collect money from the state and your going to go by ribs with your food stamp money instead of food for your kids?” He kinda laughs and says “Ya - Oh, come check out my new barbequer I got from lowes on sale for $180!”

“Ya Dude,” I say “I’m NOTHING like you.”

If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. Or...if no one else is there to do it for you...

First of all, if you have not read the first part to this story, you really should do that before you get into this one.

With that said...onward and upward we go...

They said to come back in 8 weeks to leave a sample to have it tested. If any of my little friends are still loitering inside me, I’ll have to come back in another 4 weeks to leave a second sample to be tested. In the mean time, I’m supposed to have as much fun with myself as I possibly can (because I don’t have a spouse or girlfriend to help me out in this arena) to ‘clean the pipes’ out. (if ya knowhatimean – nudge nudge, wink wink.)

So the first weekend I lay around with a bag of frozen peas on me. No big deal. I could use the break. After the allotted time frame was up (2 weeks) I slowly get to work on my ‘self pipe cleaning’. I’m extremely nervous at what is going to happen. I don’t want to undo anything the doc had done and I’m concerned about the quantity (or lack there of) of fluid that is about to come out. I’m sailing uncharted waters here and my semen are looked up in the brink for the rest of their lives! I quickly learn that the ‘unknown’ is a real big turn off for me. I just can’t do it. I need to, I want to, just can’t.

After a few days of getting to know myself better, I decide it’s time to try again. I’m not the first one that has had this done, and others say there is no difference, so what the hell is my problem? I’ve just got to grab the bull by the horns and get the job done! So that’s what I did……and it was the longest 8 seconds of my life. In the end, victory was mine! I showed that bull who was boss and when we were done, he cowered and limped his way in front of me and I knew right then HE knew who was in control. We never had a fight again after that.

During my ‘cleaning’ tenure, I had asked friends of mine what the 8 week visit was going to bring. How ‘things’ where going to be taken care of. Where the deposit could be made. Options of anyone helping with the process. You know, things that everyone would want to know. I was told by one friend that his wife helped him at their house and he just took it in. Another told me he STILL had not gone in to get tested. (1 year later). Another told me he had to go in to the office and produce his junk there. I was not sure how this office handled it, so I called.

Here’s how the conversation went:

ME: Yes, I need to come in, in a few days, for my post-vas appointment test. My question is, do I have to actually come in to the office and produce it there, or can it be done in the comfort of my home.
NURSE: Unless you can have it here in 10 min, you’ll have to come in and produce it here. You don’t have to make an appointment either, you can just come in and we’ll put you in the room. You may want to call ahead of time to make sure the room is open though.
ME: ok…
NURSE: If you’d like, you can bring your spouse with you too.
ME: Great! Thanks for the info. (not that it’s any of her business, but I no longer have a spouse. I’m flying solo on this one.)

Now, to me, this implied that they have ‘a room’ just for this kind of thing. I’m imagining something like a dark room with dark walls, dim lights, TV with videos and magazines, plush carpet and a velvet couch/love seat and a locking door. Maybe I’m asking for too much? I can dream right? Hindsight I realize, a) I’m not in Beverly hills, and b) It cost me less than a grand for this surgery. What should I expect?

That Friday it was 8 weeks. I figure I’d cut out of work a little early and go make a deposit. On my way there, I call to see if ‘the room’ was open. They tell me it is and to come on in! I hang up and laugh at the pun.

I get there right at 4pm. It’s a Friday mind you, and the place is packed, AGAIN! Great. I wonder how many are there to do the same thing I am. I walk up to the check-in window to let them know what I am there for. Behind the window sits this really cute (mormon type cute) big breasted 17 yr old girl behind the desk. (looked like she was 17 anyway).

‘Hi. I had a vasectomy 8 weeks ago and I’m here to…a…well…a, leave a sample.’

‘Oh, ok…you have it with you?’

The correct answer to this would be yes, but it’s going to take a minute to give it to you! Lol

‘Um, no…a….’

‘well, you can take this cup with you and bring it back Monday if you want. Do you live within 10 minutes?’

‘Um, well, no…I’

‘Well, we are pretty busy, we don’t have any rooms open right now…you want to come back?’

I just called and the room was open. Now no rooms are available and the waiting room is packed? What the hell happened?

Look – I was there. I didn’t want to put this off any longer than I had too. I Needed to take care of it as soon as possible. The ‘job’ was killing me. I was prepared to wait for an hour, even though the nurse on the phone told me that Friday at 4pm may not be a good time because they are all wanting to get out of the office and start their weekend as soon as possible. And the longer they have patients in there, the longer they have to wait. I can respect that, so I was prepared to get in there and take care of business and get out. FAST! Well, little miss BBUMG (big breasted Utah mormon girl) had the whole office packed with people and no room at the inn! No one was happy there.

‘No – I don’t want to come back. I’ll wait.’

‘Ok’ she said.

So I had a seat and started looking at a motorcycle magazine, and low and behold, girls in bikinis posing next to bikes! Good stuff. Help me get BBUMG out of my head since I didn’t bring any material to assist with my job I was about to do. I assume they will have something in ‘the room’ that is designed for this kind of activity. After treating myself like an amusement park for the past 7 weeks, I needed something for the imagination.

5 minutes later she calls me back.

‘A room just opened up so you can come back now.’

‘ ‘A’ room huh?’ I ask jokingly as I leave the waiting room. She ignores me. It’s after 4 on a Friday and the waiting room is packed. No, she’s not in the mood for jokes.

She leads me thru the doorway into the hall and into the second room away from the waiting room. A typical exam room. Nothing special here. Just an exam table, a chair and a sink.

‘This one right here.’ As she is flipping up all the different colored flags on the wall next to the door to signal to the entire staff as to what is happening in the room.

‘Right here?’ I asked.

‘Yeah – here is your cup. Just bring it up to the desk in the waiting room when you are done.’

‘The front desk in the waiting room? With all the people in it?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’ And she closes the door behind her.

All of a sudden, everything became very quite. Maybe because I was in shock over what is going on here. Tunnel vision was setting in. Every thing was getting foggy and I felt like I was moving slower. I look over at the exam table with the plastic paper on it, the empty chair next to it that seemed to have eyes and was staring at me…then over to the sink, and counter top. Then over to the ‘penis anatomy’ poster on the wall (ya – the one cut in half to see the insides!) and finally back to the door. I imagined several of the nurses on the other side crouched over with their ears pinned to the door snickering to each other. How old am I? I spotted the light switch next to the door and glanced up at the light. It was the brightest light I have ever seen. I considered turning it off, but never did. (hindsight, I really should have).

I walk over to the door to lock it. To my shock, the door does not lock. It’s a fake lock. The door does not lock. Let me say that again…THE DOOR DOES NOT LOCK! How am I supposed to do this. I feel like George Castanza! Is this really happening? Where are the cameras? This is insane! This room was not specifically designed for this kind of activity! This is nothing like what they had told me! I was dooped! I’m getting punked, I just know it! What am I going to do? How am I going to do this?

I pull my thoughts together and try to focus and rationalize. It’s a doctors office. This happens daily in there. I am not the first, nor will I be the last. The flags are up for a reason and everyone out there knows what the reason is. I am just another man doing what needs to be done.

As I continue to gather my senses, my sight starts to return and things are moving a little faster now. I start to hear people talking and walking past my door. I watch the door knob as they walk past and keep talking. Soon, I hear the receptionist up at the front desk in the waiting room speaking to another patient. Then a nurse walks past with another nurse. Both talking away. Then, I swear I heard a pin drop in the next office over! Everything now seemed to be magnified! I could hear things I thought I could never hear. It’s like I’m in the middle of the hallway, naked, with people walking around me while I am trying to do what used to be my own little private 8 second bull ride. It’s like the door is not even closed! I continue to keep my eyes on the door knob, and that don’t help the situation at all!

I look around for some visual assistance because I imagined a small collection of visual stimulants in ‘the room’. Nothing. The place was clean. No Glamore magazine or anything! All I have is the girl in the bikini next to the bike in the magazine that is now only in my head!

So with that, I thought to myself…Let the games begin!

35 minutes later (which I thought was not too bad considering the circumstances) I was walking up to the front desk dropping off my little deposit.

‘How soon before the results are back?’ I asked.

‘Should be quick.’ She said.

‘Quick? Like, can I wait here…quick?’

Laughing…she says, ’we should know in 2 or 3 days. We’ll call you with the results’

A week later, I call back because I hear nothing, hoping no news is good news.

‘Hi, I need to get the results from my post-vas appointment.’

‘Um – yeah…they found some sperm in your semen. It don’t mean the procedure did not work, it just means that some sperm in your vas deferens lines AFTER the surgical site have not come out yet. You need to have more ejaculations and come back again in another 4 weeks and give us another sample to test.’

Ya-right, come in and give another sample!? Are you kidding me!?.....

4 weeks of torturing myself go by and it seems like 8 (teen) more weeks. Doing it for fun is one thing, but when it’s a job and HAS to be done it kinda looses its appeal. I went through with it again, and the experience was just the same as it was the first time. Worst possible experience I have gone through. Test came back and all my buddies are out. Finally!

Now…on to find someone to test this out on…..