Let's see if anyone notices...

Underpowered

Not all that long ago I worked for a forklift place, which wasn't the most exciting job I've worked, but the boss was great and we tended to have alot of fun.

One day some people came in to rent a forklift, and there's a little bit of information that's needed and some idle chatter while they wait to get processed. Manning the front counter, the idle chatter was mine.

There was a couple there, and I'd never seen them. The industrial zone is pretty close, regardless of what you might think, and you tend to know people if you're in a service for them. These two were professionally dressed and educated, not qualities usually found in the front office for forklift rental locations.

Charlie: "So, what are you renting the forklift for."
Woman: "We need to lift his foreskin."

Now the average reader might stop right there and think that there is NO WAY that woman was serious. But she was. It turns out that they worked for a biomedical place that grew something close to an acre of penis foreskin to be used by burn victims as skin grafts. Apparently the stuff is pretty elastic, doesn't come with much hair, and grows without much support.

They had over four tons of the stuff.

This broadcast brought to you by the letters T, M, and I.

Pee on Fire

Alright, that one sounds like I'm introducing V.D. as a topic, but such is not the case. It's far worse.

A few weeks back my son came home from a visit with his [ahem, cough, cough] mother, and said little of the trip. This isn't unusual. They are long, boring trips during which he usually grabs some fast food for lunch and maybe a snack before getting home... or dinner since she hates for us to eat as a family or something.

A few days pass and he reveals that he had to go to the bathroom during the trip, and Satan explained that they couldn't stop, asking if he could hold it. "I don't think so," he responds. What's a woman to do? She's miles from nowhere with her cop husband in the car (so they can't stop and water the local plantlife), but she does have a fast food cup, or something, in the car.

"Pee in this," she offers him the container.

And he does it.

This isn't the first time that he's claimed that this has happened, and sometimes I don't give as much weight to his statements as perhaps I should. He's generally honest, but he does try to push emotional buttons sometimes with statements that are patently false.

But this one isn't outside of the character of Satan as I know her... because I knew Skippy.

This dates back to when I first met Satan. She was on a street corner (yes! Fine! I admit it!) hawking homemade jewelry to the denizens of Five Points for Skippy. She was living with this guy, and had been for a couple of months, as her family had dropped her off and not come back for her.

Yes, there are big clues as to why I shouldn't have even looked at her in the above paragraph. Hindsight and all...

Anyway, when she moved in with me, she felt she needed to gather her earthly belongings from Skippy's place, and asked that I come along to protect and serve. So I did.

Skippy's place, an apartment in the seedier side of South Side lacked in clean what it made up for in... aww hell. The place was a dump. Cockroaches skittered like damned souls over the groutwork. Where there should have been a toilet there was just a smoking hole. Which was okay by Skippy, as he never went in there.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Skippy was of the belief that, in order to get into heaven, you had to have everything on you that you possessed in life. Including things that passed through you. Jars of urine and poop lined his walls, as well as shoe boxes full of fingernail clippings and hair. And there was only one surface that could possibly have been slept on. Everything else was covered with crap.

And Satan had lived with this guy for months. I wanted to claw my eyes out within 2 minutes. Or at least fill my nostrils with molten lead.

So, given this element of the past, it's not impossible that Satan picked up a fairly casual attitude toward this.

Rock you like a Hurricane.

So my wife goes to the doctor today for her shot, which will promptly relieve pain with very little cost and part the Red Sea.

2/3rds of that are through the action of immobilizing her. Yay!

You might think that callous, but from my perspective, it's awesome. No longer do I watch her struggling to pick up things in the kitchen and crying because she can't bend over...

She'll have to do her crying in bed.

For giggles...

Someone online is quoting me as their sig. I love that. They even give me credit.

The sig?

"If you aren't someone's villain, you aren't defined well enough."

Also:

Emmett: "Any comedies on TV?"
Bob: "Forbidden Planet"
E: "Is that a comedy?"
B: "It's got Leslie Nielsen in it."
E: "Good enough."

Connor

Well, this is a twisty path title. From "Coraline" to "Cor!" (from "Danger Mouse") to "Chief!" to "McCloud!" to... this. And I got "Coraline" from "Stupid Rat Creatures!"

I'll grant that I'm obtuse and inscrutable... sure. But if someone asks me a simple question, they mostly get simple answers... usually "no," but that's simple.

My ex doesn't give answers. She ignores the question. Pretends she didn't hear it. Of course, she can't ignore the whole thing, and I keep pounding her with the question... I'm not letting go easy, dangit.

I recently offered to split the travel with her, which was part of a "why won't you let us move?" email, but I keep hitting her with the question, asking her to respond, reread, or something. She has responded to the bits about not moving, but nothing else.

It's so frustrating trying to be nice to her. It's why I usually don't try.

and another...

In Hawaii my son and I lived with a bunch of navy guys, one of whom we'll call "Wolf" for no reason. Really.

My son was at that grabby, "I want" stage, and approached a standing Wolf... who had a beer.

"I want that." He says, clutching the air as he strains to reach Wolf's hands.
Wolf: "People in Hell want ice water."
Son: "I want ice water!"

Just because

Once, in that magical land called "the past" Kid#1 was told:

"You look just like grandpa!"

He clutches head dramatically, and cries: "is my hair falling out?!"

Skyclad and dewey

Nope, just felt like saying that. I'm sitting here, listening to "Young Americans" and thinking of the day. I took Kid#2 to a non-birthday party. My youngest now has a singing potty. My oldest locked himself in his room and read until I played a "Blues Clues" video.

And my parents aren't dead.

Last night I got a phone call, around 6 local, from my brother. "I just passed a car wreck, and I can't get ahold of mom and dad!"

Alright. My brother and I don't generally get bent out of shape by little things. The word "unflappable" describes me in College V1.1 pretty well. Simple set of steps should take care of this.

I called my parents. No answer.
I slept on it.
At about 10 am local, I call again. No answer. Hmmm...
I call my brother. No answer.

I'm twisting my lips in that, "ooookay" kind of way.

With a modicum of concern, I call my grandma.
Me: "It's probably nothing, but my brother passed a car accident and can't get hold of mom and dad... you haven't heard anything."
Grandma: "Aiiieeee!!! They're dead! I just know it, the apocolypse has arrived!"

Okay, maybe it didn't go quite that way, but the results were:
4 incredibly panicked relatives
2 amused parents
1 annoyed brother

On the plus side, I found out that a cousin has gotten divorced, another cousin is getting married on the beach, and that none of them are talking to me about it directly.

Even so, I think I scooped the divorce before Grandma and Aunt. I feel good, considering I don't even live there.

You may already be a winner...

A few days back I went out to the mailbox, not an unusual circumstance, fetched the mail, and drew back into my cave while keeping an eye open for potential snipers.

Once inside I activated my security system and set about looking at the mail.

"Bill... bill... bill... trash... trash... what the...?"

Of all the things that it could be, it could be only one.

A chain letter.

I laughed, "get a load of this!"

The details involve a "Christian prayer rug" that makes it look like Jesus is blinking. This miracle will cause my house to be blessed, as long as I send some complete strangers the addresses of two friends in order that they be hassled with the same crud. Or have the info sold to marketing firms.

The letter, and I'm liberally quoting and commenting, goes something like this:

"Read what GOD IS DOING here at Saint Matthew's Churches."

I'm thinking he's laughing his butt off, but I'll read on.

"People just like you..."

I'm going to go off into the wild blue for a moment. Way back in Vietnam they had this thing called the Draft. The Draft Board would send letters beginning with the lovely phrase, "you have been selected by your friends and neighbors..." My father had received one of these letters and wrote back: "I've moved, and reevaluated my friends."

At any rate, I'm thinking that whoever they're writing to... they aren't like me.

"receiving so many blessings..."

But all of them have to do with materialism, and getting something for nothing (except prayer), which isn't the way I think the universe should work.

"WE FEEL THAT SOMETHING VERY WONDERFUL IS TRYING TO COME TO YOU."

Maybe a shift key, or control key. Something to turn off the caps lock and bold.

"go into a room where you can be alone (just God and you)."

I've just renamed my right hand "God."

"Try to be by yourself when you kneel on this Holy Ghost."

WTF? Isn't kneeling on one of the trinity sacrilege or something? You'd think that "Saint Matthew's Churches" would be more alert to that kind of thing. Oh, the envelope says they're located in Tulsa, Oklahoma. That's the same place a 900 foot Jesus was seen. Coincidence?

"we, as a very old (54 years) church,"

At least they stayed off the shift key for this one, but I can name about 50 or so churches that easily are older than that. Heck, in Europe those things are all over the place.

"Check your prayer needs on page two"

This is the great stuff. I mean, shouldn't God simply send out forms with your needs on it? Doesn't it make sense that God works through the postal system much more effectively than through heartfelt prayers of people who know you?

"This power you and this church ministry are about to use works!"

Maybe it's me, but does randomly placing words in bold suggest anything but stupidity? The lack of proper word choice and the sentence structure is just beyond belief!

"Timing is very important to God."

I've always been under the impression that God is supposed to be Omniscient and Omnipotent. That means that timing is a pretty small blip on his radar.

"Yes, Lord Jesus, I do need YOUR financial blessings upon me and my family's finances!"

And any editorial help that can be given.

[in small print, on the back.]

"A BLESSING TO YOU FOR A LIFETIME, AS SOON AS WE RECEIVE THIS BACK FROM YOU*"
*with a small monetary donation."

Remember: God loves your money!

Masters of the Universe

I used to work. At a job. Glorious days, those. A co-worker/salesman was in the office one day, and the two of us were watching a young lady walk with her child perched on her hip. He turned to me and said:

"Isn't it amazing? Can you imagine, as a man, walking at least a quarter of a mile with a child on your hip?"

"Yes."

"You're a better man than I."

"That was never in question."

But, recently, my youngest has found an activity that makes me wish that I were a woman taking care of him.

He head butts my crotch. Not just once either. He positions himself, usually with a book in hand, but these attacks can come from nowhere, and proceeds to launch himself, Ram-Man style, repeatedly into my genital area.

For those that know, it's like a two-inch punch to the nadgers. It hurts.

The most memorable kick I have to that location was arrived at via Brandy Dixon, who was simply demonstrating her technique to a friend, spun, and planted the toe of her boot right where I wished she hadn't. I think I was waving to someone at the time.

Nothing like this. I recovered from Brandy Dixon's kick, and went on to father children. If she'd had a jackhammer I'm sure I wouldn't have sired a replica of a jackhammer.

I think I entered that bit about Brandy remembering that, as a boy, one of my fondest pursuits was studying anatomy to discover how to inflict pain. Turns out that women can be hurt pretty bad that way, but you have to be the Luke Skywalker of Pain to home in on a target that's a tad smaller than 2 meters.

Drag racing

I only wish that this was an article about guys dolled up and running a marathon... but it was the first thing to come to mind.

My wife occassionally, with very little prodding, gets me to take some of those goofy tests with titles like, "what manner of tuber are you?"

Answer?

"I'm not a tuber!" (paraphrasing Arnold in "Kindergarten Cop")

At any rate, here are some of the results:

Obsolete skill:

You are 'French'. In the nineteenth century, it
was the international language of diplomacy.
It is a 'beautiful' language, meaning that it
is really just a low-fidelity copy of Latin.

You know the importance of communicating
'diplomatically', which for you means both
being polite and friendly when necessary and
using sophisticated, vicious sarcasm when
appropriate. Your life is guided by either
existentialism or nihilism, depending on the
weather. You have a certain appreciation for
the finer things in life, which is a diplomatic
way of saying that you are a disgusting
hedonist. Your problem is that French has been
obsolete for a long time.


What obsolete skill are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Nerd score:




My brain's gender:

Your Brain is 66.67% Female, 33.33% Male

Your brain leans female You think with your heart, not your head Sweet and considerate, you are a giver But you're tough enough not to let anyone take advantage of you!

What Gender Is Your Brain?

And, finally, my element:

Si... Silicon You scored 42 Mass, 34 Electronegativity, 29 Metal, and 0 Radioactivity!

Interesting. Take a bunch of really common person-elements and throw them together to get something truely exceptional... that's you. You are probably someone that gave up on trying to understand society at large a long time ago. You don't fear it, but you don't try to be one with it either. You are more or less unperturbed by things... if a problem comes up you might deal with it, or you might avoid it... whatever. You don't take kindly to people pushing you around, and you don't really push anyone else around. You're probably the only one that can tame oxygen simply because you don't understand it's raging neediness, but that doesn't mean that you'll really enjoy having a tame oxygen hanging around all that much either. You can probably get along with people like yourself really well, but you aren't your own soulmate... if only they could make entire colonies of people like you you'd be stoked. Just like you don't understand society, society doesn't understand you... and yes that is my excuse for not knowing how to describe you better.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 57% on Mass You scored higher than 67% on Electroneg You scored higher than 9% on Metal You scored higher than 1% on Radioactivity

Link: The Which Chemical Element Am I Test written by effataigus on Ok Cupid

And, much to my annoyance, I was chosen as Prince Random (of Amber fame> here.

Since they couldn't bother with a description, I'll post it:
You are Prince Random.

You are the runt of the litter, and the youngest to boot. That kinda left you on the short end of the stick.

Advantages: You learned how to be non-offensive to just about everyone (except Florimel, but since she wasn't the youngest of the family after you were born, she's been all snotty about it anyway), and how to be quick to avoid elder brothers beating on you. You may not be the fastest one around (that goes to Benedict), but you are slick and never caught off-guard. You are very adaptable to your surroundings, and the best gambler in the family. Hey, you also get to be King after the books are done!

Disadvantages: Other than being small, and not that strong, and the youngest... well, aren't those enough? Oh, yes, you also got married by force after the woman you slept with originally killed herself after having your kid. Instant family. Not that that turned out badly, mind you, but it just goes to show that just about anyone in the family can bully you into doing what they want you to.

That's the news and I...am... outtahere!

D&D Party Queen

I have never actually seen one, but, what with all the interviewing the Israeli Defense Force has been doing, I'd imagine they've seen it all. Gah!

I've played RPGs for a long time, and the thought that D&D causes a loss of willpower is ridiculous! D&D doesn't use willpower! Maybe a -1 to Wisdom, but you get alot of that in teens anyway.

Army folk should be worried about what kind of damage their troops can inflict. LARPers see more field action than tabletop gamers, and thus should be your basic field units. The tabletop gamers can do strategy and tactics (depending on whether they wargame or RP. The RPers can work on individual skillsets to round out a group.

This is frikkin' brilliant!

But it's not what the IDF folk are doing. They're laying the smackdown on RPers of all sorts, not permitting them to hold high level clearances because they are "detached from reality."

And here I was thinking that computer games caused that. Or was it Rock music? I seem to remember "the twist" as causing physical harm to its participants. Then there was Swing music... that was simply awful. And Books! Remember when that Guttenberg feller came out with the printing press and all the young folk came around spending all that time reading? They'd spend all that time with their heads in the clouds, thinking... getting ideas...

Sim-stupid

I had to think for a moment about what to title this. "The Sims" and its... sequel(?) have seen much success. The number of Sim sites I've seen cannot be reckoned by the mortal mind. So it follows that I've seen "Sim-sational!" about that often, followed by a host of other, equally inane, exclamations.

I purchased "The Sims 2" expansion ("University") for my wife... really. She's been hurting for a while and I thought it'd be nice to give her something to look forward to.

Only it wouldn't install. I cleaned, rinsed, spun, breathed, and possibly threatened damage. Kind of like the scene in "Dune" with the rock.

And hear I am without a wierding module. Frick.

So I head on down to the local dispensary of all things... Super Wal-Mart. It happens to be conveniently located, so, to make up for it, they try to personally inconvenience you.

I enter at 10:00 pm, with one intent... exchange one box for another (alright! I also wanted Root Beer and Doritos). I went directly to the customer service where, I swear, a hunchback with pinkeye told me to get the stuff I needed and he'd tell the cashiers to be ready for me.

Right.

I go back, grab the essentials (Sims expansion, Root Beer, and Doritos) and head for check-out. It's 10:12 by the register clock.

Clerk: "What's wrong with this one," she asks as she holds up the original box.
Me: "It doesn't work. We tried to run it and it didn't install. I think there's some surface flaw on the disk."
Clerk: "But this hasn't been opened," she's looking at the box intently now, "how could you know about a surface flaw if you haven't seen it?"

Now, I have to admit that I did a pretty good job of opening it with no damage to box or tape, but rare are the moments when someone says "I opened it," without meaning it, and most of the staff there knows me (save the hunchback, who's probably too busy ringing the bells to deal with me). I'm stunned.

Me: "I've opened it."
Clerk 1 (Since she's called over a manager, the hunchback, and 2 other clerks): "Look at this... the tape would be torn, right? This hasn't been opened."
Manager: "I don't think this has been opened."
Hunchback: "I thought he was trading it for the DVD version."

Everyone pauses to discuss this new development, before an act of God (aka me) makes them realize that there is no DVD version.

Me: "Would you like me to demonstrate my opening technique to you?" I'm feeling kinda snotty about now, but I figure that this might smooth things out.
Clerk 2: "That won't be necessary," she snorts. Suddenly I feel like I'm being accused.
Hunchback: "Did your wife open this?"
Me: "I opened this."
Hunchback: "Maybe you could call her and clear this mess up."

I don't know which side of the mental spectrum the hunchback is on at this point. He's either using the Dilbert absurd logic strategy or he's sexist and retarded.

"Sure."

I call my wife. The beauty of this is that they can't tell what she's saying, only me. But they're all standing right there over my shoulder.

Me: "Hey, Sweetheart? Yeah. I'm at Wal-Mart, and they want to know if you opened the box."
Her: "Ummm... No. You did."
Me: "Well, that's all they wanted to know. See you in a few."

I turn around to the expectant crowd. "Yes. She opened the box. There's a scratch on disk 1."

Everyone breaks into smiles... of course! The manager takes me to the side with the merchandise to be exchanged, "that's all we wanted to know," she explains. "If it's damaged, we can't reshelve it."

There's a mental shift that I've not seen the like of since working for the military.

I smile alot and take my merchandise out of there, praying that it installs this time. Time by the clock in the car: 11:42. But it's off an hour. Some day I'll get around to adjusting to daylight savings... or I'll move to Arizona.

But not today. It installed and I get to torment Sims on a whole 'nother level.

Sim-sational.

Finally!

In all this bleakness a little bit of good news... my wife doesn't have a ruptured disk (according to the Orthopeadic Center of the Rockies). A bulging one, with a desperate need for Cortisone, and mucho pain, but nothing requiring surgery.

Sooo... things might be better in that regard.

Waiting for Satan to respond...

A little nothing

I sent off an email today offering $1000 a year to teh ev1l, if she'll just let me move. We'll see how that goes. (This relates to her bitching about taxes).

I also offered to drive Son to her place, or maybe establish a place to meet.

So, I'm waiting for more to complain about, and I'm certain that you can't wait to hear the next installment of "My Crazy Ex".

In the mean time, curl up with sluggy, Steve Jackson(try not to think about it), or Your Soul.

Or maybe a good book.

"For love nor money"

Or, "Welcome to Stupidsville!"

Today I went to a counselor to determine what it is that makes me evil. Or, at the very least, non-supportive of the relationship between my son and my ex. We're also supposed to work on how to fix it so that I appear
to be the nicest guy in the world.
I give the scoop about what happened in court to my counselor. She's a woman with something like 32 years of experience dealing with this crap, and her response? "They're setting you up for alienation. If they can prove it,
you'll be in a world of hurt. Son won't be happy, either. And, it's a catch-22. If you're too involved in that relationship, that's bad. If you're not involved enough... you aren't supporting it."
"What's the answer?"
(Heavy sigh) "Spend alot of money. The first step is to offer to do some transportation, see how she responds. If she responds favorably, document everything. If she lies in court, prove it."
She leans back and reads a passage about alienation of a parent. I hate to admit it, but some of that stuff is happening. We don't want it near our other kids, so we don't allow the creature on
our property. That's a no-no. We can still keep our kids away, but we have to be more subtle about it.
The bad thing is, what with doctors, lawyers, mortgage, etc..., we aren't in good shape to take on biweekly trips to Colorado Springs. We have to, to keep Ultrason, but we can't because we lack money.

2 weeks hence, my wife stops getting paid.

This situation is rapidly turning ugly. Not just sort of ugly, but real ugly.

Ugly as sin.

Sinister

Every once in a while the topic of "handedness" comes up... which hand is predominantly yours. I think of myself as being... I don't know. There are 3 options:

Right-handed: Regardless of whether I catch a ball or write with it, this hand doesn't seem the most natural for me. When I was first learning how to write, I tried with my left hand and was punished. I don't think learned behavior dictates natural tendencies.

Left-handed: Possible, and I'm inclined to think of it this way. Except that, when cleaning, I use both hands rapidly sometimes. If I see a speck of dirt, I use the closest hand, which would imply:

Ambidexterity: My mother claims this, but I've never really noticed. Of course, I could be taking her for granted. It could also be that most of my learned behavior is right-handed, my natural inclination is left, and that I kind of adapt a little.

Related: I've recently made an effort to write with my left hand. To learn to do it with the same level of aptitude as my write. Since my handwriting sucks, this was accomplished in a matter of weeks, but I was afraid that the bank would claim that I'm not who I said I was on checks. I've found no real use for being able to write with both hands, and I'm more likely to just pick it up with the right hand and go (it does take some concentration to use my left).

Thoughts?

All you need...

John Lennon said it's "Love," but he's not really my generation. I'll go with Axl Rose's "Patience."

Someone, not too long ago, commented on your irritatingly, mind-bogglingly patient I am. I shall explain with philosophy and being Southern.

Being Southern doesn't mean that you are slow, although many people assume so (which creates a stigma against the southern drawl). It does mean that the sun shines, the grass grows, and you wait. That's what this earth is for.

That and humidity.

My father, a deeply philosophical man, says that all problems go away with time.

And there's no way to beat that logic.

****************************************

On memes (I can't believe I'm doing another one), there's one going around regarding authors you've read more than 10 books of.

Terry Pratchett
Doctor Seuss
Asimov
Christie
Michael Stackpole
Bradbury
Weiss&Hickman

Comics represent a special turf for me. I'm pretty well read there:
Gaiman
Jeff Smith
Terry Moore(I think... Strangers in Paradise)
Claremont
Frank Miller
Dave Sim
McFarlane
Probably Lee.

I only count those if I've read 40 or so of that author, since 4 comics might = a trade)

That's all I can think of

On the way in...

I'm a vet. Sort of. I mean, I did my 4 years and am technically a part of the 1st Gulf War (I've got a ribbon for it!). But I'm also a poor vet. This was true when I came to this state, and will still be true when I leave.

Just after I got here I inquired as to what self-improvement programs the state might have for vets.

None.

"We don't have a problem attracting vets," said the voice that was supposed to help me.

But that shouldn't be the point. It's not about whether a state can attract vets or not. I would've been happier if they had things that didn't apply to me. My father, a vet of the Vietnam war and an Army retiree of 23 yrs, gets a few nice benefits that all vets of that length of service deserve. He doesn't get a free ride, but he manages to get groceries a little cheaper and some medical care. But that's the Army. I don't know what his state offers.

Texas is highly regarded amongst military types as the place to be ex-military. Texas, for all the flack I might give it in the future, rocks in this regard. I here that vets get land purchases cheaper there.

But Texas respects vets. They already have tons of vets, they don't have any problem attracting vets. They've got at least 3 military bases, and probably more, around which vets are likely to retire.

In this state getting a VA loan on your house is an automatic +1% to the loan.

I do not like it, Sam-I-Am.

Perjetory

Well, I went to see my attorney and he said...

Nothing. We lost. Try again next year.

Perjury? Oh, well, you could try a separate case against her...

To say I'm disappointed doesn't quite cover it.

On the plus side, I can now sue my ex for the right to let my son get baptized into the church of his choice.

Oh, and I might owe the realtor a wad of cash. Either that or they'll get mad at me.
He's suggesting that I sell the house anyway and rent local until I'm ready to move, which is certainly an idea except that rent around here is like this:

Rentee: "All we need is the blood of a lamb, your soul, and your first born child, and you can move right in!"
Rentor: "Is that the deposit? I get that back, right?"
Rentee: "No, that's just the first month. The deposit will require a chainsaw."

So it's possible that I may lose my son due to my financial problems. I might be forced to move to Utah, where the support will actually keep us afloat for a little while.

Colorado is getting my finger on the way out.