Fido

Since moving to florida I feel like many 80’s sitcoms before me I am developing an all to predictable catch phrase. I typically go to 1 of 2, the first being “what in the world?” or simply a loaded “why…” In this situation the latter. I guess I can understand the business model, some people are far to attach to the family pet dump it in an unmarked shallow grave on the closest piece of municipal property and would prefer to keep the ashes of the beast on the mantle. However, that’s all beside the point. The real issue I have with this infraction of general intelligence is the advertising scheme. This is the sort of thing that should be kept to the receptionist’s desk at a vet’s office, or relegated to the internet where the needy parties can find you. Not to mention the seemingly intentional absence of just what “best friends” are being roasted until the marrow boils out of their bones. Sure context clues let you know what’s going on pretty fast but this genius of industry subscribes to the reach out and grab’em school of advertising. You can’t really make it out in the pic but that little pink paw says “cremation” and I am sure you noticed the vanity plate. If I had to guess I would put money on these animals taking your recently deceased pet, skinning and eating it, and giving you the ashes from the two old lawn mower tires and newspaper they used to make filet’s of your dead pet beck in a Faded Glory shoe box with water stains.

nice.

In a small town there is an office. This office has typical office things. Chairs that appear to be very expensive, art work that appears to be original but are almost assuredly reproductions, the token plaques featuring varies youth soccer teams sponsored by the company, and this. A shadow box with a large string of firecrackers. At most places they try to find a piece to place in the reception area that sets them apart, but few hit the mark. This however, may be the holy grail of office decor. They effectively found a way to keep explosives in the middle of their place of business and receive exactly no complaints. They found a excellent loop hole. If you put it in a shadow box, you can keep just about anything anywhere. White Phosphorus grenade in the break room? No prob, just run out and pic up a baseball display case. Pair of Colt .45's will pearl inlay grips cocked and locked? Completely ok so long as they are framed and hanging above a small table covered in pamphlets describing the companies vision and five year plan.

Winston was the only good one.

This is just stupid, and it makes me want to punch the Queen. We threw you off this continent for a reason England. You engage is frumped up self satisfying idiocy like this. You lost the original thirteen because you couldn’t move beyond outdated concepts (lining up while Americans riddled you with bullets from cover because it was how wars were fought) so why more than 2 centuries later are you still messing with Royals? Sweet idea. Be financially and culturally burdened by idiots who are largely ignored day to day and are only noticed when they do something as stupid as wearing a Nazi uniform to a Halloween party. Fix your teeth.

So Buttery.

Let me start by saying I love any product that is a borderline FCC violation if spoken out of context on network television. That being said this may be the single most intriguing product I have ever run across in Walmart. I made a point of not looking up any facts or ingredients that weren’t listed on the front of the box because it is way more fun to speculate. What can be seen lets you know some of the highlights, that it has essential “milk” proteins, and is made with “organic” ingredients. Personally I willfully believe that it is made from gallons of breast milk churned in an old fashioned butter churner. Which I ordered from Amazon (I love the internet age) last night, as I began slowly stealing ounce by ounce from my child’s bottles in order to churn out some of my own. I am not sure what I am going to do with it, certainly not spread it on toast.

Barefoot Redneck

Florida. As far as I’m concerned it’s just another way to spell class. Where else in this beautiful hodgepodge of states can you find a gas station where the floor is so clean that you can walk on it barefoot with no fear? Given the tan lines I assume the barefoot revolution is a recent addition to his personal paradigm, but the jean shorts and sleeveless T (not pictured) seem to be long staples. He also appears to comb his shoulder hair, or his “deltoid mane” as it is colloquially known.

Mom and Dad Shine.

Well mom and dad, you finally made it. Your star is going to shine and shine bright, and apparently the smell can also be sensed for miles. I bet 5 years ago you would’ve never thought your names would be out there for anyone on Netflix to see. I hear Hoarders is a big ratings getter as well, so you can be assured that millions of eyes will be drawn to the spectacle. You know, I considered taking the time to write a tiny description of what people could except to view, but goodness if the description isn’t modern poetry.

Been A While.

Well… This sure is something. Two words that when separated are a simple noun and adjective, but when combined, are so, so much more powerful. Indeed this induced a double back, because as I drove by the first time I knew it couldn’t be. However, when I assumed my parking spot the words hadn’t changed, my dyslexia hadn’t thwarted me again, it was just as I thought. Nasty Canasta. It sort of rolls off the tongue, no? Granted it rolls in the same manner I’d imagine a mouth full of algae might, slow, slimy, and leaving a greasy film that stayed on your tongue for days, but it does roll. The way I read it, it has two possible interpretations. 1. The owner of the van is one heck of a Canasta player, so good in fact as to be deemed nasty. Or 2. the much more frightening option, that their exists a Senior Age Underground Strip Canasta League, or SAUSCL. Hence Nasty… Their exist a third, and far more sinister option. Perhaps they are using “canasta” in original form which literally translates to “basket.” I however, have little desire to spend time pondering the possible ramifications of dubbing ones over sized van the “Nasty Basket.”

Modern Farming

I do not currently have any new pics to write about so I have been scouring my hard drive to dig up anything I find remotely interesting. this is something I found.

Rock out

Some people are born to certain things. Some are born to lead, some to follow. Others are born to work, while more are born lazy. Some, a very select few that includes myself are born to Rock. It isn’t something learned or earned, it just is. Now some people rock with their gift for the guitar, drums, or vocals. Some write lyrics that change generations. Myself, I can pick up virtually any plastic guitar and turn it into rock history. When I first set my hands on this one I didn’t know what awaited me, but I did know it was only the first of many. I ended up, as most of you know, rocking wireless guitar hero controllers in ways no one could’ve anticipated. They said you couldn’t play “Bark at the Moon” whilst executing a chair dive. Or nail the solo in “Hotel California” in the midst of a powerslide Van Halen only dreams about. I did.

Dumb Dog.

This animal is smart for being so stupid. He shows remarkable capacity to learn new things, and even a larger capacity to forget them if they are not properly backed by bribes. Example: I tried to get him to sit for nearly a year with no luck, it took all of 30 minutes once a treat was given every single time. He has been very bad about accidents until recently. We started making sure he was taken out on a schedule, he would sometimes go to the bathroom, sometimes not, and sometimes not go outside come in side disappear for a minute and I would find a problem shortly after. So kaje started giving him treats, one per evacuation. It took him about a day to go whenever we took him out and he is finally letting us know when he needs to go. However, we are finding that if he goes outside and gets his treats, if he then goes more than a half hour inside with no treat he makes us take him outside, walks to the spot he uses lifts his leg just long enough to show us he made an effort of it and runs back for a treat. Everyone abuses the system.

Hot? Of course.

Fashion, I’m all about that stuff. Accessories, I’m totally into them. So when the opportunity presented itself for me to get an earring I thought to myself, “it wouldn’t be right to deprive the world of seeing me accented by an earring.” So there you have it. I find the jewel to be simple and elegant while remaining playful and aloof. You know, it reflects me. It’s not everyday that a man can look this good, you’re welcome.

Ok, so after posting that story I went digging through a bunch of old stuff and I found this. I wrote this for college class and havent even looked at it since. I remember the basic plot but didn't re-read it. I have no idea how many mistakes are in it, or how bad it is, but I haven't had any good pics lately so here is another story. One thing on the pic however, I wrote this story more than for years ago and tonight i type in "man by car" it was like the forth pic and is almost exactly right. on here is the story.

The car moved at a quick pace towards its much feared destination. The driver tapped his hands rhythmically, though no music was playing. Frank, a man about twenty-nine years old with premature wrinkles, was headed to his hometown. His hometown was a place that he had not seen for many years, partly due to his job but mostly to do with his fear. However, with the insistence of his wife, he was finally on his way home to make peace with an old friend.

Frank had wanted to do this for years, but he always managed to find an excuse to keep him from confronting the problem. “What’s the point anyway? After this long it doesn’t even matter anymore,” he told himself. He knew, though, that he would never be able to make peace with himself until he did so with his best friend. Though Frank was not embittered against his long-time friend, he still had trouble facing him after all he had done.

As he drew nearer to his destination the rhythmic beat increased in speed and severity until the tips of his fingers were numb. Frank was far too concerned with his reunion with his friend to notice. As Frank removed his foot from the gas petal, eased in the clutch of his ‘65 candy apple red mustang, and let his foot sink slowly and methodically onto the break, he felt his heart sink in time. He had underestimated the weight of the meeting and now felt himself nearly in the throes of an anxiety attack.

As the anxiety crept over him he spotted his friend at the mouth of a path near the end of the stone parking lot. This startled Frank for a moment, but he quickly dismissed the feeling. Frank placed his foot on the otherwise empty stone lot and began the long slow walk towards his friend. Frank walked like a condemned man would walk from his cell to the end of a death row sentence. He was terrified of the man, at this point standing only ten feet away from him, not because of what the other man might to do him, but because of his own shame.

Much to the surprise of Frank and the heavy air that came with him, his twenty-five year old friend rushed at him greeting him with a very familiar handshake and the sort of side hug males give one another. This friendly gesture lightened the air and Frank’s mood. In fact, Frank had all but forgotten his fear.

In a voice that would find a much better home at a party Frank said, “You haven’t changed a bit Bruce, not a bit.”

Bruce in a much calmer tone replied, “Can’t help what the good Lord gave ya, but what in the world happened to you? You look like a wrinkled old man.”

“Two kids and a wife will do that to you.”

“A WHAT?!? You got married?”

“Yeah, I guess I was gone for a long time, huh?”

The men shared a few long overdue laughs and started slowly down a long gravel path. As Frank began to fill Bruce in on all that happened in the many years he was gone, a field slowly came into view on the horizon. As they drew nearer to the field two silhouettes became faintly visible. Frank finally became aware of the two small figures that were now not so far away from the two men. It brought him back to the real reason he was there. The heavy air of his guilt was contending with its lighter counterpart brought by their friendship. In the end Frank knew that he had to do what he came for.

As the men got closer they clearly saw two boys hitting golf balls out into a field. The field’s driving range potential was not nearly met because the young boys could only manage to hit the balls about ten yards out, with well over a mile at their disposal. Bruce looked at the two seven or eight year olds and smiled at the memory.

“You remember this?” Bruce said smiling at the two boys.

“Of course I do, but apparently you forgot what happens next,” Frank replied letting out a deep sigh, in an attempt to let his shame escape with his breath.

“Come on now, we had fun that whole da…”

Before Bruce could finish he was cut off by the sharp crack of a golf club striking one of the boys in the head. The two grown men winced at the impact. The boy that was struck fell to the ground crying, while the boy who struck him quickly ran away scared by the other boy’s screaming. At this sight Frank turned around and headed quickly back down the path. Bruce followed, jogging a little to catch up.

“What’s wrong Frank?”

“What do you mean what’s wrong? I can’t believe I did that to you,” Frank said obviously frustrated with his own cowardice.

“Come on, we were kids, I would’ve run too, it isn’t like you tried to hit me.”

“Yeah, but I just left you there because I was scared, and I never even apologized for it.”

“You didn’t need to. It wasn’t a big deal then and it surely isn’t now. Lighten up a little bit.”

Frank’s eyes started to tear up because of the shame he felt. To stop this very non-masculine display of emotion in front of his friend, he drove his fist forcefully into his thigh, successfully quelling his sadness.

“It’s not like that was a one time thing though, do you remember when I blamed that church window I broke on you?” Frank said with a hint of frustration in his slightly raised voice.

“Well it was technically my foot that broke the window,” Bruce replied looking up into the baby blue sky in an attempt to recall with clarity what transpired.

“Because I pushed you into it,” Frank replied.

In the distance a large gloomy brick building became visible. The men seemed to be getting closer to it much faster than physics should allow.

“That wasn’t a big deal either. We were what? Twelve? I would’ve done the same if my parents were as crazy as yours were, Frank.”

As the two men reached the outside of the building Frank hesitantly opened the large steel door, and the two entered into the old high school.

“I know you could not have forgiven me for this.” Frank said, his voice filled with shame and regret.

Bruce and Frank saw a shaggy-haired freshmen rummaging through his far too messy locker as another clean cut strong young man approached, holding the hand of a beautiful black haired young woman. At the very sight of this Frank cringed and sank back away from Bruce slightly. The girl relinquished her grip on the clean cut young man to stop and talk with the bushy-haired boy. The clean cut young man stopped for a moment, then looked at the clock to remind himself and the others that he would be late for class. The bushy-haired boy and the beautiful young girl obviously had this period off and started walking towards the two older men. Paying them no attention they rounded the corner and after some giggling, as high school girls often engage in, the two began fervently kissing one another.

Not too long into this little make-out session the clean cut boy, realizing he left his notebook with his girlfriend, rounded the corner catching his friend in the act. The boy did not explode with anger, as freshmen boys often do, rather he looked at the two with disappointment, and wondered how they could betray him. The sight of the young man nearly allowed the sadness in Frank to get the better of him, but two tightly clenched fists and a slightly bruised thigh made sure he kept his manly composure. Almost whispering Frank said, “How could I do that to you?”

 “You were my best friend and I just constantly hurt you,” Frank pleaded slightly louder. Now Frank’s voice was just below a yell and he became angry, “I hurt you, tried to take everything you worked for and I never even apologized! I know you hate me, and I don’t deserve to be forgi..”

Bruce cut in with a stern voice, “ENOUGH! Honestly, I never hated you, I don’t hate you, and I always forgave you.” Regaining composure and calming his voice Bruce continued, “We were freshmen in high school, more hormones than people. Yeah I was mad then, but I got over it. I never held it against you. So for the LOVE OF GOD stop holding it against yourself.”

At this Frank sunk away feeling a mix of relief and a bit of shame for not trusting in his friend’s kindness. “Thank you.”

The two men walked towards a door at the opposite end of the hallway.

“You don’t need to thank me Frank, I’m your friend. Besides it seems to me that you have a very selective memory. What about all the fun stuff? Like when we found out a station wagon can do more than one consecutive donut? Or that the sight of a snake really does make your sister throw up?” Bruce opened the door and the two men started slowly down an unfinished wooden staircase with no railings. “I know you couldn’t have forgotten about this.”

As the two friends got to the bottom of the staircase they saw that the whole basement was covered in a combination of orange Hot Wheels tracks and black and white domino tiles.

Frank laughed slightly and cracked a half-hearted smile for the first time saying, “How could I forget, one hundred and seventy-fou…”

Bruce cut in and said, “Seventy-five.”

“Oh sorry, one hundred and seventy-five pieces of track, four hundred and thirty-three dominos, and two die cast Ford mustangs.”

Two young boys rushed down the stairs behind the men and got ready to set off the combination Hot Wheels domino contraption they spent the better part of three days creating. Frank kneeled down and picked up the mustang with the candy apple red finish and black racing stripes.

He let his eyes stay shut for a moment and said to himself, “This one always was your favorite.”

When Frank opened his eyes again he found himself back outside, with the warm sun beating down on his back and a cool air brushing up against his face. He took the tiny car and set it on a headstone that read “Bruce Davis: Son, Brother, and Friend 1976-2001.”

Frank then stood up and wiped the last of those not so masculine tears out of his eyes, and whispered a soft “thank you” to his friend and walked back to his car.

Instead of the regular post I am posting a short story. Just so you're aware prior to reading it is about a suicide and there is brief description of the act.

Barefoot:

I killed myself three years ago. I know that is a little hard to digest given the fact that I am writing this and presumably you are reading it. Now I know you’re expecting me to say that some existential crisis killed my soul and my body endures. Nothing so lame. No in fact I committed suicide in a way I assumed would make sure I stayed gone. None of that cry for help stuff. I slit both wrists vertically, chased a bottle of Advil with a bottle of vodka, and kicked the chair out from under the noose around my neck. I remember the crack of my neck breaking.

So believe me when I tell you I am as surprised to be writing as you are to be reading. Looking back on the circumstances that led to trifecta I suppose I overreacted, but in the moment it seemed a bit overwhelming. I digress; the real curiosity here is why exactly I’m north of bedrock. Part of me thinks I may actually have ended up in a sort of hell. Though I am not sure there’s a heaven to my hell so it’s hard to say.

I was buried on a perfect afternoon in May, from all accounts as close to a perfect Ohio afternoon as there has ever been. My mom said that’s what made her cry so hard, I think it’s because she blamed herself for my suicide. Apparently there was just enough of those clouds that look like a bunch of mini-marshmallows stuck together around to give the perfect amount of time out of the sun that no one was to hot or too cold. So I guess I gave everyone a pretty nice afternoon out.

If you asked pre-suicide me how many people would’ve showed up to my funeral I would have said none, with downcast eyes and slumped shoulders assuredly. Turns out a lot of people considered me a friend. More than 300 people showed up at viewing hours, and close to 500 came to the funeral, standing room only. I talked to about half of them so far, the majority genuinely cared for me. Wow, sorry, I keep getting ahead of myself.

I was buried on a Saturday. I got back on Wednesday. It was disorienting to say the least. The last thing I remembered was the crack from my neck breaking, and then I was standing barefoot in the grass hand shooting up to my neck to check the damage. It wasn’t like waking up, it was like blinking, to me no time existed between the rope going taught and my feet in the dewy grass. So natural my first thought was I that I had a very vivid day dream. Never mind that I had no idea why I was in a grave yard without shoes and wearing a suit I had no memory of buying. I guess I never thought of it before, but why put shoes on a dead guy? If the bottom of the casket is closed it’s not like anyone’s seeing his feet.

My first shock was seeing my name, birth date, expiration date and the sentence “Son, Father, Husband.” Engraved on a headstone. Oddly enough I dismissed the headstone relatively easily, I had imaged it enough. Not having anything else to do I headed to my childhood home. I remembered the town well enough to get there. It was about 5 miles on foot, and not having gone barefoot since I was a child by the time I got to my parents house my feet were blistered and bruised. I sat down on my father’s porch rocker and tenderly explored the damage.

I was there about 10 minutes before my mother came out front door, eyes red and shoulders slouched, saw me and promptly passed out. You know how in comedy movies when someone passes out they do it in that crazy washboard style? Well apparently seeing your son, who had gone to great lengths to make sure he was un-revivable nigh a week prior, rubbing his dirty and blistered feet can elicit the same response. I nearly killed her.

When she finally came to, she saw me and passed out again. This happened one more time before she was finally able to, pardon the phrase, stay in the world of the living long enough to talk to me. Her eyes welled up and she reached up with the strong callused hands of a woman who never forgot how to work. It drew a crooked smile out of me a week prior of would’ve never thought I had. We went inside and the questions began.

This is when I learned that I had really did kill myself. No day dream, no hallucination, and what was weird wasn’t the questions she asked me, but the ones she didn’t. There was the ones I would’ve expected a therapist to ask if I had gone to one and told them what I was contemplating. Why did I kill myself? Didn’t I know how much I was loved? Etc… What she didn’t ask was how I got there? Why I wasn’t neatly tucked into six feet of top soil? Regardless, I answered her questions, all of them, and honestly, something I hadn’t done since I lost them. We sat at the my old kitchen table for nearly five hours talking, me answering questions, her making sure I knew how much she loved me, and at the end of those hours my dad walked in after a day’s work and passed out. This was something I eventually got used to.

The conversation with my father went much the same way. Which would have been the shock of my life if I was still alive, you see me and my dad don’t have, sorry, didn’t have the kind of relationship where those kinds of questions were asked. After about an hour I was crying, by 3 so was he, and by the time he got around to telling me how proud of me he had been, how he had always loved and would regret to the day he died that he wasn’t there for me when I needed him, I was openly weeping. This unwound me. This was something that always lay between us, unspoken but understood, laid bare in that manner was more than both of us could handle in life and I believe I damaged the only man I ever really respected more than I am willing to believe.

After we finished our talk I decided to get some air, grabbed an old pair of shoes, and headed to a field of tall grass frequented in my high school days. It was on this walk that I learned another peculiar caveat of my condition. I made it about 6 steps before my left shoe fell off, followed quickly by the right. They were both still tied snuggly. I undid them and placed them back on my feet, pulled the laces tight enough to numb all ten toes. Six steps later I lost them again, extra snug laces and all. I tried 4 more times before I just carried the shoes the half mile to spot. I imagine I must have looked very strange to anyone driving by in my suit, barefoot, and holding nearly 10 year old ratty tennis shoes.

I laid down in the grass, looked up at the stars, closed my eyes, and just like in life their faces were there. However, instead of them screaming or glaring, they just looked sad. I know this still seems like a negative image, but when you have spent 3 years looking at your wife and child’s face with contorted in screaming agony, or glaring back in accusatory hate, sadness was the biggest relief I had, had in a long time. I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to hold back the tears that were quickly slipping their bonds and spilling down my cheeks. I fell asleep there.

The next day I went back to my parents and let myself in, they never locked their doors. I wasn’t hungry but realized I hadn’t eaten in over a day and raided their pantry, and learned another lesson. Nothing had taste, and I mean no taste at all. I was aware there was something in my mouth, I could smell it, but couldn’t taste it at all. I tried to swallow it anyway, and realized I had no idea how. I could not remember how to swallow. I tried to force my muscles to perform an action which I had been doing without thought my entire life and nothing happened. Tried to drink some water with the same result. It was about the time I was spitting my third mouthful of water into the sink that my mother walked out of her room. Her eyes weren’t as red, and her shoulders not as slouched. My dad came out shortly after and the two stood next to each other in the kitchen. My father looked into my mother’s eyes and began to speak. My mom cut him off and said “It’s going to be ok” and my father, the strongest man I have ever know collapsed into my mother’s arms and wept like a child. I reached for him, but drew my hand back like I had reached into a taser, because that is exactly what it felt like. I tried to speak, but my mouth snapped shut. They never even glanced at me.

This has pretty much been the formula for everyone I have visited since that first experience. Granted no one’s reaction has been quite as intense as my immediately family, one of my best friends, and my late wife’s family. I get my few hours to explain to these people why I hurt them so bad, they get to tell me how much I really meant to them, and then they forget it ever happened. The bottom of my suit pants are frayed now, the souls of my feet are probably thicker than steel (I also have to walk everywhere, and my family lives all over the country), but every time I meet another one of the people I hurt when I took my life they get a little peace even if they’ll never know why, and I get a little something too. It has taken a long time and thousands of miles, and it is going to take a lot longer before I am satisfied, but when I close my eyes now those two girls who I loved so much are wearing the faintest smiles, and it just started yesterday but I could swear I heard the smallest whisper of the beautiful voice I fell in love with so long ago.

If you asked me to describe redneck heaven in 4 words I would smile and show you this picture. You might think the water is a bit much that it in fact doesn’t belong at all with the others. However, most pesticides have to be mixed with water to have the desired effect. So it scans. If take this on from a normal persons perspective (I asked one) it becomes a bit stranger. Grocery stores tend to break things down into groupings that are most likely to sell other products. IE: the frozen foods backing up to the cold beer, ice, water, other beverages, and… pesticides? Perhaps I am not the marketing genius I believe I am but it seems to me that the bug killer might be more at home around the isle containing bleach, paper towel, and various other cleaning supplies. I know this seems out of sorts but do try to follow my logic. When there is a mess involving organic material you tend to get bugs, when you need products to clean that organic mess wouldn’t it be convenient to have it next to the products you’re buying to clean it? But what do I know; maybe the perfect place for DDT is sandwiched between Milwaukee’s Best and Aquafina.

Well, I have read a great number of comic books and graphic novels in my time, there are good ones and bad ones, some with meaning and some just for fun, but this is something that would've never occurred to me to try. The thing about a comic book is that it is more like a story board for a tv episode, short, sweet, and simple. A graphic novel is more or less the same just replace the 30 minute episode with a 90 minute movie. Given the somewhat limited range (not to take away from it I love comics) it surprised me to see someone attempt to capture the bible in graphic novel form. All the nuance and subtleties of the book don't seem to lend themselves to the medium. I have to wonder what they did with those passages that tend to start with one name throw "beget" in between and end with another name. Perhaps a series of smaller and smaller frames. There are parts of the bible that have a man beating several others to death with a jaw bone, imagine the ink on that page. Song of Songs cant be in this thing right?

Florida streets are filled with vendors of all sorts. Most prevalent are the men and women selling oranges and various other home grown fruit out of their pickups. However, there is also an abundance of gator jerky vendors, and many peddling fresh flowers, but the vendor i pass on the way home from work has decided to be in a class all his own. I know it is hard to make out from this pic, but those are rugs. Yes rugs, I missed the main display just off camera to the right, but it consists of a 10 foot high and 20 wide rig containing no fewer than 20 rugs. Now I drive a lot, which allows me to think a lot, and while I pass these vendors i oft consider buying a lime, or a prime cut of gator jerky, but i can say with confidence I had never considered a rug whilst driving about. However, it is a concept that tends to grow on you. I have passed him no less than 30 times and those rugs are growing on me. I think I'm about 30 more drive bys from considering stopping across the street to look, and who knows from there.

I have decided to take on a noble profession. I take it very seriously and am constantly finding ways to improve upon my techniques and coming up with exciting and unique ways to execute my calling. I have be frightening and confusing my wife fore more than 2 years now, and I think I am real revolutionary in my field. It takes a certain finesse to get your wife to believe, if only for a moment that you may have attempted to kill yourself, but being the pioneer that I am, i pulled it off. You see I got home early after starting a recent work day at 3am, and when I got home I really needed a nap. I live in florida, it is hot here, and the energy prices our high. When you add these things together what you get is a home that is only slightly cooler than the temp outside. If you want to nap in a cool place you'll need to look further than a bed, couch, or rug. I know some of you would choose tile, but thats because you're fools. The bathtub is the obvious choice, the fiberglass frame is cool and has the advantage of being slightly elevated from the floor allowing your body heat to dissipate faster than a plain old floor. So that was my choice. So when my beautiful wife got home she saw my truck and came looking, i normally wake at the drop of a hat, so after she had checked the bedroom, guest room, kitchen, living room, and the baby room, she was concerned, and when she opened the bathroom door and saw my legs sticking out of the tub from behind the curtain fully clothed, she had a moment of panic before i sat up. I know, she totally overreacts.

I had a dream last night. I was laying in a salon chair having my head scratched, and for a time it was completely enjoyable. However, as time wore on it slowly went from enjoyable to irritating to full on painful. This went on for a bit longer until shook awake, my scalp feeling slightly irritated, and marginally damp. I must have swatted at the little monster when I was waking because he was no where to be seen and I was mildly confused. Shortly there after he wandered back over and to my surprise started to lick my head. I pushed him away, he came back, i threw him off the bed, he came back, i scared him off the bed, and he came back. It was about that time that kaje decided to video. My head still hurts a bit, and i think he took some hair with him.

This picture is not from this weekend, I completely forgot to take pictures this weekend. I typically don’t celebrate my birthday. I had a reason for this, however, I don’t remember clearly what that was, but after several years of not celebrating I just sort of kept the trend going. Kaje seems to be determined to break me of that habit. Which is nice of her. This year she made some progress towards that goal. She slowly over the week revealed hints about what I was going to be doing this past weekend, granted I did my best to figure it out, and I got some of it. However, she still managed to pull some things over on me. Long story short she contacted my boss a while ago and got me Saturday off, which made me crazy because I had many things that needed to be done. I found out earlier in the week she was planning on sending me to a huge airsoft park to spend the afternoon doing something I haven’t done since high school and learned I still love to do. However, I do not like going to that sort of thing by myself, it is boring when you don’t know anyone, and is very hard when no one is watching your back. So when I got home Friday night I was very surprised to find Brad sitting on my couch. She had worked this out with him months back and he flew into town early Friday to spend the weekend with us. Nostalgic doesn’t begin to cover it. I will say that brad and I are pretty rusty at the whole paintball/airsoft thing, but we fell into the old rhythm pretty quick and had a blast shooting 9 year olds with plastic bb’s. (ok so there was an age range from 8 to some dude that was 65) but I think I got a 8 year and a 17 year old, and brad got some guy whose age I couldn’t tell because of the face mask. After the afternoon of combat we headed out to Medieval Times. Even with the huge traffic jam that threatened to push me into stage 2 hypertension, I love that place and it is one of my favorite memories from junior high/high school/spring break (I’ve gone a lot). It was a blast and the first time I have really kicked back and done a bunch of stuff I like to do in….. I’m not sure how long, but it’s been a long time. Thanks again Kaje, it was a great weekend.

What in the world am I looking at? This picture really does beg the question. Oh, don't bother zooming in on the eyes, I already tried that, they are far to out of focus. I have been attempting to figure out what I was looking at by a detailed analysis of my expression. It appears to be conditional approval with undertones of mild disgust. These are the things I have posited; 1. It is possible that my wife asked for a foot massage, this is a frequent request and one I am always ready to oblige. However, given the location and her tendency to walk around sans footwear, perhaps a rather uninviting substance (fecal material) was caked to her instep and the camera caught be just as I was processing the information. This seems perhaps a to mild expression for such a thing so I present 2. The five second rule is something I have often taken liberty with over the years. For some food items it can be extended based on surroundings and overall preservative content of the edible substance in question. Example: a PB&J can not be consumed if dropped in virtually any soil, on the flipside a chicken nugget could be lodged in the crack of the rear seat of a mini-van for nearly a month and still be perfectly fine... I know. I digress, so what is more likely is something I was consuming and very much enjoying hit the ground and was in less than prime condition. The part of my brain that knows better than to consume the item was most likely grappling with the side of my brain that is most often in control pushing for the "can't be that bad, give it a shot" way of life.

now, I spoke with emily about this because my first inclination was to mock her mercilessly, what I found out is far stranger. You see emily sent us a very nice gift for are yet to be named offspring and the card in the box was this one. I began to chuckle almost immediately. You see this would be an awesome card if I was sending it to her, because her name's on it.... Again, I chuckled. Come to find out my sister received these as a gift from someone, and while the cards appeared to be made professionally. It begs the question of the gift giver assumed em was gonna use these for. I guess if you really wanted to let people know how awesome you were before they even read the card. What I believe is that you give these to people when you give them presents, with a envelope with prepaid postage of course. This makes sure you are properly thanked for your grandiose gesture. Or if you're normal like em you send them to family, because it seems strange to use them at all, and hope they don't throw it out on the internet for anyone to see....

Walmart employees are a special kind of stupid. I know that you know this already, but this is one of those shining examples not only stupid behavior, but that 2 parts dumb 1 part apathetic quality that really defines the walmartians. If an object this size slid down my checkout line I believe there would be 3 options. 1: don’t bother bagger the item at all, it’s obviously to big and it would be stupid to do so. 2: if I had one of those gigantic oversized bags I would use that. 3: rather than use the medium size bag this troglodyte opted for, get the largest standard bag and fold it in half. I mean it is a pillow the smart money is on it holding its post folding.

I originally took this picture because the idea of the slogan being used for toilets struck me a bit funny. The picture feels providential at this point, because to post a picture of the actual topic would be disgusting. Background: we had a outlet short out that wouldn’t come back on with a simple breaker flip. So an electrician came out and fixed it, which allowed me to use my bathroom again. So yesterday I went in to get a shower and the bowl was filled with murky green water that conjured nightmarish images of the swamp thing. I said nothing about this. I did not know if pregnancy could cause such horror, and I was not going to risk asking. The next day it blew again. So the guy comes back, blames kaje quite rudely, so she heads to her room so she doesn’t yell at this idiot. While there she notices he is in the hallway (no where near the problem), but thinks nothing of it. Side note: the toilet would not flush the murk away and we did not have a plunger so it had to still till I could get home with one. That is important because we I went to use the other bathroom I lifted the seat a sea monster the side of a yard stick was actually peeking out of the water. Think on that….. ridiculous. Ok, at this point I risked the preggy wrath and confronted her. I don’t mind if that sort of disaster happens, but she could flush. When I did she looked surprised and laughed. So I mentioned the other incident. The toilet was still clogged when he came the second time, forcing him into the other bathroom. In 3 days this animal destroyed two toilets. The first thing they say to any person in a service position is never to use the customers restroom, bold move, and what was left behind can’t be described as anything but powerful. If he ever comes back I am going to wait till he gets started and do the same to his front seat.

here's they original.

This is one of the more interesting pieces of bathroom literature I have come across in some time. Simple, to the point, but somewhat aloof about what exactly it is attempting to imply. Is this a record of past events? An attempt to document an exciting and or tragic happening in this very bathroom? Is it instruction? Or a slogan? I don't really claim to know. However, I will say this, the penmanship is impeccable. The script both enjoyable an unique, I would like to scan this and create a font.

I wave at dogs. This is a strange statement to make. There is nothing inherently strange about it I guess. However, it is something that more oft than not results in strange looks. You see I don’t just wave at any old dog, I seem to have developed the habit of waving to dogs out on their daily walk. The scene typically unfolds thusly: I’ll be driving through a neighborhood on my way to pick up one animal or another, and a beautiful dog will be dragging some ugly slob around, the dog will look at me with that big dog grin and before I can stop it my hand shoots up and waves frantically. My eyes will then drift back to the person walking the dog who is doing 1 of 2 things. Staring at me like I’m a freak which snaps me out of my daze and makes me think of how strange my actions appeared. Or the person is waving back assuming I am waving at them, at which point I almost was glare back with a look of disgust that perfectly translates my thought “I wasn’t waving at you, you dumb slob, I was waving at the dog.” I actually get annoyed every time I catch someone waving back at me. I realize moments after staring them down how ridiculous the encounter must seem from their end, but really why would I wave at someone I’ve never even met.

A man, I am one. Better believe that. Sometimes a man needs to feel things that may not exactly be manly. Sometimes a man just needs to feel a little pretty. This certainly doesn’t mean it should happen everyday, or even every year, but from time to time you need to bath in a sea of stuffed animals. It’s not weird. It would be weird if it I did it everyday, or took a bubble bath afterward. I can assure however, that I engaged in masonry, wood working, and the greasing of varies engine parts immediately following the instance that led to this photo, so it’s cool. You do stuff you think might be perceived as weird too sometimes. I know you do, I watched you do it.

There is a long and disturbing trend that has been developing since shortly after kaje and I started dating and seems to be going strong to this day. I can't say for sure what drives them to this extreme form of expression, but I do know it is something that ebbs from time to time but always comes back. For some reason my animals find it necessary to make it look as if I am attempting to kill myself. There is a network of fading, yet still visible white lines that sprout from the base of my wrist like a tangle of vines. This, of course, is the visible evidence of one of many vicious attacks on my wrists by our oldest and cruelest animal. What I am showing you today is the mark of betrayal. I expect such things from the cats, but my dog could have slit my throat without me ever suspecting. So when his dew claw past over my wrist tearing a long furrow through the weather beaten skin, I didn't at first understand what was happening. Now I know, she has succeed at turning even my dog against me.

Oh Sad Kaje, I am sorry this had to happen to you. However, I warned you over and over, but alas, you did not listen. I explained what would happen, laid out the consequences for your actions in a very understandable way, and still you forced my hand. I said "if you can't eat your southern style pulled pork sandwich without getting it on the nice new sun dress I bought you, I'll make you wear a napkin dress." You laughed and scoffed, dismissing the notion with a shake of your tightly braided pig tales, but I showed you.

I don't know if you are aware of this, but I have used the word Venti when ordering what some people call coffee. It's ok if you don't know what that means, I'm sure your gas station brew works for you, but as you can see by my scarf, I'm into culture. It's fine with me if you want to eat a "rice crispy treat" I'm sure your moms electric range makes a good batch, but when my neck temperature is elevated I only eat "marshmallow dream bars." They help spur my obviously artistic mind. When you cross your legs heal to knee I'm sure it that makes you feel butch, but for me and my crowd knee to knee will do just fine, otherwise where would we perch our fingers?