So I'm at it again...

Once more I have done myself grievous harm.
This Sunday I was cleaning in a furious fashion. I got thirsty. I went to the fridge to grab something to drink. I opened the freezer and my iron came rocketing down off of the top of the fridge like a goddamn scud missile and impacted my ankle with bad intentions.
That fucking iron was out to get me.
You know the knobby little bit of bone that sticks out on the side of your ankle? My iron hit that bone at a high rate of speed.
I happened to be on the phone with my friend Cindy at the time.
I unleashed the most unholy string of expletives known to man. I put together 5 and 6 word combinations that the English language has never heard before.
Cindy was troubled.

C: What happened?!
M: My fucking iron got me!
C: What?
M: My fucking iron hit me in the ankle
C: How the hell did your iron hit you in the ankle?
M: It was on top of the fridge and when I went to get some ice that fucking thing fell off and hit me in the ankle...I'm bleeding.
C: Why was it on top of the fridge?
M: I don't know!
C: Ok never mind that. Here's what you need to do, go put on a sock.
M: A sock?
C: Trust me I once nursed a rooster with a broken leg back to health.
M: They have socks for roosters?
C: Shut up Smartass! (That is her pet name for me, Smartass) The sock is going to help with the swelling. Then you need to get a bag of peas or corn out of the freezer.
M: No way! I'm not going to open that fucking freezer again!
C: Calm down sweetie. Where is the iron?
M: Well, after it fucked me up I kicked it over by the sink.
C: It's Ok, it can't hurt you anymore, you're safe.
M: Ok I'm going over to the freezer...wait, I'm not really that hungry.
C: You're not going to eat the peas you're going to put the bag on your leg.
M: Right I've heard of that....hang on... shit,I don't have any frozen peas or corn, you know I have this thing about fresh food.
C: Well what do you have?
M: Broccoli
C: Put it on your leg.
M: Are you sure?
C: Do you trust me or not?

So I woke up around 4 in the morning with my leg resting in a wet spot and a bag of defrosted vegetables flopped across my ankle.
I told everybody at work today that I got attacked by a pit-bull. No way am I admitting that my fucking iron turned bad and attacked it's owner.

I'm at home now...I've got peas all over my ankle.

Workplace sabotage

I read a book back when I was working for the phone company about sabotage in the workplace.
(By the way, I was an operator, how seriously old school is that? You picked up a phone and dialed zero...and there I was. How quaint. Maybe if I can remember some good ones I'll tell a few operator stories.)
So the gist of this book was that if employers piss off their employees they run the risk of the employee causing them financial loss through various methods. It had stories about butchers that would grind prime cuts of meat into hamburger and campaign workers who would shred $10,000.00 checks.
I'm not going to go into all the ways over the years I have cost employers money when they have screwed me.
I will tell you this.
Where I work now they have a key system that works like this: You have a little metal doo-dad that looks like the end of an amp chord. ( the cord that connects a guitar or microphone to an amp, know what I mean?)
On the other end of it is a light. You type the stock number into the computer and the appropriate drawer unlocks and when you open the drawer the end of the doo-dad attached to the key you want lights up.
When I first started I asked somebody what I do with the doo-dad when I sell a car. He said " I throw them out, fuck Ray"
Ray is the owner of the store.
Interesting response.
I was pretty sure that was not S.O.P, so I asked another salesperson. Turns out there was a little bucket in the office. Ok.
So I put the doo-dad's in the bucket...but I was kind of curious so I started asking around. It turns out they cost $8.00 each. How should I say this...several people did not properly handle the doo-dads.
One guy in particular told me an interesting story. He said that when he first started at the store Ray screwed him over on a deal and cost him a couple hundred dollars. So he started collecting the doo-dads. He figured once he had cost the store an equivalent amount of money he would stop.
But then a funny thing happened, he got screwed over again before he reached the limit. At that point he stopped keeping track. He just kept collecting the doo-dads.
So to cut this short?
He now keeps every one of the doo-dads and uses that to track how many cars he has sold for the year. Then at the end of the year he throws them out. I estimated he has cost the store at least $5,000 so far.
In reality, they probably haven't fucked him out of half that much money. But the fact that they continue to fuck him over on any amount of money means he isn't going to stop.
It all comes down to the whole "penny wise, pound foolish" cliche.
The owner of our store is so cheap that we don't have hot water.
That's right, a customer walks into a restroom at our dealership and even though there is a 'hot' tap, no hot water actually comes out.
Umm..we live in the Rockies? Tap water is fucking cold here.
How pathetic is that? They sold more cars than any other dealer in town last year, made millions of dollars and yet hot water is an unnecessary luxury? Not since communist Russia has hot water been a luxury.
All of this was none of my damn business...until they fucked me over on a deal.

I have a dozen doo-dads so far.

The thing is...I'm finding I get more satisfaction out of having the things than out of knowing what they represent. (I thought the reverse would be true.)
I have a confession to make.
I love to collect a bunch of one thing if it has some intrinsic beauty. Even if it's useless.
For example? I used to be quite the beer aficionado when I was younger. I loved trying a beer I had never had before. I kept the bottle caps in a big vase on our coffee table. It was colorful and tactile and kind of a work of art.
At this same time I was obsessed with shooting pool.
The supermarket that I went to had the usual gum ball machine conglomerate up at the front of the store and one of the machines had superballs. Most of them were your usual swirly designs...but mixed in they had little super-ball-billiard-balls.
Cool.
I spent all my quarters trying to get a full rack.
I had quite the collection of super balls. I kept them in another vase on the table.
Again, tactile, colorful art.
People were actually really fascinated by these two vases. They would paw through them , they would dump them out and play with them.
Both collections were totally useless...except for, sometimes I would take out the superballs and, a handful at a time, I would slam them on the hardwood floor and watch the cats go absolutely
batfuck-crazy trying to catch the balls...that's as close to practical as they got.
Anyway, I loved having hundreds of bottle caps and superballs in jars.
and, I get the same feeling from the doo-dads.
They have no purpose...but there they sit all shiny and tactile on my desk.
I'll find something cool to do with them.

I Bought A Snobby Apple

Oh.my.god this is one uppity apple I bought myself.
It was sitting there amongst the 'regular' apples. (I don't know how it could stand it really)
Visually you would not be able to tell it's an upper crust, well bred apple.
It looks kind of like a Jonagold or a Fuji. Looks can be so deceiving.
The first clue I had that this was going to be an apple from the right family was it's name:
Corail Pinova.
Sounds like like a French Viscount, no?
The little sign below the apples told me they are organically grown (but of course) in Washington. It even went so far as to tell me the exact county in Washington. I didn't take note of it because I didn't anticipate enjoying the apple so much that I would feel the need to make a pilgrimage to it's birthplace.
I did however write down the description:
A combination of Orange Cox, Golden Delicious, and Duchess Of Oldenburg. A perfect blend of tart and sweet.

Are you fucking kidding me?
Really? Duchess of Oldenburg? Honestly?
I could not have made that up if I wanted to.
I feel like I should have gotten a pedigree with this apple.

It better be a pretty damn good apple with a lineage like that.

I don't hang out with those guys no more

I was just thinking back to a time I was riding in a car with friends; people I would most likely not hang out with now.
I guess maybe some of those friends have grown as I have ...but I know some of them haven't.
It's not possible to have been that guy ....and now be any different.
This was when I was in college. Most of my friends weren't in college they were people I worked with at restaurants and bars. People I met shooting pool. (I have shot a disproportionate amount of pool in my life. I had a regulation table in my living room. You know how if you played too much Tetris you had Tetris dreams? Yeah, well I had pool dreams.)
So, we were riding in my friends '70 something GTI. She had a sticker on the rearview mirror "stupid people shouldn't breed"
I'm in the backseat with Shaun. Shaun is chemically-induced stupid. Not just in the momentary sense. In the permanent sense as well. Hanging out with Shaun is like babysitting an ADHD first grader that can legally drink. He looks at the sticker, "Yeah, stupid people shouldn't breathe!"
"How many kids do you have Shaun?" I know he has a kid that he doesn't see. He knows it's better if he's not around.
"one, dude. That sticker is wrong in one way...my kid is pretty smart. Way smarter than me."
Then he does something weird....he sort of rubs his hands over his face, like he's washing his face, but with no water....then he does a sort of all over body shudder, like a dog shaking water coming out of the lake...and he says, "Man I did a lot of acid"
Everyone in the car is thinking the same thing, "oh shit. When did Shaun get a hold of some acid?"
This could be bad. Shaun is unstable enough already.
I should mention, when I got in the car I noticed he was wearing a plaid shirt over a plaid shirt, plaid shorts, plaid fishing cap...plaid fucking Converse hightops. I said..."um is it plaid day?"
"Naw...I was just listening to the Bosstones today"
I say," Where the fuck did you get acid...when did you take it?"
"No, I just meant in my life I've taken a lot of acid"
I reached into the half rack of Henry's between my feet and pulled one out.
(In Portland, Henry Weinhards ale is the house beer and a "half rack" is the term for how they come. Twelve shortneck bottles arranged 4x3 in an almost cube shaped green box. I remember one time walking down the street, having just come off the train, headed to a party, dangling a half rack. A homeless guy asked me for change, I broke open the half rack and gave him a beer instead..he said "God bless you")
I cracked the beer and just as I went to take a drink Kelly swerved for some reason and the bottle clinked my front tooth and chipped it.

That chip is mostly worn away, and I can't even feel it with my tongue . I don't hang out with those guys no more.

I have a single friend that works for the un-employment department.
She's single so I like to tease her about meeting guys at work.
If you worked at an art gallery or a BMW dealership, meeting guys at work would be viable...but at the un-employment department?
Enh, maybe not so much.
So it's a running joke.
Sometimes she goes to High Schools to give seminars about resumes and applications and I tease her "any minor league prospects?"
Nope.
The other day she got to talk to parolees.

Me: anybody cute?
Cindy: yeah this one guy, Damien.
M: Damien? How the fuck do you know his name?
C: he had it tattooed on his throat?
M: well...you can't always trust a throat tattoo to be accurate ..
C: that's true.
M: did you get his number?
C: Yeah...I don't think I'm gonna' call him...

Love is a battlefield

What you gonna do with all that funk?

When I was with Honda I had this guy come in to look at a Civic for his daughter. He was acting all Mr. Bigshot with me. Do you have any idea how many times I have dealt with Mr. Bigshot?
Dozens...hundreds...
Do you know how many times Mr. Bighsot has actually turned out to be a bigshot?
Never.
But...I did sell a car to the guy who invented the hybrid. You know...the Prius? regenerative breaking?
I sold a Prius to the guy who invented the technology 30 years ago...that's a big shot as far as I am concerned.
Yes, the major players in the market waited for his patent to run out...but...I read his patent.
Homeboy invented the shit.
Know what else? He lives off the grid. Has for years. He is Mr. Sustainable
So...I was at Honda, dealing with Mr. Bigshot. He's gonna buy a Civic for his daughter, never paid sticker...blah, blah, blah. But...the dude smells funky.
Not like B.O....just weird.
I can't place what weird smell is coming off the man...it's a kind of old dude-old school cologne. Like, Old Spice or something...but...also a weird funky smell.
So we get to the bone. We have negotiated this thing as much as we can.
and he splashes his card.
He throws his card down like he's splashing the pot.
It's a poker term...when the bets are down and you kind of throw your bet in and make the pot 'splash' ...he splashes his card down...
I look at it.."Mr. Bigshot, Plant Manager, Purina"
Oh shit.
This clown is the big-boss-man at the dogfood plant.
That explains the smell.
You have to know, if you have a dog-food factory, that shit stinks.
So I say the only sensible thing...
I sort of exclaim..."Dogfood!"
I am laughing because I have figured out why this fucker stinks.
Dogfood.
He says, "What?"
"Oh, I thought I knew you from somewhere..."

I don't need you to make a fool of me I can do it all on my own

Walking into the store last night a man and I were approaching the entrance at the same when time all of a sudden his arm shot up in a greeting.
Kind of like when you see someone you know in a crowd? Just a big friendly "hey!"
I give him a nod back like "how ya' doin'?" but the look on my face definitely says " who the fuck is this guy waving at me?"
Then I realize he was just shooting the sleeve on his jacket trying to get it adjusted properly.
Then he kind of frowns at me because he sees some guy giving him a head nod combined with a bit of a scowl that translates into " tha' fuck you lookin' at?"
He scurries into the store avoiding eye contact with the psycho.

Later I'm in the produce department and I realize the poor guy has various tics. He's flinching and flailing around the oranges.

Great, I mad dogged a poor disabled guy.

A new Feature!

I don't really write a lot about all the crazy stuff I've seen working at dealerships over the years.
I'm going to try to write one every once in a while as the good stories come to me.

We had a feisty older lady that was a dealership groupie.
First, I should explain.
A dealership groupie is someone who is around the dealership an inordinate amount of time;
way more than is necessary. It happens more at a family owned dealership than corporate ones. I don't really know why that is...but they come around because they are lonely and eccentric and they know they will get attention from the staff...it's kind of like being a regular at a bar.
This lady is a classic dealership groupie. She comes around and acts all comfortable with everybody. She feels fine talking smack to the staff. She acts like she knows everybody.
Usually a groupie buys one car and then lingers like someone staying too long at a party.
This one? She buys cars all the time.
She had a ranch and a church and they were always needing cars.
(we all were suspicious of the "church" it seemed more like a tax shelter...but I digress)
So she comes in one day and buys a car ....shooting her mouth off the whole time and generally getting on every ones nerves.
A couple of days later she comes back and asks to see her salesman. He's not available.
"Well you're not doing anything, you help me."
Yeah, I'm not paid by the hour? Helping you could cost me to actually miss getting a customer and therefore lose money?

Me: Sure! What do you need?
Dealer Groupie: Come here and look at this light on my dash.
(we walk to her car. She points to the tire pressure monitor light. If one or more tires has pressure below a certain percentage of the other tires it warns you. It's a symbol of a tire and it looks like danger is happening...wavy lines and all)
DG:What's that?
Me: hmm...have you had this on the highway since you bought it?
DG: yes, why?
Me: Did you exceed the legally posted limit of 55 mph?
DG: umm, yeah why?
Me: (putting a concerned, "oooh, no" look on my face) Was it in excess of 10mph over the limit?
DG: (trying to cover her tracks now) I...I don't know, I guess it's possible. I don't think so..
Me: I guess you haven't heard about the federal law enacted last year. Basically the NTSB enacted a law requiring that all manufacturers have a system on any new car sold in North America that monitors if the vehicle has been driven over the posted speed limit.
DG: So...what does that mean?
Me: (very cavalierly) It means you have voided your warranty, your salesmen must have covered this with you.
DG: What!? Nobody said anything about that! So I have no warranty coverage on a car I bought 3 days ago?
Me: Well...they do have a program where you can buy extended coverage....it doesn't cover nearly as much as the original warranty, considering you are a "speeder", but I think it's pretty reasonably priced.
DG: (gasping in a kind of fish on the deck way) Speeder?
Me: (casual shrug)
DG: So, what about the light, will it go off?
Me: Oh no, quite the opposite.
DG: Opposite?
Me: Yeah, actually the light will begin to increase in intensity...I can't believe nobody told you all this.
DG: It's going to get brighter? How bright does it get?
Me: In the training they said 8,000 lumiens. I really don't know how bright that is but I have seen the dash of a speeder who bought her car about a year ago and man...it's pretty distracting...kind of like when someone hits you in the eyes with one of those key-chain flashlights? I don't know if she's at the 8,000 lumien level yet, but...whew!
DG: are you serious?!

FINALLY! The words I have been waiting to hear! Oh how I love to hear those 3 little words. Are. You. Serious.

Me: naw, it's just a tire pressure monitor. Service can get you fixed up in a few minutes.

I have to tell you, I haven't had someone punch me in the arm that hard since jr. high school.

Odd Dream

I know it can be the most boring thing in the world to listen to somebodies stupid fucking dream.
It's always like:
"then I was talking to my mom, but she didn't look like my mom she looked like a pony...but somehow I knew it was my mom...oh! then I was floating...and there was a squirell!"
And you want to flay open your wrists just to make it stop...

So I had this dream last night.
I was on the phone ordering some stuff that had nothing to do with God or tea.
(hang with me that will make sense in a minute)
The lady asked me

Her: would you like to go to heaven?
Me: umm, yeah I guess.
Her: are you on our website?
Me: yes.
Her: Ok, do you see the little picture of the travel mug?
Me: yes.
Her: that travel mug comes with 4 teabags and it has the serenity prayer on the side. If you make yourself 4 separate cups of tea, and say the prayer you will go to heaven. Oh and the tea it's called "serenatea" get it?
Me: no kidding? What if I drink the tea but don't say the prayer? Do I still get into Heaven?
Her: I don't know....I would say the prayer just in case?
Me: Yeah, I'd hate to spend the 10 bucks and then fuck it up and not get into heaven.
Her: That's what I'm thinking......so, do you want to take advantage of this special offer?
Me: yeah, why not.
Her: Would you like to upgrade to the larger size for only $2.00 more?
Me: oh shit, I can supersize my heaven? Do I get into a better heaven if I get the bigger one? Like instead of just plain old heaven it's heaven but with strippers too?
Her: um I think it's the same heaven...I mean, heaven is perfect and you can't have anything better than perfect, right?
Me: so no strippers?
Her: umm...I don't know.
Me: so what would be the advantage of getting the upgrade if I can't supersize my heaven?
Her: well I'm not supposed to tell you this but the regular travel mug is only 12 ounces, so lets say you wanted to put a can of soda in there it would be totally full ...but if you get the larger one? You can have ice and the soda.
Me: ok, seems worth it.

Then I woke up.

picky eaters

We have a lot of picky eaters in my family. I swear it must be genetic.
In mine and Turbo's case it's exacerbated by the fact that we both have a type of hypoglycemia that allows us to go a long time with out eating and not suffer any loss in energy....until it's too late and our system crashes. Turbo was in the hospital at least a dozen times early in his life. He wouldn't eat enough and eventually his little system couldn't keep going and he'd spike a really high fever and we would be back in the emergency room.
It was so bad that I got almost daily calls from my family simply to find out what Turbo had eaten for the day.
My dad loves to tell the story of when Turbo was around 4 and they took him to a nice restaurant. The kids meal was prix fix so it included everything from the drink to the dessert.
He proceeded to just shove the food around for the entire meal, including a dish of ice cream.
My dad tried to get him to eat a piece of pie and Turbo politely declined. My dad says "are you sure, it's pretty good?"
Turbo gestures to the ice cream he's not eating and says, " I'm ok Pa-Pa I've got my ice cream."
It flabbergasted my dad that Turbo was declining a bite of pie based off of the fact that he already had a dessert...that he wasn't touching.

Things started to change for the better when Turbo was about 5 or 6 and I discovered I could get Turbo to eat nearly anything as long as I ordered the hottest thing on the menu Suddenly i could take him anywhere in town and I knew I could get him to eat. I'd order Jamaican jerk chicken or General Tso's and he would be fine.
He would frequently complain about the salsa not being hot enough which usually got a funny response from the waitstaff. I loved going to the local Indian restaurant and ordering whatever I wanted : chicken tandoori, stewed eggplant with chilies and the staff would gawk as Turbo ate whatever I put in front of him. He actually developed a standard line that he would say whenever somebody acted concerned if the food was too hot for him. He'd say " Pretty good...could be hotter but it's got nice flavor."
Then things got even easier once Turbo discovered the magical sauce that changed his life.
Buffalo Wing Sauce.
He was around 7 when his appetite went into overdrive. He ate constantly and it was all covered with Wing Sauce.
He could tell you the top five places to get wings in town and rank them in order for you. He traveled with a bottle of sauce in his backpack in case he wound up having a meal someplace that didn't have the sauce. He put it on his school lunch.

I never had a magical sauce like that when I was a kid...in high school I did go through a pretty serious fling with barbecue sauce. But there were many unpleasant times that I was at a babysitter and I had to skip lunch and wait until my mom picked me up because all they had was peanut butter and jelly or the tuna fish had celery in it.
The ultimate example of this was a time when a lady tried to serve me some PB&J on wheat. I asked as nicely as I could if possibly there might be something else and she said.
"like it or lump it."
My response was to say "well then I lump it!" and smash my fist into the sandwich and storm out of the room.

I don't know how she will feel about this...

I was recently talking with a friend on the phone and she said I need to get her a shop vac for mothers day. I can't imagine what a single woman would do with a shop vac...
(I can imagine what a single man would do with a shop vac, and while not technically illegal it is wrong fellas)
she said she needs it to vacuum up the leaves on her patio so she isn't "sweeping up leaves like an idiot in the wind"
I found that an interesting turn of phrase: Like an idiot in the wind.
When I pointed it out to her she amended to say "sweeping leaves in the wind, like an idiot"
which had more clarity but was less evocative.
So, I have appropriated and added to my lexicon a new phrase.
Shall I use it in a sentence for you?
George Bush is staying the course in Iraq, like an idiot in the wind.

So I was sitting here reading blogs and watching Fox Noise and getting comfortably numb.
(I have some booze left over from Saturday night and I really don't want it to spoil so I figured I should drink it)
I started thinking about Ann Coulter...
the reason I started thinking about that skinny bitch is that the "news" anchor was this woman who has a nose job just this side of Michael Jackson in terms of severity. I imagine that it sounds like a referee's whistle when she breathes hard.
Ok, sure, a sink hole hasn't opened up in her face like the King of Homosexual Pedophiles..
(did you know they changed his title from King Of Pop, officially?)
but...this woman's nose looks like the blade on a fucking pocket-knife.
A key-chain pocket knife.
And it somehow made me think of that skinny-skank Ann Coulter.
Then I had a revelation.
She is a performance artist in the style of Andy Kaufman and Sacha Baron Cohen or Tom Green.
Never break character, make people completely uncomfortable with an over the top offensive character.
Done.
She can't believe her own rhetoric right?
It's a joke.
I don't think she will ever let us in on this joke, she will take it to the grave...but it's not possible that she is sincere.
It's all theater, it's a goof.
I feel much better now. I still hate that fatass Rush Limbaugh...sure he lost a few pounds, but he is still in his heart: a fat, sad, pathetic loser. And he believes what he says.
Ann Coulter is goofing on us. I gladly ignore her now.

I feel fine.

Let go let...go

I was reading a blog Christina wrote recently. I started to leave a comment and then it started to turn unwieldy for a comment and more blog-like...so here we are.
She was talking about letting go.
Letting go of anxiety and fear.
I am in a similar place which is interesting because in many ways we are in very different places.
It seems like more and more she is becoming comfortable in her skin and growing into who she is supposed to be.
Maybe she doesn't see it that way but looking at it from my point of view, she is truly on a path. She has started at "A" Proceeded to "B"..."C - E " are on the horizon.
Her life is heading somewhere.
She has a good husband, good sons, a nice house ....a nice life really.
In a few years her boys will both be in school full time and she can do or be whatever she wants as far as a career is concerned. I am very envious of this. I wish I could go back a few years and be this aware of where I was taking my future...I have been simply plowing forward and hoping for the best.

As for me?
I'm a little bit lost.
I am on my 5th or 6th career and I think I have a couple more to wade through before I find my place.
I don't have a girlfriend or wife.
(not that I have really been trying to find one, but that's another Oprah...the whole issue of love is so complex. Sometimes you are somebodies type but they aren't yours...lots of weirdness...anyway, I'll figure that out later. I know that Eventually I will get a handle on everything. I just need time. I feel confidant that given enough time I will understand Everything.
I haven't got this one down yet. )
I don't even know where I will be living by the end of the summer. As I said, a bit lost.
But?
It's OK.
I know that whatever I decide to do next it'll be ok.
I will be able to find work. I don't fear being fired or not being able to find work. I know I will always have a position somewhere.
I know that once I figure out where I am going to be and what I am going to do: I will find work I want, I will find someone to be with...
I have always been able to get the girl...I need to work on keeping the girl now.
At the end of the summer I'll either stay here or move there. I am not worried either way. Both have their merits and I will focus on what is good about whatever the end result is.
The big thing is?
I let go of fear, I let go of anxiety...as much as is possible.
I don't mean to sound overly sanguine but the reality is...fear....
of loss, of death ...whatever?
It does me no good.
Certainly, the simple fear of injury prevents me from randomly walking into traffic...
I'm talking about the generalized fear that I am going to die someday.
I relinquish that.
Of course I am going to die.
So what?
Also?
I have nearly let go of material possessions.
Nearly.
I still love my cell phone and my lap-top and my car...and I really covet a nice lcd tv...
but I don't buy anything that I don't really need...part of it is the whole uncertainty of my future ( the whole end of summer issue?).
But...
If I break a glass I don't immediately go out and buy another. I think, "do I need 4 glasses? Can I get by with 3?"
So I had 3, then 2, now 1.
I have one glass.
When I want to drink I rinse it.
(and really? I mostly just drink water anyway)
I have a chair, a desk, a bed.
Clothes, computer, phone , car...that's it.
I haven't bought anything in a while.
I spent the last decade or 2 losing things.
(divorce, theft etc.)
and I am at the point where I am like Tyler Durdon.
"The things you own wind up owning you."
I am Graham Dalton in Sex Lies and Videotape.
My favorite line from the movie...it seems I am the only one who knows this line:
everything I own is in the car, and I just... I like that; you know, I mean, I just - if I get an apartment, that's two keys, if I get a job, you know, um, I might have to open or close, that's more keys...
I have keys to 2 cars, and a mailbox key.
I love how entirely clean and light my key chain is.
My life is portable in a Mazda Miata.
I live in such a minuscule amount of square footage... I have reduced my life to bare necessities.
It's all about letting go.
Of things, of desires, of fears.
Don't worry.
Everything is going to be fine, I promise.

Cell phone maladies

Whenever I see 2 people in a car and they are both talking on cell phones I fantasize that they are calling each other.
Part of what fosters this is that it is almost always a young middle class white couple...I guess I just naturally assume they are very cold and passive aggressive and so to communicate they need to insert a layer between themselves to say what is on their mind.
Kind of like how your parents would say something to you but really they were talking to each other?
"Well, if daddy thinks dinner should be ready by 6:30 maybe he should skip having a drink at the bar with his pals and come straight home and cook it himself"
"why should daddy have to do that when mommy sits on her ass all day watching Oprah?"
But they don't have the kids to talk through yet so they use the cell phones?

" Hey honey, I was just noticing that you kind of ran that red light back there ? Do you think you could get us to the movies without killing us?"
"Thanks sweetie, I'll keep that in mind...hey while we're noticing things? Have you noticed you've got the heat in the car up to like 100 degrees? I'm thinking this is a Ford Escape not a fucking sauna."
" Sure, and I'm thinking that maybe it just seems hot to you because you had to do 3 shots of Jaeger before we left the house. Who does that , really?"

Also, while we're talking about automotive-cell phone behavior?
I have come up with yet another syndrome/condition.
It's called Cell-Phone Tourettes.
Have you ever been talking to someone and they are on the phone and driving at the same time and they say something along the lines of :
"Yeah, we are going to be at Moms around 4 and then... SURE JUST COME ON OVER MOTHER FUCKER...then we'll eat around 5"
and you're thinking "wait, what?"
So you say, "what did you just say to me?"
And they're like, "oh this guy just cut me off"

that's Cell-Phone Tourettes

april fools

An extreme bout of ennui kept me from writing this yesterday on the actual "April Fools" day...but since I provide this wonderful blog gratis I'm ok with being a day behind schedule.


I worked for a dealership in Flagstaff that had as it's General Sales Manager one of the most heartless unendurable pricks I have ever met. Consequently I either quit or was fired from the dealership every 6 months or so because of some conflict between the manager and myself.

The morning of April 1st a few years ago I was in the conference room eating some breakfast when the manager Jeff walks in. He tells me that because of a drop in business and a less than stellar performance by me the month before he has decided to let me go. I tell him he's full of crap, I'm not getting fired because I am one of the best salespeople he's got. We argue for a few minutes and he finally says, " I've already made up my mind" and he puts his hand out for me to shake. I refuse, "I'm not shaking your fucking hand." and I go back to my breakfast.
Jeff leaves the room.
The door opens a minute later and in walks Rob. Rob is actually a good friend of mine. He says "So Jeff talked to you?"
I've got a mouthful of food so I just nod my head.
"Here's the thing man, Carrie is demanding that we cut at least one salesperson because we've got too many people. You know Jeff hates you so that's why he wants you gone. Here's my issue: you're a lot better salesperson than most of the guys we have here and you'll get another job in a heartbeat. Some of these newer guys may not be able to get a job right away....that's why I'm supporting Jeff on this."
I was instantly furious.
First because of the betrayal. Rob is my friend he's supposed to have my back. The secondary thing is the fact that the reason is so incredibly stupid. Why on earth would you fire somebody who makes you money in favor of somebody that is so inept you are concerned they won't find another job?
I was spitting mad.
LITERALLY.
I leap out of my seat. I try to speak but my mouth is too full of food. I rush over to the trash can and begin spitting the food out.
It takes a few tries before my mouth is clear enough to launch into a profanity laced, top of my lungs diatribe about the incredible stupidity of what he has just said and the complete lack of loyalty as a friend on his part.
Jeff hears me and pokes his head in the door. I unleash a few opinions about his character in the most profane way possible. I don't remember what he said next but it was enough to put me over the edge. I lunge at Jeff and Rob grabs me in a bear hug.
I should mention at this point that Rob is a cage fighter. He weighs 245 lbs. and stands 6 feet 4 inches. At this point in his life he has had a half dozen or so professional fights. The odds of me getting away from him are slim but I give it my best shot.
Now I have graduated to hopping mad.
Rob leans down and whispers in my ear " April Fools".
My head exploded.
Once I was calm enough to be let loose without the danger of someone getting hurt
and I had reassembled my cranium I said, "Who are we going to get next?"

I was in the Sprint store waiting to be helped. The man called out the next persons name, but nobody responded so I tried to jump ahead in line
" that's me"
"umm, sir....your name is Diamond?"
"It's my stage name?"
"I don't think so. John, I can help you here?"