tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1385635092413626712024-03-13T16:45:44.696-07:00Ekim-RandomRamblingsEkim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-85934009565425519822011-09-24T14:06:00.000-07:002011-09-24T14:06:59.230-07:00Just say NO<div class="Standard">Every once in a while you just need to cut loose, throw caution to the wind, go “all in”, pass go and collect $200.<span> </span>And even thought that makes no sense, my point is that sometimes you just need some excitement.</div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard">Now, there's a slight chance that I may be getting older.<span> </span>Not right now, of course, but eventually and I'd like to prepare myself for what's to come. So, when my girlfriend managed to get her hands on some Viagra I was all for it.<span> </span>I was too focused on the thought of having a night of passion that I completely neglected to ask her where she got the little blue pills.<span> </span>There was no bottle, they just came in a little baggy but I thought that would be a good thing because I wouldn't have the chance to lament over possible side-effects like blindness or rectal bleeding or stroke.<span> </span>Besides,<span> </span>a little plastic baggy is perfectly legitimate, right?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">In hind sight, I should have just said “NO”, these little blue pills were obviously not a prescription and probably some concoction that was manufactured in someone's toilet.<span> </span>But you can't judge me because you didn't see the way she looked in her mini-skirt while she was digging through her purse looking for a means of poisoning me.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">Unfortunately, the little blue pill yielded a very unexpected result.<span> </span>I was expecting (read: hoping) to become an unstoppable sex machine.<span> </span>Instead, after I swallowed the blue pill Morpheus appeared and started giving me a lecture about the dangers of conformity and telling me how disappointed he was that I wasn't “the one”.<span> </span>Which is something that my girlfriend has been saying for years.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rPfE8SDzrmI/Tn4_6rpSYZI/AAAAAAAAAJs/o5ql7ZrR6EQ/s1600/morpheus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rPfE8SDzrmI/Tn4_6rpSYZI/AAAAAAAAAJs/o5ql7ZrR6EQ/s320/morpheus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="Standard"><br />
</div><div class="Standard">Okay, I don't honestly expect you to believe something so outlandishly preposterous. I can hear you all saying, “That's just impossible” and you're right.<span> </span>I mean, come on, do you really think I have a girlfriend?<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="Standard">I did, however, watch The Matrix again recently.<span> </span>One thing that never occurred to me when I watched it years ago is why did Neo take EITHER pill?<span> </span>I mean, if a mysterious man in a trench coat offered you a pill, would you take it?<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-48195880443520554252011-06-26T20:16:00.000-07:002011-06-26T20:16:42.743-07:00Wait, that's not funny<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i204.photobucket.com/albums/bb307/cuppycake73/Funny%20sayings/followyourdreams.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i204.photobucket.com/albums/bb307/cuppycake73/Funny%20sayings/followyourdreams.gif" /></a></div>This morning I woke up and wondered, "Is today a good day to start making my own decisions?" I even sought out some sage advice by posting this delightfully ironic query on Facebook, like any responsible adult would. You see, I've decided to flip the coin on my life and become a full-time web designer and part-time construction worker. That's right folks, the random rambler is going back to school. Call it a mid-life crisis or a life altering epiphany but I've decided to follow my dream of becoming that old guy who works for some nerdy kid. Gosh, I should put that on my resumé. <br />
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</div><div>Now, I've always had the philosophy that being a geek wasn't a boolean value but had many shades of bcbcbc. And, though I've always dabbled with web design, I've recently noticed that I start to drool at the thought of getting another website to work on. Does the name "Pavlov" ring a bell? Anyway, I took that as an indicator that it's time to transition from tool belt to pocket protector. Which might actually mean that I'll have more time to devote to blogging. I'll be at a computer anyway so it won't be out of my way. It's hard to be on Facebook and blogger when you're operating a jackhammer. No really, you should try it sometime. Or better yet, try using a jackhammer when you have a head cold, that's some fun stuff. And by head cold, I mean hangover. They're the same thing, right? </div>Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-54210165650302377592011-06-09T11:06:00.001-07:002012-04-19T12:58:50.227-07:00I've been alteredAnd not in a fun way.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Okay, so I know that it's been a long time since I've been on <a href="http://blogcatalog.com/">Blog Catalog</a> but my recent visit was a little frightening. Apparently, while I was away, the default profile image changed a little. It's seems that you can now upload a larger picture. Which is nice, if you happen to have caught that change. I, however, missed the memo. So, my tiny picture got expanded and became all pixelated like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-28w8pwnKqb0/Te5pP75MetI/AAAAAAAAAHg/e0c8lZlF-Jk/s1600/pxl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-28w8pwnKqb0/Te5pP75MetI/AAAAAAAAAHg/e0c8lZlF-Jk/s320/pxl.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Yikes! I mean, come on now. I look like a character from Mario Brothers. Like, maybe Nintendo did a video game version of <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0105812/">White men can't jump</a></i>. Of course, most people know that Mario has a brother named Luigi. But, did you also know that they have a blond step-brother who likes to wear his hat backwards? That's right, in this 80's classic arcade game, I play the character who cleans up after the Mario brothers and talks to mice. My catch-phrase is, “It's a me, Ekimio”. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But it gets worse. I logged in again today to find that my pixelated abomination of a profile picture had been changed to this woman:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UEN2vjYCQzs/Te5p3yzuUzI/AAAAAAAAAHk/zyH5PJ8gC7g/s1600/3-xl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UEN2vjYCQzs/Te5p3yzuUzI/AAAAAAAAAHk/zyH5PJ8gC7g/s320/3-xl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Now, as cute as she may be, I'm telling you people... She's an imposter. I know, I know, it's hard to believe that the random rambler doesn't look like this in real life. And, <a href="http://genderanalyzer.com/">that stupid little gender bot thing</a> said that I write like a girl. Yeah, that's what it said. But, I didn't let that get me down. I put on my big girl panties and kept right on writing. Besides, it was analyzing my typing, not my writing. Which looks exactly like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w1Olg83WUSw/Te5sWDtvK3I/AAAAAAAAAHo/ZSYNVRnc-WA/s1600/scan0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w1Olg83WUSw/Te5sWDtvK3I/AAAAAAAAAHo/ZSYNVRnc-WA/s1600/scan0001.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Actually, I think I write like a doctor (I just don't get paid like one) A doctor who has had too much caffeine and is off of his seizure meds. Seriously, wouldn't you want to lay on my table and have me pick up a scalpel? Come on, I have steady hands (sort of) and I'm pretty handy with tools. Don't let my sloppy writing discourage you. Now, the fact that I'm a construction worker and not a surgeon should discourage you.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Which reminds me, I have a million dollar idea. I plan to add caffeine to orange juice and make an energy drink with vitamins. I'll call it “Pep-C”. It should sell like crazy when it gets all the bad publicity of being a trademark infringement that sounds like a disease.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I should also put some of that Ginko Biloba stuff in it. I don't have a good memory and it's hard for me to keep track of what I've done and haven't done. I should also put some of that Ginko Biloba stuff in it. I don't have a good memory and it's hard for me to keep track of what I've done and haven't done. </div>Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-86825228988173934132011-06-07T11:02:00.000-07:002011-06-07T11:02:10.750-07:00False Advertising<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://130.18.140.19/mmsoc/subliminal/marlboro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://130.18.140.19/mmsoc/subliminal/marlboro.jpg" width="145" /></a></div>I've been the victim of false advertising. I like being the victim because it's much batter than saying, "I made a stupid decision and, rather than learn from it, I made it again and again". Anyway, back to my victimness. You know how certain products are supposed to make you thinner, taller, sexier, less bald, smarter (okay, that one's a stretch of irony) or give you more energy? But, when you actually use them, you realize that all they did was make you less rich? Yeah, I had that happen to me.<br />
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You see, all these years I've been smoking. Not because I wanted an expensive and bad habit but because it was supposed to make me like the Marlboro man. Well, aside from certain other things. Like, I know I don't wear a cowboy hat and I don't ride a horse. And I don't live in the West and work on a ranch. But not that I couldn't. I mean, I could totally do that and the only thing stopping me is that... I don't want to. But, I could totally be the next great cowboy. I'd just be one that doesn't like cowboy hats or horses. Or cows.<br />
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But that's besides the point. The point is that smoking was supposed to make me strong and rugged and cool and all those other cowboyish things. But it didn't. At least, I don't feel cool when I have to go outside of a restaurant and stand in the rain to smoke by myself. I don't feel strong when I get winded going up a flight of stairs or... thinking about going up a flight of stairs. I don't feel rugged when I burn my lips and scream like a school girl. Okay, I made that part up. I burn my fingers. <br />
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Anyway, you can't say that I didn't try. I mean, I've been doing this for over 20 years and I'm no more of a cowboy now than I was when I started. I want my money back. Or, at least, a complementary pair of those really cool chaps.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-39685775893621787402011-05-30T11:11:00.000-07:002011-05-30T11:11:27.762-07:00Sorry I haven't posted<a href="http://files.sharenator.com/ninjas_1_Ninja_Moti_Posters-s500x400-37304-580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://files.sharenator.com/ninjas_1_Ninja_Moti_Posters-s500x400-37304-580.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="http://sorry.coryarcangel.com/">Sorry I haven't posted</a> in a while but, at least I have a good reason (read: excuse). You see, there were these ninjas. But not just any ordinary ninjas. These ninjas could turn invisible and kill a man with a mere thought. There were over a hundred of them and, they were in this dream that I had.<br />
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Then, I woke up from my dream and this woman texted me and invited me out for drinks. But, not just ordinary drinks, they were laced with something. It was a mind altering chemical that was more... um... mind altering than roofies. I think the scientific name for it is "tequila". But not just any tequila, it was the frozen kind. Margaritas look so innocent and are actually very intoxicating and evil. Hey, kinda like the woman who invited me out for drinks.<br />
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Anyway, I realized that I need to get back to blogging. Not for the money, of course but because it's the one thing that keeps me sane (or showcases my insanity, I'm not sure which). So, I am going to try to fit more writing into my busy schedule of defending the world from dream ninjas.<br />
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Special thanks to the <a href="http://www.coryarcangel.com/">Arcangel</a> who gave me the inspiration for the name of this post. And apparently believes that since the "h" is silent it might as well be deleted entirely, saving one whole keystroke. I'm all for this energy conservation movement. The world is already full of wasted characters, U C.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-55603721512483216252010-06-10T20:44:00.000-07:002010-06-10T20:44:57.045-07:00What are we eating?People, it's a sad world that we live in when a simple trip to the grocery store has me shaking my head so much I get dizzy. The products that are available today are pretending to be something that they're not. I'm surrounded by wolves in sheeps clothing. Or worse, food that's pretending to be other food. And probably stuff that I wouldn't normally eat.<br />
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This all started a few years ago when my daughter decided to be a vegetarian and wanted veggie burgers. Well, as far as I'm concerned, there is nothing like a good cheeseburger. And veggie burgers are nothing like a good cheeseburger. Sure, it LOOKED like a cheeseburger but it tasted like dried chili on a bun. Look, chili on a bun is good and so is a cheeseburger. But, don't try to trick me. That's like putting a dress on a dog and calling it my date.<br />
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Fuel was added to the fire when a new sugar substitute came out that you can bake cookies with. It's even made from real sugar. Really? So are cookies. Here's a thought, how about we bake cookies with sugar? I know, I know, it has half the calories of sugar. That just means that we can eat twice as many cookies.<br />
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Then, Pepsi made "throwback". It's Pepsi but it's made with "real sugar. Real sugar? Holy crap, what have I been drinking all theses years? "High fructose corn syrup", did you have to remind me? I mean, that was just the equivalent of Pepsi taking the dress of the dog and saying, "Ha ha, we fooled you".<br />
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But this latest discovery defies logic. I don't even have a punchline for this one. Again, it starts with my daughter who sends me to the store to get her some crackers. I'm in the cracker isle and I see something that actually makes me freeze with fear of what the world has done to shopping. As I am scanning the many varieties of saltine crackers that are available, I actually see a box that has the word, "Unsalted" on it. UN-salted saltines. Unsalted saltine crackers. I can't say it enough. <br />
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I can see past the sugar free ice cream. I can ignore sugar free candy. I can understand, but refuse to buy, decaffeinated coffee. But, unsalted saltines? How can you possibly have unsalted salti...it's IN the name?! SALTines without salt is just "ines". Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-38167650363093353712009-12-08T05:40:00.000-08:002009-12-08T05:40:30.526-08:00Tiger Woods puts balls in a whole - big deal I'm getting tired of hearing about Tiger Woods and all the women that he has slept with. For the life of me, I can't figure out what makes this guy so famous. He plays GOLF for a living people. What purpose does that serve? I mean, he hits a ball into a hole...big deal. I tear out old bathrooms and kitchens and rebuild them into new bathrooms and kitchens, at least that serves a purpose. This guys puts (or Putts) a ball into a hole and becomes a famous millionaire while I am struggling to buy groceries. Does that seem right to you?<br />
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Sure, it takes some skill to hit a ball into a hole. I'm not saying it's easy. But people call him an athlete? Oh please!!! Hand him an 80 pound jackhammer and have him chisel up 1,200 square feet of floor tile and carry it down 3 flights of stairs and I MIGHT consider him an athlete. All he does is hit this little ball into a hole with a golf club that only weighs a few ounces and women are lining up to sleep with him? Where's my entourage of women who would love a new kitchen or bathroom? What kind of athleticism does it take to drive a golf cart?<br />
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Obviously, I have the minority opinion here and I'm sure I will hear many arguments from this post. Personally, I find it much more impressive to do remodeling work than to put a ball into a hole but the net worth speaks for itself. Golfing is a huge industry. Personally, I think it's the most boring sport and I am using the term “Sport” very loosely. I mean “sport” as in chess, not “sport” as in football or baseball or hockey. Now, if Tiger Woods could hit a ball into a hole while being chased by Warren Sapp, THAT might be a good sport. Yeah, if someone “hiked” the ball to him and he had to fire off a shot while 300 pounds of linebacker was closing in on him, that would be a REAL sport.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-43095549468692057472009-11-20T19:11:00.000-08:002009-11-20T19:11:06.971-08:00Airing out your laundry onlineSo, I did this post on how <a href="http://ekim-randomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/11/facebook-is-that-friend.html">Facebook is THAT friend</a> that likes to cause drama. I got several comments...okay, just three...that pointed out a few other wonderful aspects of Facebook. <a href="http://laura-talks.blogspot.com/">Laura</a> pointed out that Facebook doesn't cause drama, people do. And she is right, there are many ways to take little shots at your friends. You could tag them in those embarrassing photos from the 80's where their hair was the size of a planet and had enough hairspray in it to eradicate the ozone layer completely. Make sure you have the whole body in the shot so we can see the pants that come up to their sternum and the Swatch watch. <br />
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Another lovely feature of Facebook is the "In a relationship with..." link. Sure, when you first see that your friends have now hooked up on Facebook you are thinking, "Aww, they make cute couple". I'm thinking, "Aww, that poor guy is gonna get dumped and his 584 friends on Facebook will all know about it before he does". I know I am constantly scouring my homepage just waiting for the post that reads, something like "Ron Ursumshitt is no longer in a relationship". Can you believe that there is actually a "Like" option on those posts? Why not just put a link that says, "I'm an insensitive @ss" with the little thumbs up icon. If his girlfriends next post is noting that she is single, she dumped him. Yes, if you do the math you even get to know who dumped who.<br />
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Friend Facts was a great drama creator and very creepy app that like to ask the question, "Do you think your sister is Hot or a good kisser?" Do I want to know? I mean, I am from the south and all... I actually don't want to know if my niece has ever had phone sex, thank you very much. Of course, <a href="http://tiffanytalks.blogspot.com/">Tiffany</a> was offended because Facebook pointed out that I am a better dancer than she is. I'm sorry but it's true.<br />
Learning this made me decide to turn my computer off when I am not using it. It creeps me out BIG TIME that Facebook knows how I dance.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-87942116394796165702009-11-17T17:29:00.000-08:002009-11-17T17:29:32.823-08:00Summer and spandexI heard on the radio that a sense of humor is something that is learned and not a trait that you are born with. This got me to thinking who I could possibly have gotten my sense of humor from. The first thought that came to mind was an image that I have tried to block out of memory for many years. I can't be the only person who has these types of memories, can I.<br />
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It was the summer, I was eight years old and enjoying a good swim. My family and friends had all come to visit. We were all gathered around the pool when it happened. A distant sound got everyones attention, it was almost like a battle cry, “Yeeeaaaaahooooo”. Everyone turned toward the source of the noise and no one could believe their eyes.<br />
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My Dad had somehow managed to jam himself in my sister's one piece bathing suit and had emerged from the house for all to see. Now, let me tell you that spandex stretched that tightly around the male anatomy is not a sight for young eyes. Or eyes of any age. First of all, it was smashing body parts in a way that was, at best, uncomfortable and probably also explains why I don't have any younger siblings. <br />
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Secondly, the suit had been stretched to the point where it had become mostly transparent. It was like applying a very thin layer of paint to squashed manly bits and thinking it's a good idea to go out in public. This suit was pulled so tight that, had it been a slingshot, it could have launched a bowling ball into a shallow orbit.<br />
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To make matters worse, Dad started running towards us. As he dove into the water the bathing suit wedged itself into places that I never wanted to know existed. His voice was much higher pitched as he emerged from the water. Surprisingly the suit was still a one piece and had not become a bikini or...do they make a four piece? <br />
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Rumor has it that it was a chore to get the bathing suit off. It was kinda like giving birth, complete with umbilical cord and placenta (you don't want to know). A portion of the procedure was subcontracted out to a proctologist. I'm not sure why but my sister never wore that suit again. Imagine that.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-24217547367749060072009-11-08T10:40:00.000-08:002009-11-08T10:40:39.548-08:00The Magic of GardeningTwo years ago I knew nothing about gardening but I wasn't afraid to try something new. I mean, how cool is it to be able to grow food in your own back yard. I headed right to the store and grabbed a bag of dirt. I'll never use the saying “dirt cheap” again, dirt was kinda expensive. I also needed to get some seeds. Let's see, they have lettuce, tomato, pea.....Dude, where's the bacon seeds!? I was so disappointed to find out they didn't have those. <br />
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So I plant my seeds in some dirt that had the word “Miracle” on the bag (someone thinks very highly of their dirt) and wait for the magic to happen. And wait. And wait. Then, Imagine how excited I was to find the first little sprouting of green coming from the soil and how disappointed I was to find out it was just mold. But a few days later I actually did have some tiny sprouts. "Bwaahaahaa, I've created Life!!!" For the next week or so I felt like the jolly green giant as I went out to water my tiny little garden. “Ho ho ho”, I would say (in the voice of James Earl Jones). <br />
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Finally, it was time to plant the little guys out in the yard. And the next morning they were all dead. I think I planted them in the garden a little too soon, you live and learn. I also learned about composting, I get to throw my garbage in the back yard and make my own dirt. Great, now I can start saying “dirt cheap” again.<br />
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So, last years garden was a little bit more successful. I waited until the plants were fairly big before I moved them to the yard. I planted a ton of seed just in case some died. I watered them often, I had squash, zucchini, radishes, lettuce, tomatoes and twelve herbs and spices (just to one-up Colonel Sanders). This garden was magnificent, it grew to be so huge that it looked like Jumanji in my back yard. And this ended up dying from all these giant plants competing for food and water. Like a crowd of teenage girls fighting over a Jonas Brothers concert ticket.<br />
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This year, I think I got it all figured out. Plus, a friend recommended that I use black cow manure in my garden. I really can't believe that you have to BUY cow crap, this is getting ridiculous. I mean, if I have to pay for manure to be some magical solution to my gardening woes wouldn't it make more sense to have David Copperfield poop in my back yard?Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-67939819722679666612009-11-02T13:13:00.000-08:002009-11-02T13:21:12.700-08:00Facebook is THAT friendI noticed recently that Facebook has become the instigator of drama by sending notifications to my friends that I would not normally send. Not because I don't like to start drama just because I am simply too lazy to do it myself. I don't know about you but I kind of like this new feature of Facebook. It allows me to piss of my friends and requires very little effort on my part.<br /><br />For example when Facebook informed me that my friends think Tiffany is funnier than I am. That is basically insulting to both of us seeing as she has a serious blog and I have a humor blog. Or do I?<br /><br />Even when I was simply bored and playing an innocent game of bejeweled blitz Facebook felt compelled to let Melissa know that I had just whooped her butt. Even though I think that the real message was simply, “Melissa has more of a LIFE than I do”.<br /><br />I think I could do without the “You're a crap bag friend” feature. You know the one that nags you to reconnect with someone by writing on their wall. And it's even worse when it's my daughter who they are telling me to reconnect with. Like I'm a douche bag father. Hey, I gave her lunch money that should be worth more than writing on her wall. “Sorry kid, I can't go to the mall with you, Facebook thinks it would be better bonding time for me to write on your wall.” Great, Now I'm getting parenting advice from a social networking site.<br /><br />So, Facebook has become that friend who likes to talk shit about you behind your back. Spreading rumors and gossip, trying to start drama and ruin friendships and trying to have your kids taken away for neglect. And, much like that instigating friend, the facts don't really matter it's the drama that counts.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-6563076198154350052009-11-02T08:23:00.000-08:002009-11-02T08:28:55.585-08:00I want you laterSo, a friend asked me what I did today and I told her that I spent the day jackhammering quarry tile. Her response was, “That's kinda hot”. This seems to be a common thought among women which I simply can't seem to understand.<br />I mean, I am covered in construction debris and I worked two hours longer than my deodorant. I fail to see how this could be considered “hot”. I can see the practical side of this for a woman who is looking for a man who is handy around the house. That might be very attractive for a woman in a, “Why don't you shower first” sort of way.<br /><br />But she insisted that when a woman says, “I want you”, she means “Now”. This might be one of those gender difference things that I could never understand because my gender bits dangle. Or, salute if the situation calls for it. Or if it's morning (another thing I don't really understand). But let me get back to my point (I can't help but notice what a poor choice of words “point” is at this particular moment).<br /><br />There has to be times when “I want you” could mean “later”. I put some thought into it and came up with a list:<br /><br />After I've had a few more drinks.<br />When you turn 18.<br />After you finish your STD prescription.<br />After you win the lottery.<br />When your Husband is out of town.<br />When you are released from prison.<br />After your sex change operation.<br /><br />See, “I want you” doesn't necessarily have to mean "now" while you are sweaty and covered in dust, construction debris and whatever that black stuff is (I really hope that is grease from the jackhammer). The only thing worse than a fly in the ointment is a tile shard in the...Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-916501974549211392009-10-29T05:59:00.000-07:002009-11-03T17:10:10.787-08:00God is on FacebookI just heard the most preposterous caller talking to a psychic on the radio station. The woman recently got married and even more recently connected with her old boyfriend from high school on Facebook.<br /><br />She claims that this must be a sign from God. I Hurried home to see if I had any messages from God on my Facebook account and got nothing. He may just be mad at me for choosing "Other" as my religion.<br /><br />After getting over the disappointment of not having any divine messages or superpokes, I consulted the bible. Maybe there is a clause that I overlooked. I flipped through the pages to find the ten commandments and see if there were any amendments like, "Thou shall not commit adultery unless thou meets an old flame on Facebook". Nothing. Damn, I need to get a new bible, she must be reading the King Zuckerberg version.<br /><br />She did go on to say that this man was her best friend in High school and she had lost her virginity to him. Of course she was madly in love with him. Which instantly made me wonder where the hell has he been all these years? Why didn't she find him BEFORE she got married? <br /><br />I'm also wondering about the marriage vows. Maybe she wrote her own, "Til death parts us, or I find an old flame on Facebook". Now I know that Facebook doesn't destroy relationships, people do. I think that Facebook is merely a catalyst in making people reveal their true colors.<br /><br />Now, if God is telling this woman to cheat on her husband, who am I to argue with God? My thought is that, not only should she cheat on her husband but she should also post it on his wall so that everyone can see the deep level of devotion she has to her marriage.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-73922989698826236842009-10-25T19:52:00.000-07:002009-10-25T19:55:11.347-07:00It wasn't meI am 38 years old and I am still looking forward to hitting puberty. Now don't get me wrong, I have a few chest hairs (5 I think) and I am almost able to grow a beard. The sides just won't fill in so I have this whole “Shaggy” from Scooby-Doo thing going on. So, as you can imagine, I've always been a little bit behind my peers when it comes to growing up. Zoiks Scoob, I need to get on with the story.<br /><br />What you are about to hear is an epic tale of bravery that changed the life of one young man forever. <br />We moved from upstate New York (That's right, upstate, the fake NY) to Florida when I started 6th grade. So, I didn't know anybody when I started middle school. Within the first few days I had made a handful of friends and had learned which kids I should steer clear of. One of those kids was a boy who had obviously failed a few times. I think he was the only kid in middle school who was old enough to drive himself to school. In fact, I heard a rumor that this kid had a son who was in 7th grade. This kid was big and he was a bully so everyone tried to avoid him.<br /><br />In the cafeteria, I had just gotten my little divided tray filled with barely recognizable items that they called lunch and I was too busy determining what it was to notice that I was walking into the middle of a very dangerous situation. That's right, there was about to be a fight. Suddenly, this shadow eclipsed my tray of mystery meat and I looked up to see that I was face to face with this bully kid. With his deep voice (sounding a bit like James Earl Jones) he asks, “You got a problem?” I looked at his face and was relieved to notice that he wasn't looking at me. With catlike reflexes I whipped my head back to size up his intended opponent. Oh, that poor kid behind me is about to get pummeled and I get to have a close up view of the action. This is so exciting.<br /><br />Now, I look back at this bully smiling with anticipation for his next move. “I said, do you have a problem”, he repeated. I caught myself nodding and smiling as I was thinking to myself, “That's right, he did say that and that kid better answer him” but I heard no response and this bully was getting more pissed. I don't know why fights are so exciting but I was really hoping to see some good action here.<br /><br />Well, now the bully is getting very annoyed that this kid won't respond. “Do you want me to beat your ass?”, he asks. That's kind of a dumb question when you think about it but I wanted to see a good fight so I was nodding and smiling and thinking, “Yes, beat his ass”. Again, no response. This kid is really asking for trouble. The bully is really getting frustrated, he is running out of options other than the use of violence. “What is your fecking problem?”, he asks. I find myself, once again, acting out what I am thinking. I shrug my shoulder and look confused thinking, “I don't know WHAT his problem is”. I know that if this bully were talking to me like that I would say something, anything, to avoid getting beat up.<br /><br />To my disappointment, the bully simply gave up. Maybe it was the fact that the entire cafeteria was dead silent and everyone was watching but he simply walked away. <br /><br />Noise resumed in the cafeteria as I sat down with my handful of friends who were just staring at me in silent disbelief. One of them finally spoke, “Dude, that was like the bravest thing ever”. I had to clear this up, “No No No, he was looking at some kid behind me.” What my friend said next changed this story completely, “No, he has one eye that looks at you and the other one doesn't”. That's right, I stared into the face of death and looked at the wrong eye.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-61381483815817128172009-05-25T15:30:00.000-07:002009-05-25T15:52:41.666-07:00The birds, the bees and explosivesThere comes a time in every persons life when their parents feel the need to give them "the talk". It's usually a mortifying experience that stands out in every childs mind. In fact, I remember the day that my Dad gave me "the talk" like it was yesterday even though it was actually two weeks ago.<br />This is one of those times when I really wish I was joking. I'm 38 years old and have three kids. I was married for nine years. I've had sex with hundreds of women and a handful of them were even real. I think it's a little late for "the talk".<br />Besides, my Mom already gave me"the talk". Actually, she gave it to my older brother but I did over hear the conversation. I think that I was six at the time. I remember hearing her tell him, "You have a stick of dynamite between your legs and one of these days it's going to go off". For months I was afraid to go pee. It may not have been all that eloquent but it was direct and to the point.<br /><br />I quickly realized that my Dad had set me up for a trap. What he asked me was, "Are you comfortable talking to your Dad about sex?" In the back of my mind (as well as the front) I'm thinking, "Sure, what do you want to know". I honestly thought that he was going to ask me for some pointers.<br />What actually ensued was something that left me speechless. He began telling me about the stuff he used to do with my Mom. Go back and read what he asked, that's not a typo. This is not what I agreed to. I think it was something that he needed to get off of his chest. It was one of the few times when I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. I tried to plug my ears but I was frozen like a deer in the headlights.<br />My therapist tells me that the nightmares won't last forever and some day I may even be able to be intimate with a woman again or, at least... myself. For now, I am still recovering.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-57018551926253314552009-05-14T11:50:00.001-07:002009-05-25T19:51:13.547-07:00Dirty DreamsWell, this is my first attempt at doing a blog post from my mobile phone. As it turns out, you have to occasionally pay your internet bill or you get shut off. Imagine that. But, if all goes well, I won't let Verizon stifle the random rambler.<br /><br />Last night I was talking to a friend who thought her air conditioner was broken based on the puddle of water that she found on the floor so, she had turned it off.<br />I asked her when she had changed the filter last. Turns out it was quite a while ago and the filter was horribly dirty. Occasionally, you have to change the filter in your air conditioner or you get shut off.<br />I told her to change the filter and fire that bad boy up.<br /><br />This morning I called to check on her and she told me that she had a dirty dream about me. That's not exactly what she said, that's just what I heard. Truth is that she had a dream about dirty filters but I have a male ego to inflate.<br /><br />As luck would have it I had a bit of an erotic dream last night too. It never got to the dirty part, I wish I would have been able to sleep in. It was actually just like having four hours of foreplay without it going any further. I remember an old saying, "you could screw up a wet dream". Oh great, I have become that guy. <br /><br />Of course I am not going to tell you who this dream was about. I don't kiss and tell (ok, so now you know that there was kissing) even if it was just in a dream. Don't always let the interesting lies end. Some of them, I have to leave open to keep peoples curiosity. But, if you are reading this and wondering to yourself, "is it me?", the answer is probably "no". Even I didn't see this dream coming.<br /><br />Anyway, back to my point. Oh right, I don't have a point, hence the term "rambling". Anyway, I had a dream that I was simply massaging this womans shoulders for like the longest time. The problem with erotic dreams is that they make you see people differently. I can't tell you how many times my ex wife had dreams that we were fighting and I had to pay for it the next day or even week.<br />Anyway, I have a hard time trying talking to this woman now. Apparently even writing about her as I look back to the last sentence. Gosh, all because of a dream that never even went very far. I try to convince myself that it was just a dream but I am beginning to get some clarity about the times I had to sleep on the couch throughout my marriage and never knew what I did wrong.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-84287939240564728892009-05-11T16:15:00.000-07:002009-05-11T16:20:00.728-07:00Decisions, DecisionsIt seems that one debate that comes up again and again is whether or not people can choose their sexual preference. Like everything else, I have put way too much thought into this and I have come to my final conclusion that it is definitely not a choice.<br /><br />I remember when I was a child I had some very big decisions to make. Do I want chicken McNuggets or a cheeseburger for dinner? Will I be Spiderman or the Hulk for Halloween? You know, life changing choices like that. But, I don't ever remember the gay or straight decision.<br /><br />It probably didn't happen when I was a child though. If it did, it probably wouldn't have been girls, I'm almost positive that they had cooties which were highly contagious and also deadly. Plus, I was convinced that cooties would make my pee-pee fall off and I'd have to change my name to Michelle.<br /><br />A few years later I noticed that girls no longer had cooties so they must be simply a childhood disease. I still don't remember this as being a choice, I just noticed that girls had some redeeming qualities that were becoming more and more prevalent.<br /><br />Now, if I actually had a choice to make as to who I would be attracted to, the obvious choice would be myself. Think about it. Dating would be cheaper. I always know when I am in the mood. I know that I will always be there for me. It seems like the best choice.<br />Besides, when I am stuck in traffic and there is nothing good on the radio, I could, you know, enjoy the wait with myself. Not that I don't do that anyway but it would be more enjoyable.<br />Taking a shower would be much more fun, I could always shower with the one I love.<br /><br />Besides, people are always telling me to go Feck myself, imagine if I actually could. Or better yet, actually enjoyed it. Yes, life would be a lot simpler if I actually got to choose who I was attracted to. Bottom line is, on this one, I don't think I had any choice.<br />Nope, for me the simple fact is that if you put a blind fold on me and put me in a room with a hundred women, I could find the crazy one and put a ring on her finger. Yup, that seems to be what I ended being attracted to.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-87658973526891017672009-05-09T17:01:00.000-07:002009-05-09T17:06:58.095-07:00Sex and cinnamon lifeIt may come as a surprise that I am not always a funny guy who laughs at the world. I have my bad days too and sometimes the world laughs back. In fact, on occasion I decide to have a few bad days in a row, just to get them all out. What surprises me is the way that some people react to me on those bad dayweeks.<br /><br />One of my very close friends said something so shocking that I was seriously beginning to wonder if someone had slipped me a micky (I' have always wanted to say that, it's so "old School" that I feel like I am in a black and white film right now) and I simply misunderstood what she had said. Sorry about going off on such a long parenthetical tangent. I'm really not sorry, it just seemed like something I should be sorry for.<br /><br />Anyway, I'm sure you are wondering what she could have said that was so shocking. I'll get to that in a minute but first, I feel another tangent coming on. I have also wanted to try to work the term "penal system" into a blog post but I can't find the right context for it here so I'll have to try again later.<br /><br />Oh, back to my story. I have to first explain that this is a woman who is an extremely moral catholic woman and the last person you would expect to say something so shocking. Now, let me tell you that she was trying to help. I was feeling down and she seemed to have a solution for me to get back to feeling myself. <span style="font-style: italic;">Feeling myself</span>, I am going to resist the urge to go off on another tangent. <br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Dude, you need to get laid</span>", she says. Did I hear that right? At first I thought that she must be implying that I take a vacation in Hawaii. Then, I thought that maybe "<span style="font-style: italic;">laid</span>" was some Catholic religious ceremony like a baptism. The only "laid" that I can possibly think of in this context is...well..."laid".<br />Now it would be entirely inappropriate for me to link to her Catholic inside blog. So don't expect me to do that <a href="http://www.blogcatalog.com/blog/catholic-inside">HERE</a>.<br /><br />Now, the only appropriate guy thing to do is to point out that we are both single. I quickly found out that she was making a suggestion, not an offer. But more advice ensued as she pointed out that my ex wife is also single and we are still good friends. Of course, my ex wife didn't want to, "Go down that road again". Would it really take that much effort for her to lay there and repeatedly ask, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Are you done yet</span>?" like she did so many times throughout our marriage?<br /><br />So, anyway. This should be every guys fantasy, having two women fighting over who is going to have sex with him. Of course, in my case, it plays out like the old Cinnamon life cereal commercial. "<span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not gonna try it, you try it</span>" pushing the bowl away "<span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not gonna try it</span>". Ladies, please, there's milk spilling over here.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-84706850853396062292009-01-12T19:00:00.000-08:002009-01-17T05:23:55.857-08:00It's not brokenWell, there seems to be some controversy stirring at the Ekim household. On one side of the debate is my neighbor and my kids and on the RIGHT side of the debate is me. The problem is that everyone who is wrong seems to think that I need a new dryer. Let me start from the beginning and you can decide for yourself just how right I am.<br /><br />Genesis: The dryer was given to me by my mother. It was well used and broken but I fixed it. After a few years it began to make a funny noise but only at the end of the cycle. I saw this as a good thing, it was letting me know when my clothes were dry and the smell of burning plastic was hardly noticeable. We'll just say that it was a feature for the hearing impaired.<br /><br />Not too long ago, the belt broke, the heating element burned out and a wheel in the back of the dryer turned into a molten fiery goo. That was no big deal, simple parts that were easily replaced. Let's call that some routine maintenance.<br /><br />Shortly after that, the dryer would shut off all by itself in the middle of the cycle. A few times this resulted in moldy clothes but mold sort of smells like Polo cologne after it has set out for a few days. So, just think of all the money I am saving on cologne.<br /><br />Currently, the dryer appears to be broken at first glance. When you push the button all it does is make a buzzing noise and a little puff of white smoke comes out (Again, for the hearing impaired). All you need to do it reach inside the dryer and hand turn the drum just enough to get it started. Of course, you can't do that with the door open because when the door opens, the dryer stops. But, I have cleverly taped the door switch down so it will still run with the door open, giving me the chance to jump start the dryer.<br />Now, I think that this is endearing. It reminds me of the old cars with the huge spoke tires that you had to start with a hand crank on the front bumper. Or, maybe one of those old fashioned planes that you would have to spin the prop to get it started. I'm not doing laundry, I'm like a pilot. How cool is that.<br /><br />So, this is why all these people (who are wrong) think I need a new dryer. The bottom line is that the dryer dries clothes. Sure, you have to start it by precariously reaching your hand into a hot spinning drum and you have to ignore the loud noise and faint smell of burning electronics but it dries clothes. I don't know how I could possibly be more right, do you?<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Is your dryer broken?</span> No, it dries clothes. See, it's as simple as that.<br /><br />Now the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/s.php?k=100000004&id=45043246358&gr=2&sid=9c72a4bbc7d1cb77f7891e605604251a#/group.php?gid=45043246358">WRONG PEOPLE</a> have their own group on Facebook.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-82654749730659526422009-01-12T15:32:00.000-08:002009-01-12T15:35:15.676-08:00Grant MoneySterility is hereditary.<br />If your parents couldn't have children<br />Chances are, you can't either.<br /><br />I wonder if I can get some government grant money to prove my theory?Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-89839071560054041802008-11-13T17:43:00.000-08:002008-12-03T17:28:36.695-08:00Strange MathWhile waiting in line at the grocery store I was looking at the magazine covers. I know I shouldn't do that, I REALLY shouldn't. Some of the stuff that these people write, I just can't believe that anyone would read this garbage. Then again, people read my blog so...<br /><br />One of the headings made me burst out laughing. Nothing strange about that right? I'm just standing there, quietly waiting and suddenly start laughing like a psych patient responding to internal stimuli. The woman behind me grabbed her children and headed to a different line.<br /><br />Seriously, the heading that I read was on <a href="http://self.com/magazine">Self</a> magazine. I'll give them a link and hope that they laugh instead of litigate. The heading read, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">"Look 100% sexier in 7 minutes"</span>. How the hell do you measure that? Seriously, what kind of math is involved to figure this out? I didn't go to college so maybe I missed the course on quantifying sexiness.<br /><br />Now, I'm sure that I will get some criticism for this. There are women who take this subject very seriously. They have charts and graphs and Venn Diagrams with complex formulas for determining the exponent of their sexiness over a period of time.<br /><br />For me, I am worried about being too sexy. I don't think I need the full 100% increase in sexiness. I've decided to take a more subtle approach and spend 1.75 minutes to look 25% sexier. Yeah, I think that's all I need. Besides, I'm all about taking Baby steps.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-27140646175239817452008-11-11T13:30:00.000-08:002008-11-11T14:12:09.018-08:00Renegade<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vxpGvfHNctc/SRoDHaX0qvI/AAAAAAAAAGc/dFZ14mSUXv8/s1600-h/renegade.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vxpGvfHNctc/SRoDHaX0qvI/AAAAAAAAAGc/dFZ14mSUXv8/s400/renegade.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267526140036426482" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Rumor has it that the Secret Service as chosen a code name for our new President elect, "Renegade".<br /><br />Is he going to ride to The White House on a sweet motorcycle like Lorenzo Lamas?Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-41604393312203232172008-11-08T18:29:00.000-08:002008-11-09T19:54:59.381-08:00Imagine<span style="float: right; width: 200px;"><a href="http://unite.blogcatalog.com/" title="Bloggers Unite - Blogging For Hope"><img src="http://assets.blogcatalog.com/unite/badges/081110/refugeesunite_8.jpg" alt="Bloggers Unite" /></a></span><br />Often times we get caught up in the stability and security of our own lives and it's hard for us to imagine that life is not the same way for all people.<br /><br />Imagine if you suddenly had to leave your country because violence broke out.<br /><br />Imagine having to evacuate and having no place to call home.<br /><br />Where would you sleep?<br /><br />What would you eat?<br /><br />What if you became sick?<br /><br />What about your children?<br /><br />It's hard to Imagine but life is just like this for millions of refugees around the world.<br /><br />Imagine if there was something you could do to help.<br /><br />There is.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">With your help there is hope.</span><br />Take a few minutes right now to visit these websites:<br /><a href="http://www.refugees.org/">www.refugees.org</a> and <a href="http://www.womenscommission.org/">www.womenscommission.org</a>Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-69591730812296566722008-11-02T17:53:00.000-08:002008-11-02T18:12:03.507-08:00Blind LuckHave you ever wondered how people manage to get through life in one piece? <br /><br />I saw the most amazing thing yesterday. I was driving in the right hand lane, about to make a right turn when this guy comes flying from the left lane to cut me off. There's three lanes here and I am far from being the only car on the road. <br /><br />I probably would have hit him had it not been for the screeching tires of the other drivers he narrowly avoided. I heard cuss words that would make a sailor blush. Some of them even came from outside of my truck.<br /><br />Then, as he makes the right turn, he doesn't yield but instead goes to the far left lane. Again, he cuts off three lanes of traffic. Horns are honking, tires are screeching, fingers are flying and new profanities are being invented.<br /><br />At this point, I lose sight of this genius because I actually have to wait for an opening in the traffic to make my turn. Sometimes, stupidity does the work of bravery and, at this moment, I am neither brave nor stupid.<br /><br />I finally make my turn and immediately merge into the left lane to make a left turn. No surprise but guess who I see zip from the far right lane to cut me off in the left turn lane? Yep, the same genius.<br /><br />At this point, I notice something astonishing. The car he is driving isn't new. It's NOT NEW! This car doesn't have a sngle scratch or dent on it and it's four years old. With the way this guy drives, this car should look like it just came from a demolition derby. <br /><br />I have to follow this guy and ask him for the lottery numbers. There's no way this is driving skill, it has to be blind luck.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138563509241362671.post-36377392875740256902008-10-12T18:29:00.000-07:002008-10-26T20:17:14.619-07:00Road tripThey say that 9 out of 10 bad drivers is distracted. Ok, I made that up but it works well for this story. My son wanted me to take him to visit his friend. Now, my sons navigational methods leave a lot to be desired. "He lives down that road by the auto parts store, in a yellow house", he explains. Great, let me mapquest "Yellow house", this should be interesting.<br /><br />So, now I have no idea where I am going. I'm driving slowly down this road waiting for my son to say, "Oh, that was it, we should have turned there". There's some construction being done to this road. No wait, this road looks like a friggin asteroid hit it. Right in the middle of this road is a giant crater marked by flashing lights and signs that read, "DANGER you are about to fall off the face of the earth".<br /><br />At this point, I'm glad that I have a four wheel drive pickup because I'm thinking I may need it. I got the extended cab pickup with the fold down seat in the back. My youngest daughter is sitting in that seat and she thinks that plummeting into the belly of the earth is a lot of fun. The fold up seat is perfect for single Dads, I call it the sometimes seat. Do you have kids? Sometimes. Of course there are the purists that say, "Well, you're always a father". Nope, sometimes I'm a real mother.<br /><br />So, back to my story. By the grace of God and my sons ability to remember house colors rather than numbers, we actually made it to the right house. Now he told me to wait for him, it will only take a minute. For those of you who don't have teenagers, a "minute" is how long it takes to grow a beard. That same principal can be applied to chores, "When are you going to mow the lawn?" "In a minute".<br /><br />So, now it's dark out and we are finally on our way home. My beard is full and so is my bladder. My daughter is now sleeping in the backseat and I am going way too fast to remember the giant crater in the road ahead. Oh yeah, we hit that thing going forty. Now, if I were younger and didn't have kids in the truck I would say that I "Caught some wicked air" but this was no fun at all.<br /><br />So, we jumped this thing like a scene from a Michael Bay movie. Everything in the bed of the truck lifted out of the bed, rotated 180 degrees and landed right back where it was only inverted. Everything in the cab of the truck, including all the change, receipts and my drink lifted up and hovered for a second before landing neatly where it originally was. <br /><br />Of course I'm kidding, that crap went everywhere. It looked like my center console threw up. Amazingly, my daughter slept through the entire stunt, landing and all. My son was looking at me funny because, out of habit, I put my arm out to protect him even though he is bigger than I am. I know he would have just broken through my arm if the impact of landing were strong enough but it's the thought that counts.<br /><br />After pulling myself together I realize that I no longer have to pee. Oh wait, that's just the soda that went everywhere. But I did feel totally relieved when I finally made it home safely. I pulled into the driveway and turned the ignition off and somehow, that makes my daughter wake up. Amazing that she can sleep through anything as long as the engine is running.Ekim941http://www.blogger.com/profile/05866706193708912832noreply@blogger.com3