Hacking

Wonderful to know that in our computer dominated genre, I can find a word which has a meaning not related to computers. Hacking, as in, I am hacking up a lung. 7 days of diaphram drama. My esophagous would be elated were I able to ebb the caustic coughing currently causing me pain. A cold? I think not. This is some sort of sinister swine flue, some creeping crud, a very villainous virus. My throat bleeds for you.

Progressing Backwards

And so it goes with relationships in my experience. The longer they last the more complicated they get. Progressing backward. I'll give you an example, purely hypothetical of course.

Let us say you have been married for some period of time, a long time. Something that you may have failed to consider on the altar (or the Justice of Peace's shag carpet) was the problematic implications your future in laws represented. Let us say you eventually come to find you cannot stand the sight of them nor they you. Let us say you live near them. Let us say your spouse insists upon your comingling. Let us say you tell your spouse that you will never step foot in your in-laws house again. Let us say progressing backward.

I assure you, as best I can in a 'hypothetical' scenario such as the above, the ramifications of such a statement are tantamount to tsunamis and hurricanes, earthquakes and volcanoes, happening simultaneously on 4 continents and 357 channels worldwide. The simple fact is one has to weigh the requests of a spouse over trivial, egotistical, pig headed bravado. Of course bravado wins.

Time Flies

The days go by. 6 days since my last blog and I feel like it has been an hour. Work is consuming me. Ok that is a complete lie. Work is cake. Everquest has been consuming me. I really should get on some sort of medication for it.

So the real reason for my delayed posting is to protest the choice by Sports Illustrated to make Tom Brady Sportsman of the Year. Seriously, the guy is on the path of aging. Not to say he isn't great but seriously, Peyton is the man. Broke the touchdown record last year and this year is leading his team to an undefeated season. And the unequaled domination of his sport by one Roger Federer makes me feel like S.I. is just making up for all the years they put Tom Brady on their overrated list. But enough about that, Brady and the Pat's bore me about as much as Trading Spaces.

Last night I had the pleasure of watching The Triangle and it was very, very good. The actors aren't overdoing it too much and who doesn't love the Count Chocula eating Eric Stoltz? If you have time to check it out tonight I highly recommend it. Part one plays at 7pm cst, followed by part two at 9pm cst. Of course it will be replayed and replayed and replayed because, ya know, its cable.

Time does fly, lunchtime already.

Getting your fill

So it seems I have this problem with eating. Perhaps an eating disorder even. Not your classical disorder mind you; anorexia, bulimia, or, if its considered a disorder eating till your pants don't fit. No no. I am not to be so easily categorized.

My wife, bless her soul, is the embodiment of perfection. Everyday when I rise from my corpse-like slumber there on the kitchen counter sits my lunch, a really great lunch. It contains saliva inducing things like bananas, pot pies, hot pockets, lasagna, applesauce, sandwiches, crackers, and the occasional breakfast cereal bar. These lunches contain more than enough food to sate my appetite for my ten hour shift and I readily consume them.

My problem is that I get no satisfaction upon completion. For some unknown reason I do not feel full until I order some random #1 combo, super size it, biggie size it, whata size it, or whatthefuckever size it, take it back to work, throw the fries away and eat the sandwich. This is a sickness folks. I am under the commercial control of the fast food chain machine. I will research this and get back to you.

The pee test came back today, and I am still here. Which means I have a dull life, but am employed. Yay me.

Giving Thanks

How in the hell is it less than 30 days to Christmas already? Not that I mind 2005 coming to a close, this hasn't exactly been a banner year for me. Let's just say a certain hotel chain can pucker up and kiss my lily white ass. Thanks for the 6 month vacation (read looking for work) based on 3 years of working with no write ups or customer complaints. Jackasses.

What was I talking about? Long, very long, really long, trips. Driving used to be this great escape for me. I would regularly traverse the I-10 freeway between El Paso and San Antonio; 587 miles door to door just to visit a friend or two... for lunch. Then hop back in the Calais (2 door, dohc, standard) and run on back. I did not mind the trip, I looked forward to it.

I would spend hours imagining my life as a lottery winner. Picturing my future with this girl and that. Think of pop culture changing inventions. Write first chapters in my head. Smoke pack after pack of Marlboro Lights, just because I cannot stand a brown filter. This was the great escape, my journey into the land of freedom. In my car (cue the music) I was safe. Bills, dropping out of high school, spending more money than I had on CD's, none of this mattered. Fights with family, nonexistent employability, in the car I was King. A mighty asphalt shield from life lay before me, and I lovingly tread across it, protected.

Of course this changes when you procreate. Drives are much less about escape and more about safety. Don't drive too tired, don't stop at any reststop and rack out for 5 hours, don't get out of the car without toting the kid along, don't buy yourself a drink without getting two extra, don't push the fuel gauge below E just to see if you can make it further this time before filling up. Not that I regret my marriage and subsequent addition, I do not.

It is just different. One of the many things that change right along with you. Let me assure you, the rewards of a family far outweigh losing the fun of interminably long road trips, I am just reliving the glory days due to my recent run to Arkansas for another psychotic family occasion. Thanksgiving, about the only thing I am thankful for as far as the holiday is that it is over.

Why do we put ourselves in the most uncomfortable, awkward, and annoying situations possible when it comes to the holidays. I love my grandparents, but dealing with, and I mean this in the most extreme definition of the word, *extended* family is like pouring itching powder in your socks and locking your shoes on. You can squirm, you can jump, you can rub your feet together, you can sob, scream, laugh, or even have a nervous breakdown. But nothing you do will make you comfortable.

Every other year I pack my family into the Jeep and embark on a twenty hour round trip drive that none of us want to endure. All because my Grandparents mean the world to me. They want to see their granddaughter, and I want her to see them. I just don't want to be obliged to sit in what is essentially a strangers house and watch football. When I watch football I want to put my feet up on the coffee table, crack open a beer (I almost forgot, drinking is strictly out in the backwards, Baptist, (forgive me) boring ass town that time forgot.

A dry county! Who in the hell invented this idea. How is it even in the realm of possibility to hold a family function sans alcohol. Can you see my dilemma people? The world has gone sideways.

Enough of this rambling trash. Thank the good Lord that I do have a family to give me something to do while I wait for the hours to pass so that I may once again climb back into the car and get home. Where the liquor awaits me, patient and pure.


More later.

I c.u.p.

So today, for my new job, I had to pee in a cup. What is it about forced urination that causes the urethra to lock up tighter than your old man's wallet at dinner? I spent the morning pouring cup after cup of water down my throat, to the point that my ears were actually leaking, and yet when the time came I could barely cover that magical line.

Now three hours later still nothing. My gut feels like someone stuffed a hose through my belly button and turned on an air compressor but apparently the small intestine is on strike. I couldn't pee right now if a winning lottery ticket was on fire. Maybe I can sue my employer for bladder distress.

On a happier note this urinalysis means I have a permanent position rather than temporary, making it much more difficult for them to fire me for blogging on the job. What does this mean to you? More blogs. I am trying to decide just how open I should be here. What to reveal. What to chatter on about as I while away the dragging hours. Addiction, arousal, marriage, Everquest, or a 10 hour drive looming over my working soul?

Ahh how droll our life is when we attempt to communicate its excitement to the world.

Promises Kept

What is the statute of limitations on a promise? Does one have a lifetime to follow through on the casual committment made in a passing conversation? How interred are we to these stated intentions? Apparently completely.

After some procrastination, a little detour, a new job, some soul searching, and three hangnails, I give to you the fulfillment of a promise. A blog post. A literary creation of magnanimous proportion. A winding, lifeless, and yet, powerful collection of bliss inspiring nonsense all born of one woman's quest to make me put words in some sort of semi permanent format. Curses. She seems to have succeeded.

This thing, this blog, this space in space, was created over a year ago by one Jennifer Garrett. She goes on daily about how great blogging is, and how wonderful blogging is, and how amazing blogging is, and... you get the idea. Well I joked that I would make a blog bearing the name this one does, and the next thing I knew it existed. That Jennifer is an efficient one. We could all do to emulate her a bit.


So here it is, our first post. The culmination of a year of nagging, evading, wailing, gnashing of teeth, and indifference, sits before you. Enjoy it, over and over. There is no telling when I will again grace you with my blathering.