Mother's Day!

It's been 6 months since my mother passed away.  I think about her and miss her every day.  I was going to sit here and write all of the prescribed things one would say about their mother on this special day, but my mother knows how I feel about her and our relationship.  What I thought I'd do is share a story from my childhood that represents what our relationship was made of.

I was maybe 9 or 10 and was starting to develop a rather colorful vocabulary.  Swearing wasn't an all day/every day type of thing, but it had gotten to the point where I would occasionally let something fly and simply not notice it.

Anyhow, it was a Saturday morning and I managed to watch my favorite cartoons and it was about time to locate some friends and get the weekend started.  I took my cereal bowl to the sink, rinsed it out and was going to put it in the dishwasher.  As I made the pivot towards the dishwasher, I hit my shin on the dishwasher door.  That caused me to drop the cereal bowl, and that caused me to drop the "F Bomb".

Right when that happened I heard my mom say "What did you just say?"  Now, she wasn't asking this question because she didn't hear me.  She was asking for clarification and I was just smart enough to know that.  I replied, "I said #@$%, mom."  I just stood there.  I wasn't quite sure what was going to happen.  In the past, things like being sent to my room or being asked to write a 200 word essay on the subject were potential punishments.  On the harshest end of the punishment realm was being grounded for the weekend and being forced to read children's books.  (The logic behind the children's books was, I wasn't old enough to use that kind of language so that meant I was too small to use the language.... and in order to use proper language, it was necessary for me to gain an "age appropriate" vocabulary.) 

Mom stood up and headed down the hall which was the total opposite direction of where I was standing.  This of course added to the suspense.  The pace in which mother headed down the hall showed intent. "What was going to happen?".  The "Wheel of Misfortune" is spinning in my head and I am hoping it lands on nothing more severe than a writing assignment.  There was always potential for what I referred to has the "combo platter".  It was the most rare of all punishment and was a combination of any or all of the above. 

As mom came into view, I could tell from the look on her face that this was going to be special.  She had something in her hand, but I couldn't quite make it out.  As she got close, she reached out and grabbed me by the back of the neck and took me to the kitchen sink... where this whole thing began.  She turned on the sink water and handed me a bar of Zest soap.  (My dumb ass thinks mom wants me to wash my hands.)  I started to wash my hands and when I worked up a good lather mom said, "Wash your mouth out with soap!" 

As some of you know, I was a bit of a hard learner. At first I looked at her like, "Are you serious?".  She was, and I didn't have to ask.  The look on her face screamed, "DO NOT MAKE ME DO THIS FOR YOU!"  I should trusted my instinct but for a second I thought I could sell it by washing my face paying particular attention to the area around my mouth.  No dice... Mom wasn't having any of that bullshit.

Mom grabbed the bar of soap and held it close to my mouth.  I kind of inched forward, opened my mouth, stuck my tongue out and made this lame licking attempt.  The attempt was enough for me.  Zest tasted like shit and now I knew that.  Mom said, "Take a bite!"   No way was this not going to happen.  My previous attempts to sell the situation were lame.  My pleas fell on deaf ears.  "Take a bite!  Do it now!" 

I opened my mouth and took a good sized chunk off of one of the corners.  As I chewed on the piece of soap trying not to swallow any, mom asked, "What do you think of that?"  I don't know what is wrong with me.  I smiled, nodded and said "MMMM-MMMM!  That is good!"

You know what's not good?  The subsequent ass kicking I took for being a smart ass! Now, I ate some soap, got my ass tore up, and got grounded.  The dreaded "shitty weekend tri-fecta"!  The weekend as I knew it was over but I'd live to tell the tale.

I learned a lot of things that weekend but the 2 most important thing were, "Zest tastes awful" and "don't be a smart ass when there is a pending ass whoopin!". 

In all seriousness, I feel like I am selling my mother short by saying that she was my everything, but she was.  I didn't know this for about 24 years, but everything I ever saw in my mother was going to be the criteria in which I measured all other women that came into my life.  I'll be forever grateful for that, mom.  I will also be forever grateful for my loving wife who managed to meet that criteria.  I don't know where I'd be without you, Honey.  Happy Mother's Day.

I'd also like to wish a Happy Mother's Day to both of my grandmas.  Never were there ever two sweeter ladies on the planet.  I can't believe I was lucky enough to have them both in my life.  Happy Mothers Day to my mother in law, Katherine Davis.  She and I had a special relationship that I'll never forget.  Happy Mothers Day to my Step Mother, Hagan Dudley for filling the gaps during some difficult times.  Happy Mothers Day to Teri Sharkey, Trudy Fleming and Bev Shaw for being surrogate mothers at different times of my life.  Even though I was just some kid from around the neighborhood or ball field, you always made me feel welcome.  I'd like to wish my little sister Tara Sodin a Happy Mothers Day.  I'm proud of the person you became despite me efforts to make you stick around so I could pick on you.

There are far too many important women keep that up, so I'll close with this.  Anybody that reads this and is fortunate enough to still have their mothers with them, make sure your momma knows how much you love her.  Really come to terms with the kind of relationship you share and honor it every day, not just this day.

Peace....

I've got a problem...

I've got a problem.  Well, I have a lot of problems.  When I notice a problem, I tend to write about it.  Somehow, some way, writing about my problems helps me sort them out and make better sense of it all.  I have 2 problems I'd like to try to sort out today and perhaps you will lend me the time to do that.

First problem:  Floss picks....

Yeah, I said floss picks.  I don't really have a problem with floss picks, per se.  In fact, I find them very useful in order to maintain some kind of oral hygiene.  Anything from a pesky popcorn kernel to a piece of beef jerky tends to find itself jammed between my teeth and there is no better way to rid oneself of this problem than with a floss pick. 

In general, when I think of all of the potential floss pick users, I envision people who are concerned with their appearance.  I think of tidy individuals, perhaps with fresh breath and whiter than normal teeth.  I think this type of person appreciates the floss pick because of its convenience and simplicity.  You know, the back breaking process of opening a container of floss, pulling out the required amount of floss to properly do the job, wrapping the floss around a couple of fingers then actually having to do the flossing procedure is just often too much.  So this handy, convenient, efficient product makes everything about said product/procedure such a pleasure.....

So, why in the fuck is it that I find used floss picks just lying around wherever I go?  People care enough about their personal hygiene enough that they will bust out this device, dig around in their nasty ass mouth, probe around their jacked up gums and fish around between their nasty ass mouth, then throw the god damned thing on the ground!  Look around, you'll find 'em.

Here's the kicker.  In all of my research on the subject, used floss picks are normally found within 7.65 feet of a proper trash receptacle.  The majority of used floss picks are found on the ground in parking lots.  I've found them dexterously resting upon window sills, shopping cart handles and even salt and pepper shakers in some cafes.

The once fastidious individual I had imagined has turned into this puss oozing, canker sore having, jacked up grill sporting troll who has nothing better to do than litter....  If you are a floss pick user and you just leave them lying around after use, you're an asshole.

Second problem:  Walking around in public, digging around in your crotch....

Guys are mostly responsible for this activity, but every once in a while you'll cross an extra special female individual whom you bust knuckles deep in their innermost outers.  What in the world has gone wrong in your day that would make you feel that this activity is socially acceptable?  I don't think I've ever heard anyone say, "I really enjoy watching someone scratch their nuts." 

Folks, this is a matter of cleanliness.  A little soap and water goes a long way down south, if you catch my drift.  If you're walking around with itchy nuts, it's time for a hot shower.  If your lady bits are irritable, perhaps a soak in the tub is essential at this point.

How can you not care enough about your naughty bits to not take proper care of them?

I was in the bar business for nearly 20 years and I've been witness to a lot of shit, most of which I wished I had never seen.  I can tell you this with the highest degree of certainty.  I have never seen an individual (male or female) walk around in a bar, trying to entice someone of the opposite sex, start to scratch and itch their private parts and then pick up someone from the other sex....  It doesn't happen, people. 

Witnessing this on more than one occasion led me to the creation of one of my favorite bar games.  It's called, "Crabs or Worse".  The game is played by catching some uncouth individual partaking in his/her favorite past time and then you get to decide if it is "Crabs or Worse".

Honestly people, take a damned shower.  If soap and water can't cure it, I think they make an ointment or something.  if you can't scrape together the money/time/whatever, go to the damned corner and scratch...  what in the hell is the matter with you?  Oh, and pick up your nasty ass floss picks while you're at it.

"This water is amazing"

If you've ever read any of the blather that I tend to compose, you'll remember that I get a lot of my topics from standing in line at the convenience store.  As well, you may remember that I have a thing with the word "amazing". 

Anyhow, I am standing in line behind what appears to be 2 young professional women that appeared to be thoroughly kempt.  Both were wearing business attire, a modicum of make-up and they had their hair pulled back tight.  Because they were standing right in front of me, I couldn't help but over hear their conversation. 

"What kind of water is that?" one asks the other.  "Oh, its amazing!" the first woman exclaimed.  (Do you remember watching cartoons on Saturday morning?  Do you remember the anvil falling from the sky and hitting Wile E. Coyote on the head and turning him into an accordion?  Remember the noise it made?  That's how I felt and that is the noise I heard.)  The crooked vein in my left temporal region had to have popped out, because that is the side of my head that began hurting almost instantaneously.

"Amazing water!"  Those two words are now looping through my mind.  I can't hear anything else.  "Amazing water!  Amazing water!  Amazing water!"  All I could think of now was, "why, I need to get a look see at this magical elixir!" 

I look at the bottle.  It looks pretty much like every other bottle of water that I've ever seen. Do you know what would have been amazing?  If there were no bottle and somehow the water remained drinkable but yet in the shape of a bottle.  And what if there were tiny unicorns, rainbows and miniature magic gnomes that grant every wish you can think of while gazing into their 4 leaf clover shaped eyes?  And, when you take this bottle-non-bottle of amazement up to the counter, the clerk actually pays you 1000 times what the product's list price is!  That would be amazing but I'm not seeing anything even resembling that shit.

As we moved one step closer, I took another look at this water.  It was still doing nothing.  I thought to myself, "This is a lack luster performance for something so amazing....".  I don't know why my mind raced to my high school biology class and the day that I learned that urine is 95% water.  Of course in my mental mind, I had to ask myself this question...  "If urine is 95% water, is piss 95% amazing?''  It would have to be.  Wouldn't it?

Then I start to imagine that each of these women are secretly carrying tiny bottles of amazing piss to shower themselves with.  Not only that, but with piss being so amazing, they both probably had these amazing piss fountains on their desk.  At the bottom of this piss fountain is a piss pool and that is where the mystical, magical miniature piss mermaids manufacture piss pixie dust that the piss pixies flutter about and cast the piss pixie dust upon those who are fortunate enough to believe!  Now, everyone is piss blessed!  What a truly joyous occasion!

And after a hard days work and numerous piss party celebrations, they rush home to further celebrate the magical concoction!  They tell their families, their friends and anyone else who will listen.  And those who listen hear these marvelous stories  while their faces are filled with wonderment! 

And these women's children all have a British accent (for some dumb ass reason) and they cry out with joy, "Mother!  Tell us... tell us more of this precious liquid commodity!"  Their mothers break into grand piss tales!  One mother speaks of how one drop if piss stopped the largest meteor on record from slamming into earth and ending life as we know it and the other spun a web of how 1 quart of piss saved 200 villages in Africa from drought and disease!  All of the children thought and believed, "What a blessing this piss is."

The children rushed to their bedrooms to adorn themselves in their finest piss pajamas and prepare their extra-pissy sleeping quarters in order to invite the Piss Fairy.  They know that the Piss Fairy will beguile them while in their piss dreams!  "People everywhere must know of this piss!'' one child cries. 

"That will be $3.29, sir........."  At this point I felt myself coming back into the real world.  "$3.29 sir!" the clerk said again with more emphasis.  It was my turn to pay up and I was standing there in my own "piss heaven".  I scrambled to find my wallet.  I think I had a piss smile on my face.  Again, I amused myself. 

Neither water nor piss can be classified as amazing.  Sorry, and yes I am the authority on the subject.

Clean underwear?

If any of you were raised like I was, it was mandatory to wear a clean pair of underwear if you were going somewhere.  As a kid growing up, and a boy kid at that, underwear was optional equipment and clean was foreign.  I mean, if the ass of a pair of underwear wasn't completely blown out, they were good for another few weeks.

My mom used to ask, "Now did you put on a clean pair of underwear?".  I always said "yeah" because I was a busy man.  I had bikes to ride, forts to build and ants to burn with a magnifying glass.  "Clean underwear?''  I thought she was really joking until she gave me a lecture regarding all of the bad things that "could happen".  And in most of those cases, clean underwear wasn't going to remain clean anyhow, because she was scaring the shit out of me!  And when it comes right down to it, let's say one of these scenarios does happen and you consequently do shit your knickers.....  You're going to screw up your britches too!  Who shits their pants in a public setting, ditches their underwear, and puts back on shitty pants expecting to get away with it?  Your damned britches better smell like the Busch Botanical Gardens, otherwise you're a dead ringer for "Mr. Poopy Pants".  Clean underwear just isn't going to hide that.

In regards to this potential dilemma, I did what I could to make momma happy.  My grandfather once told me, "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."  I figured he'd been around long enough to test a few theories, so I held that one close to the chest. 

Years later as an adult, I grew into the habit of putting on clean underwear.  I just appreciate them. And its not only clean underwear that I appreciate these days.  Quality underwear is something to truly behold!  Quality underwear can be any brand, but it has to offer a few things.  It's got to be comfortable and it has to offer the right support.  If it's lacking either of those two critical components, you will probably save them anyhow if you're a normal man.  You'll probably wear all of the good underwear before you get around to doing laundry, so you either "go commando" or you wear a pair of drawers that is of lesser quality.

I didn't appreciate the "support" aspect of quality underwear until recently.  As I started to grow older, it became obvious that perhaps my skin didn't have the same elasticity, or just maybe gravity had a better pull than it used too.  Nonetheless it is essential to keep the "team" in the same dugout.  You can't have the bat and balls in different ball parks is all I'm saying.  If you don't, well, you aren't going to be playing ball.

I fully realized this not so long ago.  I had to run some errands, so I hopped in the shower.  After a nice shower, I went to find some quality underwear in my underwear drawer.  (Quality underwear should have a special spot, and it should be nowhere near lesser quality drawers.)  I threw the drawer open and nothing.... No quality underwear, so I went with "option B".  There they were, sitting in the corner like a 3rd grader being punished for smarting off in class.  They've got no pride.  There is no happiness sitting the corner were all of the quality ones can sit and make fun of them.  I figured at this point I had no choice.  I grabbed them and honestly I don't think either of us felt good about the decision, but it had to happen.

Once on, I had to question their ability to keep the "team" together but like I said, it had to be done.  I put on a quality shirt, quality socks, quality jeans, and quality boots and out the door I went.  I make it all the way in to town and put the tough decision behind me.  I was running around town, in and out of the Jeep constantly, taking care of business.  I finished all of my errands and decided to reward myself with a nice hot cup of coffee, so I proceeded into the coffee joint and picked up a cup.  As I headed out to the Jeep, I didn't realize that I somehow let one of the balls outside of the dugout.  As I plopped myself down in the drivers seat, it became abundantly clear to me that I somehow put a guillotine in my front pocket and attempted to cut a guy from the team unannounced.  Bad managerial decision....

I didn't think I was capable of a noise like that.  I also didn't know I could move that quick or experience pain like that without dying, really.  I flopped around for a quick hot second, threw my coffee all over the interior of my Jeep and somehow came to my senses outside, doubled over checking my chances of being able to put the team back together.  I knew I had to talk to that new free agent.

Fortunately, the stray ball didn't leave the field entirely and I would be able to carry on although rather gingerly.  I maneuvered myself back into the drivers seat using extreme caution not wanting a repeat performance.  One of those is good for a life time. 

This was one of those experiences that if you survive intact, you have to tell someone.  For some reason I felt compelled to tell you.  There is a moral to the story.  If you want to keep the bat and balls all together, its worthy to purchase a quality bag.  Buy quality underwear, y'all.  One bad decision can ruin a good team.  Play ball!

Fashion.  There is a subject that I know absolutely nothing about.  I don't know as if I ever had a clear definition of the term "fashion sense".  As a kid in high school, it was 501's, t-shirt, and Nikes.  Later my style evolved into jeans, boots and a t-shirt while sporting a mullet.  Later than that, my style morphed into another realm all together.  In my mid 30's, I decided if I were wearing cargo shorts, t-shirt and work boots, I was probably over dressed for most situations I prefer to find myself in.    I'm never going to wear shorts, sandals and black socks and that is a promise.

Along with ones "fashion sense" comes the necessity to be able to kind of get a hair style that matches you.  My grandfather was a barber.  That doesn't give me the qualifications to be a hair style consultant, but at this point in my life, I've had maybe 1,000 hair cuts.  Some reflected the barbers impeccable skills but were an ill thought decision when it came to style.  Others, very well thought and planned but the barber (myself or a drunk buddy) jacked my hair up which led to me shaving my head.  Shit happens... and it happens to me often especially when I choose to cut my own hair.

There are 2 particular hair cuts that drive me crazy.  Neither of them is the mullet, however.  I do cringe when I see one, but I consider the source and then move along.  The 2 hair styles I am thinking of are the "Utah Claw" and the "May I speak to your manager" which is also known as the "Wasatch Front."  (You can take that last name, "Wasatch Front" to the bank because a professional barber told me about it.  Thanks Mike Randall w/ Teton Barber Shop!)

Scientifically known as "Utahsian-6kidsandaminivanicus" or its more traditional name, "The Claw" is in a critical stage of its existence.  Nearly extinct today, "The Claw" does make rare appearances at NASCAR events and the World Championship Snowmobile Hill Climb.  This particular coif was noted in the hundreds in the late 80's and Early 90's at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in Jackson, Wyoming. It's numbers now have dwindled to mere dozens.  Assumed to be a mating ritual, "The Claw" would appear on any holiday or any excuse our friends from Utah would use to come to Wyoming and get wasted because they were afraid to do it in Utah.

"The Claw" consisted of spiking out ones long bangs straight up from the forehead in order to resemble an inverted eagle's talon. As much as 5 cans of Aqua-Net and 3 solid hours of time is necessary to achieve the desired presentation.  As mentioned above, "The Claw" is assumed to be a mating ritual because it was often seen amongst mullets.  If there were an equal amount of "Claws" and mullets, this grouping is known as "Jack Mormons" and you can fully expect different levels of drunken stupidity including fights over "Who is the best driver, Junior or Tony Stewart?" or "Ford v.s. Dodge". 

Women sporting "The Claw" are often heard saying things like "Make me something real strong, like a Fuzzy Navel or something" to any bartender, bar back, cocktail waitress or random guy pumping gas near them.  As well, they will often ask for directions to the bathroom and then head in the wrong direction.  Not known for their tolerance to alcohol, "The Claw" is often found in the women's room, hugging the toilet or taking a nap on the disgusting but cool tile floors of bathrooms.  After such an occurrence, you'll hear someone wearing "The Claw" say "Did I pee my pants or is this from crying?" because her boyfriend looked at another breeder wearing "The Claw".  Often there will be a clump of toilet paper sticking to the spike of one of her high heels and this person will normally be accompanied by another girl crying because "Tiffany is having a hard time tonight."  This other girl should be coveted however because she is normally the only way to get rid of the dumpster fire known as "The Claw".

The hair style known as "May I speak to your manager" a.k.a "The Wasatch Front" evolved in the mid 90's and peaked in popularity in the year 2012.  According to numerous scientific studies, this particular hair style has numerous things in common with "The Claw" and it has been noted that former "Claws" are now known as "May I speak to your manager".  It is assumed that a maturation process takes place in ones 30's that spurs this particular adaptation. 

Scientifically known as "gonnabebitchycuz", their general attitude is considered more shitty than that of "The Claw".  It is assumed that this is because of the maturation process and the fact that this person has nothing else in the world to be upset about than in order to feel any relevance, it must seem bitchy.  While in bars, "May I speak to your manager" will often complain about the most irrelevant shit that nobody has any control over.  Most common amongst their complaints are, "Your ice is too cold", "I don't like what time it is" and "How come they look like they are having a lot more fun than I am?''. These are always followed by the words, "May I speak to your manager?".... hence the name.

Trying to reason with this person and these questions will always prove to be a fruitless endeavor.  Even the most skilled bar manager will approach with caution.  "Good evening.  My name is ______, I am the manager, so how can I be of help?"  Gonnabebitchycuz normally ends up with a "just got screwed by the neighbors bit bull'' look and then quickly shakes that off to reply with one of the above queries.  The skillful manager will then politely answer, "Miss, our ice is that cold because if it weren't, it would be water" and under his/her breath you can often hear the answer followed by "you stupid twat". 

When hit with the complaint, "How come they look like they are having a lot more fun than I am?", the most savvy of managers will say, "They are having more fun because they aren't bitchy!"  This is where one will normally encounter "gonnabebitchycuz's" favorite complaint.  "I'm leaving, and I'm never coming back!"  Although she looks as if she really means it this time, that is a guarantee that you will see her again in less than 30 minutes after she makes a scene and walks out of the establishment, but not without trying to get her friends and family to follow... and that never happens.

Upon her return from having a good cry out by the dumpster, she returns with her mascara running down both cheeks.  She will complain again that she has "never been treated that way" which is a lie because the last time she was in, ended the same way.  She will ask for a refund on her cover charge, her drinks, and an apology from the guy in the hotel lobby who looked at her boobs, because they are basically hanging out of her shirt.  When she receives no compliance, she will always begin to sob again, complete with little snot bubbles inflating and quickly deflating (like an infant) and then she will being to offer apologies.... for everything and anything not relevant to the current situation.

An encounter with either species is truly something not so special and not to be cherished.  They are sure to happen again and again.

It's been a while....

Quite some time ago, I decided to make a conscious decision to try to make the best of my life.  And really, why not?  We're only here once, so we might as well live as well as we can.  By making this decision, I understood that I would need to take an honest self inventory of whom I was and who and where I wanted to be.  After all, my life had become rather cumbersome.  I was dwelling on the past too much.  I had a friend who was the most negative person on earth who had the ability to drag me down to his level in an instant.  I realized that I had this level of anxiety that I had never noticed before.  It was almost paralyzing!  I was letting things happen rather than making this happen!

It was during this 'self inventory' that I made the most important discovery of my life.  "I was holding myself back...."  It wasn't my friend with the ability to drag me down.  It wasn't the negativity that seemed to surround me.  I was standing in my own way! 

At this very moment, I had truly my first Zen experience.  I finally knew that I could only control "me".  I was in charge of everything "me" and nobody else had that power.  Me and me only could control how I acted or reacted to every circumstance around me.  As well, I realized that I could happily take accountability for my actions as well as my reactions.  It dawned on me I could choose to keep hanging around my negative friend and I could let him control how I felt, or I could distance myself from him and let the positive energy flow.  I noticed that I could choose to find the positive in everything rather than looking for the negative! Zen!

Right then I decided to drop all of the negative things in my life and accept everything and everybody as they are and all of the pressure and anxiety left my body in an instant!  Cathartic....

I've been doing my best to stay on track, and I told you all of the above to get to this:

So, a pizza delivery guy comes through the gate at work and stops as required.  I politely ask the gentleman if he knew where he was headed and he showed me that he did indeed have the physical address and a GPS.  He said "Yeah" like I was wasting his time and added "my GPS will take me right to their front door" as he was pulling away.  He stopped at the stop sign and promptly took a turn in the wrong direction.

I couldn't help but smile.  Here I am wasting this busy mans valuable time all the while he had the latest in gadgetry that would ensure his safe and timely arrival at the desired location.  He made a turn into a short cul-de-sac so I knew he would be turning around.  I decided that I would meet him in the intersection and get him headed in the right direction.  After all, this guy is a busy man and he can't be fooling around, and I am concerned with doing the right thing. 

As he approached, he looked at me while talking on his phone and looking at the GPS in his other hand.  His pride must have been overwhelming him at the moment because instead of stopping and asking me for directions, he just drove by... again.... in the wrong direction.  What's special about this new heading the busy pizza delivery guy was taking is, it too is a cul-de-sac but its end is much further down the road.

Now, I was in a pickle.  Do I do the right thing and track him down and have him follow me in the right direction or do I wait for him to do the "drive of shame" right back to me and then ask for directions?  I zipped my coat up because it was chilly.  No way am I leaving the intersection now.  About 5 minutes goes by and I figured he either committed suicide because of the embarrassment or he was stuck in a snow drift. 

  Here comes old Magellan, limping along with his ass dragging between his knees.  I positioned myself so there was no way he could get around me.  I did this for my benefit as much as his.  Not only could I assist this guy in his journey as all of his gadgetry had failed him miserably, but I could get a real good look at this guys face.  (It's important to know stupid when you see it.)

Here's the beautiful part.  This guy rolls the window down and says, (like he's never, ever seen me before) "Good afternoon sir.  I am looking for this residence."  I'm smiling only to keep from laughing.  I said, "let me see" as he handed me the label off of the pizza box.  I scratched my chin and pretended to be real puzzled.  "If you go left, you'll leave the property so that isn't helpful.  You've been to both the north and south of the subdivision, so I guess you'd better head to the west." 

5 minutes later he had to drive by me at the gate.  I wanted to be out there waiting.  He had this look on his face that looked somewhere between the question "Who farted?" and the look you'd have if you got hit in the face with a tin foil cake plate.

When it was all said and done, I realized that I could view this chance encounter as 15 minutes that I'd never get back or I could take it as the true gem it was.  Being rather Zem like, I chose the gem.  I bet he isn't writing this shit on his blog.

Mosquito's.....

Here it is, the 8th of October and I haven't seen a mosquito in probably 2 weeks. Out of nowhere comes this giant ass, Boone and Crockett, world class mosquito that all other mosquitoes aspire to be!  Saying this thing was big is an understatement.  I swear I think I saw a combat team from the 82nd Airborne jump out of this thing!  The thing had a banner flying from its ass end that read, "29 years is a long damned time, Kansas City Royals.  God bless you and George Brett.".  When the damned thing landed, 5 minivans filled with soccer moms and toddlers pulled over because they thought it was a Chuck E. Cheese.  Fucking thing was big, okay?

Normally I'm  not afraid of mosquitoes.  In fact, I kind of enjoy the itch after getting bit by one.  I mean, beats the hell out of the itch you get from the crabs... not that I would know.  But, this mosquito said it was going to open up a feeding spot on the back of my shoulder with a drilling rig because a pick axe wasn't big enough!  This mosquito was so big, it probably needed an oil change every 3000 miles.  I mean, damn!  I got mad that it had invaded my air space, so when it landed I hit it with a rolled up news paper.  When it got up, it hit me back.

It was unreal.  A co-worker saw this thing and informed me that he saw it on the Discovery Channel.  Yeah, the crew from Northwestern (from the show Deadliest Catch) was floating on its back while fishing for Opilio crab.  You get me?  It was a damned big mosquito.

When the thing finally got done having its way with South Jackson, it took off like a CH-47 Chinook in a talcum powder plant.  Dirt and shit was everywhere.  Old women's hair was mussed.  Kids where crying.  The only thing I could think of was, I bet Pinedale Wyoming wishes it would have had this bastard when the Rainbow Family Gathering showed up in 2008.