I had to group two drunk stories together since they made more sense together than separate so here goes. (By the way, I in no way condone drinking and driving. These stories happened over 4 years ago and I have since matured enough to call a cab, and the only vehicle I now operate while intoxicated is a riding lawnmower…oh, and a golf cart, but that’s a whole other story.)
Random Drunk Story #2;” Major CLM (Career Limiting Move).”
My second job out of college was for a company called Allegiance Telecom Inc. I was hoping to break into sales, and this would be the perfect opportunity. I secured a position as an “Account Executive” and ended up being part of the first sales team in Minneapolis, which proved to give me more experience in sales than I had ever hoped. The just of the job was to go door to door to local business and cold call them in order to sell local, long distance and internet services. The first month was a cake-walk as it was all training the new sales team and pretty much opening the office for business. We all got to know each other and became good friends as we would spend our days cold calling in teams and running contests etc. After the first month it all went down hill from there as there was extreme pressure and a sick sort of “Boiler Room” mentality. My boss, Michael, was literally standing on his desk and yelling to get on the phones and set appointments while his boss, Brandon, (the City V.P.) would walk around playing “good cop.” It was horrible, but we made the best of it.
One Thursday evening we all decided to go out for happy hour to bitch about our job. We all proceeded to get shit-faced (because that’s what disgruntled employees do) and after a few too many, Myrna and I decided to call it a night. We had driven together and I had to drive her to her car while intoxicated (please, do not try this at home). While in my Jeep, Myrna thought it would be a good idea to call Brandon, my boss’s boss, and complain even more about our job. So she called his voicemail at work and left him a message that went something like this; “Heeeeyyyyy, Brandon, this ssiss Myrna and Je…(breaks into laughter), this sisss, Myrna and Je…(.breaks into laughter, hangs up). After watching this train wreck that happened in front of me, I command her to call him back and leave a more appropriate message regarding our current dislike for our job, or in my words “Call that jackass back and let him know how pissed off we are.” So she does and it goes something like this; “Brannnn, sisss Myrna and Je…(more laughter). It was at this point I grabbed the phone away from her and said “Brandon, this is Jen and Myrna and you drive us to drink. You, and your little Michael (which by the way, Michael is all but 5ft 3in tall) made us get hammered tonight and call your voicemail to bitch about our job. Urall the telecom Nazi’s. We’re drunk and we’re driving down the HIGHWAY…that’s a huge liabiliteeeeeeee. Just wanted you to know. Thanks Bye. Oh, yeah, see you tomorrow, or today, whatever.” Click.
The next morning Myrna and I entered the office quite hung-over, (or most probably still drunk) and as I walked over to my desk the red voicemail light flashed like I’ve never seen it flash before. On that voicemail, and everyone else’s voicemail in the entire office, were the two messages Myrna and I sent to Brandon about 4 hours earlier. He forwarded them with his opening statement of “Nice.” We were never able to quite live that down, I used to cringe whenever I heard someone play it, and it was saved on the phones up until my last day two years later.
Random Drunk Story #3 “The Hat Made Me Do It.”
While employed at Allegiance Telecom I had this pink foam cowboy hat that somehow made it into my cube and adorned my desk for the two years that I was there. On my last day, my friends that I worked with took me out for drinks. So I packed up my things, which included awards, “Legally Blonde” poster (compliments of Brandon, he said she reminded him of me…nice) personal documents, quota achievements, foam cowboy hat, and random stuff that had accumulated and all managed to fit into a large cardboard box. I threw it all into my Jeep as I was more than ready to leave and start my new job.
We went to a local bar and proceeded to get quite intoxicated (do you see a pattern here with these people?). Before I started my car to go home, I thought it would be a good idea to put my foam cowboy hat, not even imagining that I must look like a huge red light for any police officer to pull me over. I could have lit my ass on fire and hung it out the window of my speeding automobile and I would still have been considerably more discreet.
I ended up making it home, (via the very slow 35 mph back route and thanks to the 3 cups of coffee I drank before I left) however it wasn’t until I got home that the drama began. From what I am told, Josh and Damian were in the backyard when they heard a big crash in the front yard. They ran up the hill only to find me wearing my foam cowboy hat and kicking all of my worldly Allegiance possessions all over the yard while throwing the finheimer around like batting practice at the World Series. Apparently, the bottom of the box broke and mixed with the tequila, caffeine, and pure angst I decided to wrestle with my things smack dab in the front yard. Looking back it must have been quite funny, and I am so lucky I was never pulled over by the police, could you imagine my mug shot?
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Monday, May 09, 2005
Fun with Bands( Even Rap Bands)...
I got this from Charlie's site (see Bored at the Beach to your right...I still can't text link). So, all you have to do is pick your favorite (or one of your favorite) band/artist and fill in the answers with song titles. Danika, make sure you pick your favorite Rap Band! (Inside joke, Danika once inferred to a Rap Artist as a "rap band." We think it's funny and use it quite often.)
NAME OF BAND: Coldplay
ARE YOU MALE OR FEMALE: "Brothers and SISTERS” (I’m the sister part)
DESCRIBE YOURSELF: "Green Eyes” “Yellow” (hair…well, ok, blonde)
HOW DO SOME PEOPLE FEEL ABOUT YOU: "God Put A Smile Upon Your Face"
HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOURSELF: "Don’t Panic"
DESCRIBE AN EX BOYFRIEND: "Warning Sign"
DESCRIBE HUSBAND: "Trouble" :)
DESCRIBE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE: "Amsterdam"
DESCRIBE HOW YOU LIVE: "High Speed"
DESCRIBE HOW YOU LOVE: "Sparks"
SHARE A FEW WORDS OF WISDOM: "Everything’s Not Lost"
NAME OF BAND: Coldplay
ARE YOU MALE OR FEMALE: "Brothers and SISTERS” (I’m the sister part)
DESCRIBE YOURSELF: "Green Eyes” “Yellow” (hair…well, ok, blonde)
HOW DO SOME PEOPLE FEEL ABOUT YOU: "God Put A Smile Upon Your Face"
HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOURSELF: "Don’t Panic"
DESCRIBE AN EX BOYFRIEND: "Warning Sign"
DESCRIBE HUSBAND: "Trouble" :)
DESCRIBE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE: "Amsterdam"
DESCRIBE HOW YOU LIVE: "High Speed"
DESCRIBE HOW YOU LOVE: "Sparks"
SHARE A FEW WORDS OF WISDOM: "Everything’s Not Lost"
Gripe of the Day
I work out of my home, so when I’m not out visiting clients, I’m at home on the phone with them. Thus brings me to my “Gripe of the Day” of which I’ve entitled “Hold Music and Its Test on My Sanity.”
Have we become so accustomed to “noise” that we must be entertained while waiting to talk to someone? I can’t stand it! We have this hold music at my home office that is enough to make me want to shoot someone. I’ll be on hold for like 3 minutes and then I start humming the stuff…then I know its time to hang up. And don’t even get me started about the tunes I hear when holding for my clients. I work for car dealerships; the Mecca of annoying jingles and the minute that receptionist hits that button to transfer me, or to hold for my client I cringe. What kind of half-ass jingle are they going to come up with to have me singing it for the next three hours? It drives me crazy. One year I spent the whole summer singing a jingle that consisted of this; “Trucks, trucks, trucks, trucks, Grossman Chevrolet has trucks, trucks, trucks, trucks…” HATE! There are times when I’m driving down the road and I just have to turn off my radio because I can’t seem to escape the “noise” of everything that is around me. Am I the only one that feels this way? Maybe I need help. Maybe I should seriously consider professional help. On the other hand, maybe I’m right and maybe people should seriously consider eliminating the background noise that they subject us poor unassuming people to! Or maybe I just need to take a Midol and get over it. Anyway, am I crazy?
Have we become so accustomed to “noise” that we must be entertained while waiting to talk to someone? I can’t stand it! We have this hold music at my home office that is enough to make me want to shoot someone. I’ll be on hold for like 3 minutes and then I start humming the stuff…then I know its time to hang up. And don’t even get me started about the tunes I hear when holding for my clients. I work for car dealerships; the Mecca of annoying jingles and the minute that receptionist hits that button to transfer me, or to hold for my client I cringe. What kind of half-ass jingle are they going to come up with to have me singing it for the next three hours? It drives me crazy. One year I spent the whole summer singing a jingle that consisted of this; “Trucks, trucks, trucks, trucks, Grossman Chevrolet has trucks, trucks, trucks, trucks…” HATE! There are times when I’m driving down the road and I just have to turn off my radio because I can’t seem to escape the “noise” of everything that is around me. Am I the only one that feels this way? Maybe I need help. Maybe I should seriously consider professional help. On the other hand, maybe I’m right and maybe people should seriously consider eliminating the background noise that they subject us poor unassuming people to! Or maybe I just need to take a Midol and get over it. Anyway, am I crazy?
Friday, May 06, 2005
Now I finally know why Fridley is so F'd up!
Ok, so while watching the news last night there was a special report on the tornadoes that went through the Twin Cities metro area on May 6th 1965. Apparantly Fridley was hit by two F4 tornadoes in one day which totally explains why Fridley is such an ass crack for a city! I can't believe I actually figured it out! You wanna know what's even more f'd up? Fridley is having a "40th Anniversary Tornadoe Festival" commemerating the event that took place 40 years ago.
Who does that? Apparantly Fridley. Maybe I'll go, just for shits and giggles, and stop by one of the numerous Taco Bells for some crappy cat food nachos.
Here's a link to visit to read more as reported by the Minneapolis Star Tribune: http://www.startribune.com/stories/142/5379286.html
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Random Drunk Story #1
Inspired by a blog I was introduced to (which by the way is really hilarious, I suggest each and every one of you check it out www.cmac23.blogspot.com) I have decided to compile a list of my funny drunk stories. Unfortunately, while creating the list I realized that it was really long, like too long to consider cramming them all into one blog, then I said out loud, “Wow, I probably need some help.” Anyway, I’ve decided to post them randomly throughout the summer. Here’s the first, and most recent. Enjoy!
Riding Lawnmowers and Beer; Bad idea.
Have you ever realized that your best ideas come to surface when you’ve been drinking? Such an idea surfaced last Labor Day while at my friend’s parents cabin for the weekend.
We decided to clean out the shed (which is actually really cool with screened windows and wooden screened door), and turn it into the “Ultimate Tiki Bar.” In order to do so we had to remove the two riding lawnmowers and park them next to the garage where the other riding lawnmower resides. So, after the tiki bar was established and more drinks were consumed someone mentioned how cool it would be if we were to have lawnmower races. At the time I thought it was most probably the best idea I have ever heard. At least the best idea since about 5 minutes earlier when we did the whole put your head on the baseball bat thing and spin around ten times and then run. Which Josh did and ran smack dab into the side of the tiki bar…ouch, but still, I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.
So the lawnmower races ensued, there was a track, and finish line, and I even started the race standing between two of the lawnmowers in a dramatic rendition of Cha Cha’s race starting moves in the movie Greece. The races went off without a hitch and the real drama didn’t begin until Chrissy and I decided to take two of the lawnmowers down to the store to get ice. To set the scene, their driveway down to the cabin is really long and the total trip is just under a half a mile each way. Usually, the road is empty, however since it was Labor Day the resort next door was packed from the turtle races and there were cars lined all the way down the road on one side. I was on the older lawnmower and watched as Chrissy’s step dad Pat started it for me. He lifted the hood and pulled the cord and it just started, that’s all I saw. All he said was that the rabbit makes it go faster and the turtle slows it down. Simple right? Wrong.
We made it up the driveway and Chrissy was ahead of me, naturally I wanted to go faster, because fast is a good idea on a riding lawnmower when you’ve been drinking. I was messing with some levers and ended up stalling it. Chrissy kept going while turning around to see what I was doing. After watching Pat start it I flipped up the hood and pulled the cord. Nothing. Pulled it again. Nothing. This time I took all my energy and violently pulled the cord and watched in awe as the lawnmower sped across the road and slammed itself into the tire of a 4 door sedan of which I refuse to name for legal reasons. It was at that point I realized that I forgot to put the mower into neutral. Chrissy turns around to see me run across the road and try to pull the lawnmower off the car that is viciously ramming itself over and over again into the side of the car and caught under the body above the wheel. Laughing hysterically with tears in her eyes she managed to come over and assist in turning off the lawnmower while we both pulled it off the car in front of us. Surprisingly, there was no damage to the car. If the mower would have been a little to the left, or a little to the right we would have been screwed. Plus, no one was around to witness the disaster and except for a few scratches under the wheel rim on the backside of the body everything was fine, except for the lawnmower, which had definitely seen better days. The hood was brutally dented in and we were unable to latch it, not to mention I was in shock and my mind was going a mile a minute to try and think of a story to cover our tracks.
While driving back down to the cabin we thought up a story to tell everyone that I had hit a tree. As we arrived, we were showered by our friend Ian who ran towards us shaking up two cans of beer and spraying us with them (which was very fitting in a Special Olympics kind of way). We were able to coax him into bending the hood of the lawnmower back to its original (sort of) state and explain what happened only to the tree, not the car. Later that night while sitting in the tiki bar the truth came out and everyone learned what had happened. I was really embarrassed, but now thinking back it makes me laugh. Hysterically. So here’s to riding lawnmowers and alcohol, only one of many of my really bad ideas.
Riding Lawnmowers and Beer; Bad idea.
Have you ever realized that your best ideas come to surface when you’ve been drinking? Such an idea surfaced last Labor Day while at my friend’s parents cabin for the weekend.
We decided to clean out the shed (which is actually really cool with screened windows and wooden screened door), and turn it into the “Ultimate Tiki Bar.” In order to do so we had to remove the two riding lawnmowers and park them next to the garage where the other riding lawnmower resides. So, after the tiki bar was established and more drinks were consumed someone mentioned how cool it would be if we were to have lawnmower races. At the time I thought it was most probably the best idea I have ever heard. At least the best idea since about 5 minutes earlier when we did the whole put your head on the baseball bat thing and spin around ten times and then run. Which Josh did and ran smack dab into the side of the tiki bar…ouch, but still, I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.
So the lawnmower races ensued, there was a track, and finish line, and I even started the race standing between two of the lawnmowers in a dramatic rendition of Cha Cha’s race starting moves in the movie Greece. The races went off without a hitch and the real drama didn’t begin until Chrissy and I decided to take two of the lawnmowers down to the store to get ice. To set the scene, their driveway down to the cabin is really long and the total trip is just under a half a mile each way. Usually, the road is empty, however since it was Labor Day the resort next door was packed from the turtle races and there were cars lined all the way down the road on one side. I was on the older lawnmower and watched as Chrissy’s step dad Pat started it for me. He lifted the hood and pulled the cord and it just started, that’s all I saw. All he said was that the rabbit makes it go faster and the turtle slows it down. Simple right? Wrong.
We made it up the driveway and Chrissy was ahead of me, naturally I wanted to go faster, because fast is a good idea on a riding lawnmower when you’ve been drinking. I was messing with some levers and ended up stalling it. Chrissy kept going while turning around to see what I was doing. After watching Pat start it I flipped up the hood and pulled the cord. Nothing. Pulled it again. Nothing. This time I took all my energy and violently pulled the cord and watched in awe as the lawnmower sped across the road and slammed itself into the tire of a 4 door sedan of which I refuse to name for legal reasons. It was at that point I realized that I forgot to put the mower into neutral. Chrissy turns around to see me run across the road and try to pull the lawnmower off the car that is viciously ramming itself over and over again into the side of the car and caught under the body above the wheel. Laughing hysterically with tears in her eyes she managed to come over and assist in turning off the lawnmower while we both pulled it off the car in front of us. Surprisingly, there was no damage to the car. If the mower would have been a little to the left, or a little to the right we would have been screwed. Plus, no one was around to witness the disaster and except for a few scratches under the wheel rim on the backside of the body everything was fine, except for the lawnmower, which had definitely seen better days. The hood was brutally dented in and we were unable to latch it, not to mention I was in shock and my mind was going a mile a minute to try and think of a story to cover our tracks.
While driving back down to the cabin we thought up a story to tell everyone that I had hit a tree. As we arrived, we were showered by our friend Ian who ran towards us shaking up two cans of beer and spraying us with them (which was very fitting in a Special Olympics kind of way). We were able to coax him into bending the hood of the lawnmower back to its original (sort of) state and explain what happened only to the tree, not the car. Later that night while sitting in the tiki bar the truth came out and everyone learned what had happened. I was really embarrassed, but now thinking back it makes me laugh. Hysterically. So here’s to riding lawnmowers and alcohol, only one of many of my really bad ideas.
Run for the Boarder
Why is it that when you’re hung over you crave greasy crappy food? I had that problem today as I was nursing a rather sever hangover from my night out last night. It should have occurred to me that it was time to retire when I asked the bouncer while fumbling through my purse for my ID if he thought it was a good idea to let me in the bar because I was REALLY drunk. He said I should be fine so of course I entered and ordered another drink because I really needed one. Thus my massive hang over brought on by approximately 6 glasses of red wine and a “Scooby Snack (?), whatever that is.
So, while driving around visiting clients today I started to crave Taco Bell nachos (no meat extra beans) and the quest began. I immediately drove to the area I thought would have a Taco Bell. It’s an area of which I am unfamiliar so I had to drive for quite some time until I found a bunch of restaurants, some strip malls, and ultimately, no Taco Bell. I was cracked, why is it that wherever you go you see one, but when you need one they’re never around, kind of like policemen…or bottle openers.
Anyway, I passed a Chipotle and could have stopped for their nachos, but I didn’t want their nachos. I wanted Taco Bell crappy nachos. I wanted the kind of nachos with processed cheese, canned tomatoes, soggy scallions, and refried beans that most probably double as cat food.
I decided to stop my car and think (because apparently I can’t think and drive at the same time…I know, that’s very scary), and after thinking I eventually decided that in order to find a Taco Bell I must put myself in the place of the people that frequent Taco Bell. Now, where do I see them? Immediately I thought of busy intersections with lots of concrete and strange looking people loitering around gas stations and the like. Where would one of those places be around here? (Ding, insert cartoon light bulb here) Fridley! OF COURSE! FRIDLEY!
For those of you who have never been to Fridley MN, don’t go, you’re not missing anything. Actually, don’t go because you’ll never look at the world the same again…ever. I myself having grown up in Bloomington (a suburb of Minneapolis) haven’t even been to Fridley up until about 3 weeks ago when I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up there. Since that time I have so eloquently named Fridley “The Ass Crack of the Twin Cities Metro Area” and I’m not even being overly dramatic about that, it’s true, if Fridley were an area on the body it would be an ass crack.
So I was now off to Fridley, a city in which I implicitly swore I would never ever visit again to get my greasy crappy Taco Bell because I was hung over and needed to get my fix. The funny thing is, I did find one and I think I saw like three others within a 2 mile radius, and I even ordered my crappy nachos without my sarcastic usual “I’ll take the nachos supreme without the dandruff and pubic hair please.” It turned out that I ate every single last one of my crappy nachos, which were SO good and totally hit the spot. I’ve also decided that I received a little lesson, Marketing 101 style; In order to get crappy food you have to go to the crappy parts of town. I’ve also learned that 6 glasses of wine and a shot of some obscure drink named after a cartoon with a talking dog and toked out hippie will definitely reap havoc on your body the next day and probably should not be consumed within such a short period of time. Live and learn because “It Is What It Is.”
So, while driving around visiting clients today I started to crave Taco Bell nachos (no meat extra beans) and the quest began. I immediately drove to the area I thought would have a Taco Bell. It’s an area of which I am unfamiliar so I had to drive for quite some time until I found a bunch of restaurants, some strip malls, and ultimately, no Taco Bell. I was cracked, why is it that wherever you go you see one, but when you need one they’re never around, kind of like policemen…or bottle openers.
Anyway, I passed a Chipotle and could have stopped for their nachos, but I didn’t want their nachos. I wanted Taco Bell crappy nachos. I wanted the kind of nachos with processed cheese, canned tomatoes, soggy scallions, and refried beans that most probably double as cat food.
I decided to stop my car and think (because apparently I can’t think and drive at the same time…I know, that’s very scary), and after thinking I eventually decided that in order to find a Taco Bell I must put myself in the place of the people that frequent Taco Bell. Now, where do I see them? Immediately I thought of busy intersections with lots of concrete and strange looking people loitering around gas stations and the like. Where would one of those places be around here? (Ding, insert cartoon light bulb here) Fridley! OF COURSE! FRIDLEY!
For those of you who have never been to Fridley MN, don’t go, you’re not missing anything. Actually, don’t go because you’ll never look at the world the same again…ever. I myself having grown up in Bloomington (a suburb of Minneapolis) haven’t even been to Fridley up until about 3 weeks ago when I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up there. Since that time I have so eloquently named Fridley “The Ass Crack of the Twin Cities Metro Area” and I’m not even being overly dramatic about that, it’s true, if Fridley were an area on the body it would be an ass crack.
So I was now off to Fridley, a city in which I implicitly swore I would never ever visit again to get my greasy crappy Taco Bell because I was hung over and needed to get my fix. The funny thing is, I did find one and I think I saw like three others within a 2 mile radius, and I even ordered my crappy nachos without my sarcastic usual “I’ll take the nachos supreme without the dandruff and pubic hair please.” It turned out that I ate every single last one of my crappy nachos, which were SO good and totally hit the spot. I’ve also decided that I received a little lesson, Marketing 101 style; In order to get crappy food you have to go to the crappy parts of town. I’ve also learned that 6 glasses of wine and a shot of some obscure drink named after a cartoon with a talking dog and toked out hippie will definitely reap havoc on your body the next day and probably should not be consumed within such a short period of time. Live and learn because “It Is What It Is.”
Monday, May 02, 2005
Odd Sightings...
Someone should be fired on the North St. Paul City Council
This week has been an interesting week full of weird and strange sightings. I’ve decided to make a list.
1). Was manually accosted by the “Helping Hands” transportation bus. I’ll let you know that the hand I saw was all but helping after I cut him off because he was weaving in and out of traffic and driving erratically with complete disregard for his fellow drivers and the handicapped person propped up in their wheel chair in the back of his “Helping Hands” van…prick. I’d have to say that guy is 100% Skank.
2). The State Patrol officer standing next to his smashed in cruiser with no more back end on the shoulder of the east bound lane of 94. There was no other car. Hit and Run? Or accident caused by spilled coffee and dropped doughnut?
3). Politically profound bumper sticker that read; “Clinton: Blow Jobs. Bush: No Jobs.”
4). Snow
5). Early 90’s Pontiac Bonneville with the name “Stormy” spray painted on the front panel being driven by a Vietnam Veteran aged mad with a grey beard and a sombrero in the back seat.
6). (This isn’t really a sighting, but more of an occurrence) Falling down the stairs at a dealership with my client and then proceeded to get into my car and spill my newly purchased steaming hot Soy Chai Late all over my lap while driving.
7). Two story cement snowman in North St. Paul. (See picture taken while driving.)
Who at the city council meeting let this pass? Come ON!
8). Ceramic cactus tea party on lawn of individual on the way to New Prague. Not only did this person have a group of cacti sitting on metal chairs with a ceramic donkey and wagon, but they also had multiple deer, dogs, pigs, and other lawn ornamentation that will be sure to make you jerk your car off the side of the road and into the ditch trying to take it all in. I should know, I almost did. I didn’t get a picture this time; I promise I will take a shot next time I drive by.
9). Customer at one of my dealers who strangely resembles Darryl from “Coming to America.” You know the character, the one who promotes “Soul Glow.” I kid you not, this guy is the spitting image with the glowing soul and everything. I hadn’t seen jerry curl since the mid eighties. Please don’t tell me it’s coming back in style…PLEASE GOD NO!
Friday, April 22, 2005
It Is What It Is
Have you ever had a day where at the end of it you believe you may actually have discovered the meaning of life? You know, the kind of day where you are at the epicenter of it all and everything seems to be happening around you but you can’t quite grasp control of any of it. Sure, you can give advice and try to deal with it all in your own little unique way, but in the end, it’s all still out of your realm of being.
I had that kind of day today, and all I have to say is it involves my parents and a disagreement over a new piece of furniture, which I now refer to as “Divorce by Armchair.”
This is what happens when you have two people that have been married for almost 50 years, that are retired and see each other practically every single second of every single day. Especially when one of them is on a drug that he has been on for about 30 years and that makes you a little ‘feisty” and the problem with that drug is he’s taking double his dose because it makes him feel better. I’m not talking illegal drug, I’m talking prescribed cortisone because he no longer has a pituitary gland because of a brain tumor kind of drug. The issue here is that he doesn’t realize the fact that the extra cortisone puts him on an emotional rollercoaster that leaves him threatening the people at Coca Cola one minute (don’t ask), and laughing along with his new neighbors the next. It’s enough to make a person crazy, and unfortunately is out of my control. Which brings me to my new motto; “It Is What It Is.”
While driving today and talking on the phone to multiple members of my family to try and remedy “Divorce by Armchair” I realized that there are things in life that I am not able to control and no matter how I hate to admit that, I guess I just have to accept it and realize “It is what it is.” There was a point somewhere between the phone call to my sister and the phone call to my mother (who had camped out in the Perkins parking lot after removing herself from the situation) where I just wanted to break down and cry out of frustration. But before that first tear came running down my cheek a light popped in my head and I all of a sudden thought, you know what? “It is what it is.” Immediately my tear dried and it was suddenly like after 29 years of “crying over spilled milk” I have finally come to the conclusion that I was not meant to tackle every single problem and that not everything can be fixed by myself and myself alone, some things you just have to accept as they are. Sure, I’d love to have my dad back to “normal”, back to the way he used to be when I was growing up, but that’s just not going to happen and I can’t dwell on it because that day has passed and it just is what it is.
I have since decided to share the responsibility with my siblings to mend the problem at hand and make things better, not try to necessarily change them, or to hope for some sort of miracle, but to just make things better, because in the end, that’s what families and friends are for, support, love and to help each other through the “it’s” of the “is’s.”
So if I ever write a book about my life I plan on titling it “It is what it is.” Or maybe I could go retro-Popeye “I am what I am.” Or maybe just “I am” or “It is,” or “Holy Shit.” Either way I am sure I’ll have enough to make it interesting.
I had that kind of day today, and all I have to say is it involves my parents and a disagreement over a new piece of furniture, which I now refer to as “Divorce by Armchair.”
This is what happens when you have two people that have been married for almost 50 years, that are retired and see each other practically every single second of every single day. Especially when one of them is on a drug that he has been on for about 30 years and that makes you a little ‘feisty” and the problem with that drug is he’s taking double his dose because it makes him feel better. I’m not talking illegal drug, I’m talking prescribed cortisone because he no longer has a pituitary gland because of a brain tumor kind of drug. The issue here is that he doesn’t realize the fact that the extra cortisone puts him on an emotional rollercoaster that leaves him threatening the people at Coca Cola one minute (don’t ask), and laughing along with his new neighbors the next. It’s enough to make a person crazy, and unfortunately is out of my control. Which brings me to my new motto; “It Is What It Is.”
While driving today and talking on the phone to multiple members of my family to try and remedy “Divorce by Armchair” I realized that there are things in life that I am not able to control and no matter how I hate to admit that, I guess I just have to accept it and realize “It is what it is.” There was a point somewhere between the phone call to my sister and the phone call to my mother (who had camped out in the Perkins parking lot after removing herself from the situation) where I just wanted to break down and cry out of frustration. But before that first tear came running down my cheek a light popped in my head and I all of a sudden thought, you know what? “It is what it is.” Immediately my tear dried and it was suddenly like after 29 years of “crying over spilled milk” I have finally come to the conclusion that I was not meant to tackle every single problem and that not everything can be fixed by myself and myself alone, some things you just have to accept as they are. Sure, I’d love to have my dad back to “normal”, back to the way he used to be when I was growing up, but that’s just not going to happen and I can’t dwell on it because that day has passed and it just is what it is.
I have since decided to share the responsibility with my siblings to mend the problem at hand and make things better, not try to necessarily change them, or to hope for some sort of miracle, but to just make things better, because in the end, that’s what families and friends are for, support, love and to help each other through the “it’s” of the “is’s.”
So if I ever write a book about my life I plan on titling it “It is what it is.” Or maybe I could go retro-Popeye “I am what I am.” Or maybe just “I am” or “It is,” or “Holy Shit.” Either way I am sure I’ll have enough to make it interesting.
So Much for Man's Best Friend!
Headline:
Dog rejected as cash drawing winner
Gas station refuses to give winnings to 'Mr. Jengels'
The Associated Press
Updated: 12:32 p.m. ET April 18, 2005
A gasoline station owner is trying to smooth some ruffled fur over the winner of a cash drawing.
'The name on the winning entry, "Mr. Jengels," turned out to be that of a dog owned by Kevin Strybos, who said he used the name of his miniature dachsund-pinscher cross to avoid telemarketers.
Gas station owner Mike Paz said the dog couldn't cash a check and refused to give the $410 to Strybos, who had claimed the winnings.
On Friday, Paz said he would give the money to the local animal shelter run by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and offered to hang a portrait of Mr. Jengels on a wall with other cash winners.
Strybos said he appreciated the donation but added, "I don't know if it really changes too much the way I feel about the whole situation."
Dog rejected as cash drawing winner
Gas station refuses to give winnings to 'Mr. Jengels'
The Associated Press
Updated: 12:32 p.m. ET April 18, 2005
A gasoline station owner is trying to smooth some ruffled fur over the winner of a cash drawing.
'The name on the winning entry, "Mr. Jengels," turned out to be that of a dog owned by Kevin Strybos, who said he used the name of his miniature dachsund-pinscher cross to avoid telemarketers.
Gas station owner Mike Paz said the dog couldn't cash a check and refused to give the $410 to Strybos, who had claimed the winnings.
On Friday, Paz said he would give the money to the local animal shelter run by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and offered to hang a portrait of Mr. Jengels on a wall with other cash winners.
Strybos said he appreciated the donation but added, "I don't know if it really changes too much the way I feel about the whole situation."
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
The 5am Conversation from Hell
The following conversation occurred at 5 am this morning while trying to get back to sleep after letting Lola out to pee.
J (Josh): You know what business we should get into?
M (Me): Hm? (half-asleep)
J: Toothbrushes
M: (silence)…Hm?
J: You know how much toothbrushes are these days…like 5 dollars.
M: So. They are kind of important, aren’t they?
J: Well remember when years ago when they were 75 cents…and it can’t be because of inflation.
M: So you’re saying toothbrushes somehow miraculously avoid inflation.
J: I bought the last 75 cent toothbrush yesterday from Snyder’s, it was 75 cents.
M: Great.
J: Why do toothbrushes have to be ergonomic? My new toothbrush is a “Tek”, I think.
At this point he actually gets out of bed, goes downstairs to the bathroom to check and see the brand of his toothbrush.
J: (As he is getting back into bed). Yup, it’s a Tek.
M: Great. Why don’t you go to sleep.
J: You know cedar shingles aren’t that expensive. I priced them out yesterday at Home Depot. We could just replace our shingles on the dormer and side of the house with new shingles and it would probably be less work than refinishing them.
M: That’s nice. Why don’t you go downstairs and watch some TV.
J: No. I want to lay here and talk to you.
Eventually I was able to get back to sleep and believe I did so during his discussion involving a tool belt and a power sander. Ahhhhh, the moments of matrimonial bliss.
J (Josh): You know what business we should get into?
M (Me): Hm? (half-asleep)
J: Toothbrushes
M: (silence)…Hm?
J: You know how much toothbrushes are these days…like 5 dollars.
M: So. They are kind of important, aren’t they?
J: Well remember when years ago when they were 75 cents…and it can’t be because of inflation.
M: So you’re saying toothbrushes somehow miraculously avoid inflation.
J: I bought the last 75 cent toothbrush yesterday from Snyder’s, it was 75 cents.
M: Great.
J: Why do toothbrushes have to be ergonomic? My new toothbrush is a “Tek”, I think.
At this point he actually gets out of bed, goes downstairs to the bathroom to check and see the brand of his toothbrush.
J: (As he is getting back into bed). Yup, it’s a Tek.
M: Great. Why don’t you go to sleep.
J: You know cedar shingles aren’t that expensive. I priced them out yesterday at Home Depot. We could just replace our shingles on the dormer and side of the house with new shingles and it would probably be less work than refinishing them.
M: That’s nice. Why don’t you go downstairs and watch some TV.
J: No. I want to lay here and talk to you.
Eventually I was able to get back to sleep and believe I did so during his discussion involving a tool belt and a power sander. Ahhhhh, the moments of matrimonial bliss.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Hardy har har....
A little Minnesoooota humor...
Lena's car breaks down on the Highway 8 just outside of Lindstrom one day. So she eases it over onto the shoulder of the road.She carefully steps out of the car and opens the trunk. Out of the trunk jump two men; Lars and Sven in trench coats who stand at the rear of the vehicle where they are facing oncoming traffic and begin opening their coats, exposing their nude bodies to approaching drivers.Not surprisingly, this causes one of the worst pileups in history of the highway.It's not very long before a police car shows up.The cop, clearly enraged, runs toward Lena's vehicle yelling, "What the hell is going on here?""Ya, vell my car broke down," says Lena, calmly."Okay, so what are these perverts doing here by the road?" asks the cop. And Lena replied, "Vell, officer....... dose are my emergency flashers!"
Lena's car breaks down on the Highway 8 just outside of Lindstrom one day. So she eases it over onto the shoulder of the road.She carefully steps out of the car and opens the trunk. Out of the trunk jump two men; Lars and Sven in trench coats who stand at the rear of the vehicle where they are facing oncoming traffic and begin opening their coats, exposing their nude bodies to approaching drivers.Not surprisingly, this causes one of the worst pileups in history of the highway.It's not very long before a police car shows up.The cop, clearly enraged, runs toward Lena's vehicle yelling, "What the hell is going on here?""Ya, vell my car broke down," says Lena, calmly."Okay, so what are these perverts doing here by the road?" asks the cop. And Lena replied, "Vell, officer....... dose are my emergency flashers!"
Monday, April 18, 2005
Dredlocks, Patchouli, and the American Dream
Dreadlocks, Patchouli, and the American Dream
While waiting in line the other day to pay for my overpriced gas and my overpriced drinking water, I managed to stumble upon a blatantly obvious stereotype. In front of me there stood an individual with a head full of dreadlocks carrying with her a scent reminiscent of musty basement, marijuana, and body odor. I took a step back and while breathing through my mouth to avoid the offending odor I thought, “Why do people choose to look, and more importantly smell like that?” And then I began to think of where you generally see those types of people which brought back memories of idealistic college students lurking around in dark and seedy tie dye stores that sell bongs, black lights, and the like. And then I said to myself, “Well, they’re just trying to be different.” But then I realized that although they may want to be different, they are all surprisingly the same.
I am sure you know the type of person I am describing. Long hair, matted into dreads and pulled back with a rubber band, no makeup, baggy clothes, more than likely a long Indian print skirt with some sort of tank top that has seen better days. If not the skirt, then a pair of baggy pants and a dark zip-up sweatshirt with frayed sleeves, and the t-shirt underneath that is completely optional. A couple piercings here and there, a pair of Birkenstocks that are worn every single day (and have been for the past 5 years) and voila! Instant hippie. To add further validation to my previous statement about how they are all alike I was able to catch her getting into a late 70’s VW Vanagon adorned with multiple bumper stickers one of which read, “We are not free if others are oppressed.” Who drives a 1970’s Vanagon that is not a raging hippie!? Besides of course my friend Amanda who had to drive one to high school in the early 90’s and to this day is still completely mortified of the experience. Anyway, I thought a little more about it and decided that this is just a rather obvious example of a group of people who want to be different, but are all the same.
And then there are those who want to look like everyone just to fit in, like every conservative business executive who has ever lived, or anyone who feels the need to belong to some sort of prestigious organization. The thought of being different is enough to ensue thoughts of being frowned upon, fired, or even worse, black balled from the very group they are trying to assimilate themselves to. Ironically, this is the type of behavior that the previous group is so adamantly trying to avoid. These types of people include any individual who works for a company with more than one last name in its title, has an office in some sort of “glass” office building and drives a large flashy sedan or some sort of SUV (the bigger the better), and also holds (or aspires to hold) a short title like V.P. or President, because I don’t know if you have noticed or not, but the shorter the title the higher the pay scale. For example: CEO = “major paycheck” Administrative Assistant to the Administrator of the CEO = “crappy paycheck.” I digress. Anyway, up until about six months to a year ago I thought of major politicians and, well, lets just say “Ex-governors” to also fit into this category. That is until I saw a picture of our beloved ex governor Jesse Ventura looking like he should crawl into his own Vanagon and drive to some remote location to smoke weed and play the guitar all while preaching world peace in some sort of odd beatnik manner. Has anyone seen him lately? Who puts braids in their beard…really!? So thanks to Jesse the fine line between hippie and politician has now been made a little more fuzzy in my eyes.
So I guess the point that I am trying to get across (if there actually is a point) in this rather long, drawn out blog, is that because we’re in America we can dress the way we want, have our own beliefs and reach our own goals. Whether it is to support world peace, belong to the most prestigious country club, or to just stand up for what we believe in, everyone is allowed to be his or her own individual. The best part about it all is that the more I think about it, with everything that is going on in the world and all the oppression that people face, I think that’s pretty “far out.”
While waiting in line the other day to pay for my overpriced gas and my overpriced drinking water, I managed to stumble upon a blatantly obvious stereotype. In front of me there stood an individual with a head full of dreadlocks carrying with her a scent reminiscent of musty basement, marijuana, and body odor. I took a step back and while breathing through my mouth to avoid the offending odor I thought, “Why do people choose to look, and more importantly smell like that?” And then I began to think of where you generally see those types of people which brought back memories of idealistic college students lurking around in dark and seedy tie dye stores that sell bongs, black lights, and the like. And then I said to myself, “Well, they’re just trying to be different.” But then I realized that although they may want to be different, they are all surprisingly the same.
I am sure you know the type of person I am describing. Long hair, matted into dreads and pulled back with a rubber band, no makeup, baggy clothes, more than likely a long Indian print skirt with some sort of tank top that has seen better days. If not the skirt, then a pair of baggy pants and a dark zip-up sweatshirt with frayed sleeves, and the t-shirt underneath that is completely optional. A couple piercings here and there, a pair of Birkenstocks that are worn every single day (and have been for the past 5 years) and voila! Instant hippie. To add further validation to my previous statement about how they are all alike I was able to catch her getting into a late 70’s VW Vanagon adorned with multiple bumper stickers one of which read, “We are not free if others are oppressed.” Who drives a 1970’s Vanagon that is not a raging hippie!? Besides of course my friend Amanda who had to drive one to high school in the early 90’s and to this day is still completely mortified of the experience. Anyway, I thought a little more about it and decided that this is just a rather obvious example of a group of people who want to be different, but are all the same.
And then there are those who want to look like everyone just to fit in, like every conservative business executive who has ever lived, or anyone who feels the need to belong to some sort of prestigious organization. The thought of being different is enough to ensue thoughts of being frowned upon, fired, or even worse, black balled from the very group they are trying to assimilate themselves to. Ironically, this is the type of behavior that the previous group is so adamantly trying to avoid. These types of people include any individual who works for a company with more than one last name in its title, has an office in some sort of “glass” office building and drives a large flashy sedan or some sort of SUV (the bigger the better), and also holds (or aspires to hold) a short title like V.P. or President, because I don’t know if you have noticed or not, but the shorter the title the higher the pay scale. For example: CEO = “major paycheck” Administrative Assistant to the Administrator of the CEO = “crappy paycheck.” I digress. Anyway, up until about six months to a year ago I thought of major politicians and, well, lets just say “Ex-governors” to also fit into this category. That is until I saw a picture of our beloved ex governor Jesse Ventura looking like he should crawl into his own Vanagon and drive to some remote location to smoke weed and play the guitar all while preaching world peace in some sort of odd beatnik manner. Has anyone seen him lately? Who puts braids in their beard…really!? So thanks to Jesse the fine line between hippie and politician has now been made a little more fuzzy in my eyes.
So I guess the point that I am trying to get across (if there actually is a point) in this rather long, drawn out blog, is that because we’re in America we can dress the way we want, have our own beliefs and reach our own goals. Whether it is to support world peace, belong to the most prestigious country club, or to just stand up for what we believe in, everyone is allowed to be his or her own individual. The best part about it all is that the more I think about it, with everything that is going on in the world and all the oppression that people face, I think that’s pretty “far out.”
Movin On Up...
If anyone is wondering, because I am sure everyone is on the edge of their seat to find out how the rest of the move went after the moving van debacle, Ken and Joan (my mom and dad) were moved in and settled without a hitch. Except the 14g’s they had to spend on a new septic system for their old lake home and that my aunt Glenda was hit with a golf ball while standing in the backyard of their new home. So besides that, everything else went fine. As a matter of fact, in order to fit into his new surroundings at the course Ken bought a sweet 1989 Mercedes Benz 560 coupe complete with convertible top and vintage charm. With only 32 thousand miles it’s quite a find, and although my efforts to trade straight up with my VW Cabrio failed you can bet I will be driving it as much as I can.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
A Look At What's To Come...
I just received a phone call from my sister giving me a "progress report" on the move of my mother and father of which I am about to participate in about three hours. Apparantly my father and brother thought it would be a good idea to drive the rather large moving truck across the lawn down by the lake in order to make the items in the basement more accessible. Upon doing this they apparantly came across a rather large "road block" when the truck sank into the yard up to its axle. Shit. (As a small sidebar, we are not Polish, are in no way related to "Ole and Lena," and are generally quite strategic and intellectual)
I decided to save the sarcasm and not ask whether or not the six inches of rain they recently had was a factor in this incident, and when she asked if I would like a call to hear the progress of getting the large moving truck out of the lawn I said, "Just let me be surprised when I get there."
I have a feeling this is going to be a long weekend....
I decided to save the sarcasm and not ask whether or not the six inches of rain they recently had was a factor in this incident, and when she asked if I would like a call to hear the progress of getting the large moving truck out of the lawn I said, "Just let me be surprised when I get there."
I have a feeling this is going to be a long weekend....
Sunday, April 10, 2005
My Pal Willie
Today my Dad called me to tell me that he is going to take my dog Willie to be put down tomorrow. I hate that. As you can probably imagine the call didn’t go very well and actually ended with my solemn vow to from now on to refer to him as “The Killer.” Although I know that it is his time, and that he has had a good long life (just shy of 16 years by 6 days) it makes me want to throw myself on the floor and sob uncontrollably (insert visual here…not pretty).
You see, I picked Kaiser Wilhelm, (aka “Willie” and the best Miniature Schnauzer in the world) out when I was thirteen years old and he has been a part of my life for quite some time. Now, for those of you who believe that animals are not part of the family you are seriously wrong. I have eight nieces and nephews and Willie is older than all but three of them and has therefore been given the honorary title of “Uncle Willie.” He has been with me through Junior High, High School, College (of which he visited for a week while my parents were on vacation and was awarded an honorary degree by my father in the field of “Human Studies”), and although he wasn’t at my wedding, he was still alive to spend the weekend at the “Pet Hotel.” He has kept the kids occupied at family functions and also kept the yard “dog free” while protecting “his people.”
Since Willie was never neutered, he earned the nickname “Wizzie” as he felt the need to urinate on everything in site in order to “mark his territory.” And there are many a picture where “Wizzie” is seen in the background whizzing on something, which always makes us laugh. Its kind of like finding Waldo. Willie made friends with everyone in the neighborhood and was usually seen wandering from house to house getting his daily treats from all of his friends. He was the captain of the “Schultz Party Barge” on Nest Lake, and copilot of the Cadillac Deville or the Chevy truck. Last year we thought the end of Willie was near when he almost suffered what was to be referred to as ‘Death by Pizza Crust”, but he snuck under the radar and was able to last another year through his special diet of Senior dog food TLC.
The memories are many and I am glad that I have each and every one of them, and although Willie will be just 6 days short of his “112th birthday” I can only imagine that he has had a life every dog dreams of.
P.S. For you parents out there who want to break the news of the death (or near death) of an animal to your children who have since left the home take my advice. Don’t say you’re going to take them to be put down, and don’t break it to them all at once. Lie. Lie like the Santa Claus red suit wearing, present leaving, reindeer flying, Easter bunny hopping, tooth-fairy money giving parent that you really are! Which reminds me of a joke, that is most probably innapropriate at the current time since nothing is funny right now, but here goes.
So Ed goes on vacation and leaves his cat with his brother Bob to watch for the two weeks while he is gone. The first night of his vacation Ed calls to check on his cat and unfortunately, Bob informs him that his cat died which, of course, threw Ed into hysteria and which he immediately jumped down Bob’s throat and asked him how he could break it to him that way. He instructed Bob that if he is ever in a similar situation like this, he needs to break the news to the party more slowly. Like the first day when he received the call he should have told him that the cat has escaped out the window and is on the roof. Then the second day he should say that the cat is no longer on the roof, but the cat is now in the tree. On the third day he should inform that the cat has jumped down to a lower branch, or onto another tree that is not quite as tall, and on the fourth day he should mention that the fire department has been called, and the fifth day is when he should say that the cat has unfortunately fallen out of the tree and has died. At least then, the news would have taken a while to sink in and would be easier to understand. So the conversation ended and Ed resumed his vacation.Two days before he was to come home he received a call to his hotel room and much to his surprise it was from Bob. “Hey Bob, what’s up?” aksed Ed. At which Bob replied “I was just calling to tell you that mom’s on the roof.”
You see, I picked Kaiser Wilhelm, (aka “Willie” and the best Miniature Schnauzer in the world) out when I was thirteen years old and he has been a part of my life for quite some time. Now, for those of you who believe that animals are not part of the family you are seriously wrong. I have eight nieces and nephews and Willie is older than all but three of them and has therefore been given the honorary title of “Uncle Willie.” He has been with me through Junior High, High School, College (of which he visited for a week while my parents were on vacation and was awarded an honorary degree by my father in the field of “Human Studies”), and although he wasn’t at my wedding, he was still alive to spend the weekend at the “Pet Hotel.” He has kept the kids occupied at family functions and also kept the yard “dog free” while protecting “his people.”
Since Willie was never neutered, he earned the nickname “Wizzie” as he felt the need to urinate on everything in site in order to “mark his territory.” And there are many a picture where “Wizzie” is seen in the background whizzing on something, which always makes us laugh. Its kind of like finding Waldo. Willie made friends with everyone in the neighborhood and was usually seen wandering from house to house getting his daily treats from all of his friends. He was the captain of the “Schultz Party Barge” on Nest Lake, and copilot of the Cadillac Deville or the Chevy truck. Last year we thought the end of Willie was near when he almost suffered what was to be referred to as ‘Death by Pizza Crust”, but he snuck under the radar and was able to last another year through his special diet of Senior dog food TLC.
The memories are many and I am glad that I have each and every one of them, and although Willie will be just 6 days short of his “112th birthday” I can only imagine that he has had a life every dog dreams of.
P.S. For you parents out there who want to break the news of the death (or near death) of an animal to your children who have since left the home take my advice. Don’t say you’re going to take them to be put down, and don’t break it to them all at once. Lie. Lie like the Santa Claus red suit wearing, present leaving, reindeer flying, Easter bunny hopping, tooth-fairy money giving parent that you really are! Which reminds me of a joke, that is most probably innapropriate at the current time since nothing is funny right now, but here goes.
So Ed goes on vacation and leaves his cat with his brother Bob to watch for the two weeks while he is gone. The first night of his vacation Ed calls to check on his cat and unfortunately, Bob informs him that his cat died which, of course, threw Ed into hysteria and which he immediately jumped down Bob’s throat and asked him how he could break it to him that way. He instructed Bob that if he is ever in a similar situation like this, he needs to break the news to the party more slowly. Like the first day when he received the call he should have told him that the cat has escaped out the window and is on the roof. Then the second day he should say that the cat is no longer on the roof, but the cat is now in the tree. On the third day he should inform that the cat has jumped down to a lower branch, or onto another tree that is not quite as tall, and on the fourth day he should mention that the fire department has been called, and the fifth day is when he should say that the cat has unfortunately fallen out of the tree and has died. At least then, the news would have taken a while to sink in and would be easier to understand. So the conversation ended and Ed resumed his vacation.Two days before he was to come home he received a call to his hotel room and much to his surprise it was from Bob. “Hey Bob, what’s up?” aksed Ed. At which Bob replied “I was just calling to tell you that mom’s on the roof.”
Sunday, April 03, 2005
It's All Up In The Air
To commemorate my sincere and absolute hatred of flying I have decided to write this while sitting in my seat (5F) of the flight I am currently on while traveling for my day and a half excursion to Chicago.
First of all, I must make it extremely clear that I hate flying. Not only because every time I book a flight or think of taking one I want to throw up, but mainly because I just don’t like sitting in a pressurized cabin with a bunch of people most of whom are more than likely ill with something that I now have a greater chance of catching…WHY DO THEY DO THAT??? WHY MUST THEY ALWAYS CUT THE POWER AND MAKE IT SEEM THAT WE’RE JUST GOING TO DROP RIGHT OUT OF THE SKY…MAKES ME CRAZY!
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, illness. So I am now stuck here for the hour and a half flight and I completely forgot to take my extra vitamin C this morning…WHY ARE WE TURNING? WHERE COULD WE BE GOING THIS FAR UP IN THE SKY? I THOUGHT THIS WAS A STRAIGHT SHOT. I CAN’T EVEN SEE THE GROUND AND WE’RE TURNING…I really should reconsider getting an aisle seat next time, this window thing really freaks me out.
So anyway, I don’t even know where this hatred came from. I think it stems partially from Sept.11, more so from the 15 hour flight I took 2 mos after where I ended up sitting on the tarmac for at least two hours in Tokyo while they fixed the number two starter before take off. Number two starter? I know it’s not the first, but it also isn’t the fifth or sixth. Sounds important. Not to mention that we were in Tokoyo and I was on an American flight...do our planes come with Japanese instruction manuals? This was my train of thought.
WHAT IS THAT DING FOR? I should remember to ask my father in law “Captain Jim” next time I see him what that ding is all about. And don’t get me started on the seat cushions that double as “flotation devices.” What are the chances that we actually land on water? WHAT? I can’t understand “Carlos” the lead flight attendant whose accent is strangely reminiscent of “Mango” from “Saturday Night Live.” Something about descending? I didn’t hear anything about turning off any electronic devices so I am going to resume.
It also doesn’t help that the lady across the aisle from me is tugging on her rosary beads like taffy and… THEY DID IT AGIAN! You know what, I think they do that just to screw with us. “Hey Captain, lets cut the engines again so we can watch that broad back in 5F have another stroke.” Sweet.
Why is it that when the Captian comes over the intercom I always manage to… …TURBULENCE…LOTS OF TURBULENCE, HATE TURBULENCE…DING DING….TURBULENCE. CHRIST!
So it was then that I decided to turn off my computer, put it away, cross my fingers and wait for the plane to land, which thankfully, ended up landing without a hitch. I have since come to realize that I was better off on that plane than in the car with my analyst who picked me up at the airport swerving in and out of the Chicago traffic.
Later that day we went to the Bulls game which was more than suitable enough for everyone born with ADHD and entertaining in itself. I also managed to get myself of the mega tron only after purposely placing myself in some elses' mega tron moment.
My flight home was a little more dramatic, but thanks to my hour and a half visit to the airport bar and the three glasses of merlot that I consumed I was comfortably numb enough to continue on with my travels. I witnessed other travelers much like myself including a young lady who ordered a Becks and a shot of tequila to help her on her way to Detroit. I suggested she drink more than that to make Detroit look remotely appealing.
I boarded the plane and was actually quite calm, up until the announcement from the Captain which went something like this; “Ladies and Gentelmen, as you can tell, our departure time has come and gone, and we’re not going to leave the gate until they finish replacing the breaks.” BREAKS? I looked at the guy who sat a seat over from me who looked at me and we proceeded to break out into laughter. We waited another half hour and we were on our way down the runway. We both agreed that it would be a good idea for the pilots of the aircraft to at least test the breaks, not only to reassure everyone on the plane that they were in working order, but also just to test them to make sure they worked. No such luck. We took off and began our treck back to Minneapolis. As we were taking off I infomed my new found friend that it should be against federal aviation policy that I have a window seat which evoked some laughter and made us more at ease. While we were ascending the three glasses of merlot began to take effect and I had to pee…really really bad. Spencer and I decided that it was “O.K” to test the waters and head to the bathroom. After a few looks from the flight attendants and a stern warning, I finally relieved myself and returned to my seat where another glass of wine was ordered and the conversation began. Spencer was a graduate of Notre Dame and a current software engineer. We spoke of his job and it’s risks, which included his recent rendezvous with Bear Stearns. I was more than fascinated to hear of his college experience at an Ivy League school, more so to take my mind of falling thirty two thousand feet out of the sky, but also to pass the time. Not only that, but this was his first visit to Minneapolis. I told him of the places to go and the places to avoid. He asked about the Mall Of America, of which I eloquently described as a big friggin mall with a roller coaster and a giant aquarium, nothing more, nothing less. Needless to say after a few bouts of turbulence we landed and I was once again (thankfully) safely on the ground.
It was after this experience that I decided that flying is severely overrated. I have also come to the conclusion that if anyone were to try to overtake any aircraft and crash it into a large skyscraper (or skyscrapers) that the people on said aircraft would do anything in their power to stop the action. Not only because 75% of us were “comfortably numb” and fearless thanks to the airport bar, but also because we are acutely more aware of our surroundings. I have also come to realize that flying without breaks is not a big deal if you have someone next to you to talk to and that shares the same sense of humor as you. So Spencer, wherever you are, thanks man…you saved a few more hairs from turning grey.
First of all, I must make it extremely clear that I hate flying. Not only because every time I book a flight or think of taking one I want to throw up, but mainly because I just don’t like sitting in a pressurized cabin with a bunch of people most of whom are more than likely ill with something that I now have a greater chance of catching…WHY DO THEY DO THAT??? WHY MUST THEY ALWAYS CUT THE POWER AND MAKE IT SEEM THAT WE’RE JUST GOING TO DROP RIGHT OUT OF THE SKY…MAKES ME CRAZY!
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, illness. So I am now stuck here for the hour and a half flight and I completely forgot to take my extra vitamin C this morning…WHY ARE WE TURNING? WHERE COULD WE BE GOING THIS FAR UP IN THE SKY? I THOUGHT THIS WAS A STRAIGHT SHOT. I CAN’T EVEN SEE THE GROUND AND WE’RE TURNING…I really should reconsider getting an aisle seat next time, this window thing really freaks me out.
So anyway, I don’t even know where this hatred came from. I think it stems partially from Sept.11, more so from the 15 hour flight I took 2 mos after where I ended up sitting on the tarmac for at least two hours in Tokyo while they fixed the number two starter before take off. Number two starter? I know it’s not the first, but it also isn’t the fifth or sixth. Sounds important. Not to mention that we were in Tokoyo and I was on an American flight...do our planes come with Japanese instruction manuals? This was my train of thought.
WHAT IS THAT DING FOR? I should remember to ask my father in law “Captain Jim” next time I see him what that ding is all about. And don’t get me started on the seat cushions that double as “flotation devices.” What are the chances that we actually land on water? WHAT? I can’t understand “Carlos” the lead flight attendant whose accent is strangely reminiscent of “Mango” from “Saturday Night Live.” Something about descending? I didn’t hear anything about turning off any electronic devices so I am going to resume.
It also doesn’t help that the lady across the aisle from me is tugging on her rosary beads like taffy and… THEY DID IT AGIAN! You know what, I think they do that just to screw with us. “Hey Captain, lets cut the engines again so we can watch that broad back in 5F have another stroke.” Sweet.
Why is it that when the Captian comes over the intercom I always manage to… …TURBULENCE…LOTS OF TURBULENCE, HATE TURBULENCE…DING DING….TURBULENCE. CHRIST!
So it was then that I decided to turn off my computer, put it away, cross my fingers and wait for the plane to land, which thankfully, ended up landing without a hitch. I have since come to realize that I was better off on that plane than in the car with my analyst who picked me up at the airport swerving in and out of the Chicago traffic.
Later that day we went to the Bulls game which was more than suitable enough for everyone born with ADHD and entertaining in itself. I also managed to get myself of the mega tron only after purposely placing myself in some elses' mega tron moment.
My flight home was a little more dramatic, but thanks to my hour and a half visit to the airport bar and the three glasses of merlot that I consumed I was comfortably numb enough to continue on with my travels. I witnessed other travelers much like myself including a young lady who ordered a Becks and a shot of tequila to help her on her way to Detroit. I suggested she drink more than that to make Detroit look remotely appealing.
I boarded the plane and was actually quite calm, up until the announcement from the Captain which went something like this; “Ladies and Gentelmen, as you can tell, our departure time has come and gone, and we’re not going to leave the gate until they finish replacing the breaks.” BREAKS? I looked at the guy who sat a seat over from me who looked at me and we proceeded to break out into laughter. We waited another half hour and we were on our way down the runway. We both agreed that it would be a good idea for the pilots of the aircraft to at least test the breaks, not only to reassure everyone on the plane that they were in working order, but also just to test them to make sure they worked. No such luck. We took off and began our treck back to Minneapolis. As we were taking off I infomed my new found friend that it should be against federal aviation policy that I have a window seat which evoked some laughter and made us more at ease. While we were ascending the three glasses of merlot began to take effect and I had to pee…really really bad. Spencer and I decided that it was “O.K” to test the waters and head to the bathroom. After a few looks from the flight attendants and a stern warning, I finally relieved myself and returned to my seat where another glass of wine was ordered and the conversation began. Spencer was a graduate of Notre Dame and a current software engineer. We spoke of his job and it’s risks, which included his recent rendezvous with Bear Stearns. I was more than fascinated to hear of his college experience at an Ivy League school, more so to take my mind of falling thirty two thousand feet out of the sky, but also to pass the time. Not only that, but this was his first visit to Minneapolis. I told him of the places to go and the places to avoid. He asked about the Mall Of America, of which I eloquently described as a big friggin mall with a roller coaster and a giant aquarium, nothing more, nothing less. Needless to say after a few bouts of turbulence we landed and I was once again (thankfully) safely on the ground.
It was after this experience that I decided that flying is severely overrated. I have also come to the conclusion that if anyone were to try to overtake any aircraft and crash it into a large skyscraper (or skyscrapers) that the people on said aircraft would do anything in their power to stop the action. Not only because 75% of us were “comfortably numb” and fearless thanks to the airport bar, but also because we are acutely more aware of our surroundings. I have also come to realize that flying without breaks is not a big deal if you have someone next to you to talk to and that shares the same sense of humor as you. So Spencer, wherever you are, thanks man…you saved a few more hairs from turning grey.
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