City mouse vs. Country mouse

Tell me why, again, people want to live in town? I mean, yeah, it's convenient to Things, the streets are kept relatively clear in the winter, there's activity and commotion and people to watch. There are also neighbors on top of you, shady characters up and down the street in front of your house, thumping bass at all hours drowning out your television from passing cars, trash, and about a million other things that try to push me to the brink of insanity. I've lived in town before, but it was a smaller, cleaner, quieter town. I wasn't much on that either, but figured if I could handle that, then surely the excitement of this place would outweigh the nuisances. Mostly, it does. Mostly, I think, because of my house itself. I like it there. It's comfortable and it fits me. I like the porch and the fact that since I have to have neighbors, at least it's only one set upstairs. I won't get into the fact that they're practicing for the newest Olympic event: Constant Stomping From One End Of the House To the Other.

Yesterday when I got home, I pulled in the driveway as usual, carried my groceries inside, and set about opening the windows. Nothing out of the ordinary. I opened a beer and flipped on the tv and glanced out my side window like I always do. That's when I saw it.

This is an approximation of what the side of my house looks like now. There were 2 old dishes left there by the previous tenants, but they weren't really a problem. They're out of sight from the window and perhaps they'll be of use at some point. However, DirecTV, in its infinite laziness, came and installed a new dish for the people upstairs. It's one of the new HD dishes that's approximately the size of a small car. And, it's right in front of the window. RIGHT. IN. FRONT. I could understand this if there weren't room anywhere else for it. This is not this situation. A mere two feet to the right of it is an entire side of the house with no windows at all. None. The other 2 dishes? They're placed where you can't see them because apparently whoever installed those took a moment to, oh I don't know, think about someone else and that that someone else may not want to look out upon this monstrosity every day. I want to write them a letter and make them come move it, but I know they won't. What do they care? They're getting their money from the people upstairs and don't give a damn about me, but it infuriates me. Not as much as plastic wrap, but close. Not the dish so much, rather the uncaring nature of people in general. Also? Now, because the people upstairs don't believe in throw rugs to muffle sound, I get to listen to Telemundo at top volume. It's awesome, I tell you. My dad was looking at a house out a little somewhere with a garage apartment. I don't want to be 34 and living at my dad's place, but it's looking a hell of a lot better.....

In the meantime though, perhaps I can decorate the dish so at least I have something to look at that's a little more pleasing.

One more virtue I don't have....

Patience. Yep, I don't have any. I don't like to wait on things. I don't like when things that are simple and SHOULD go right, don't. I don't like stupid annoying little frustrating things that hover like gnats around your eyes and then either fly right into them or into your mouth or both.

You see, I haven't bought plastic wrap (saran wrap..whatever) for years. Years. Whenever I have something to wrap or save, I either use a dish or aluminum foil. It's just easier. And more expensive. So, in my frugality of late, I opted to spend $1.00 or so on plastic wrap rather than the $3 on foil. I know, I know. It's two bucks. Who gives a shit, right? Well, it's the principle of the thing. If the rest of the civilized world can get this plastic shit to stick to what it's supposed to and not to itself and itself only, then why can't I? I mean, it's not like I'm not an intelligent guy that can fix things and figure things out and solve problems. This plastic wrap shouldn't be that much of an issue.

Except it is.

Fast forward from that day (or rewind from this one, whichever you please) and find me in my kitchen after grilling hamburgers and consuming several Summer Ales (it's the Grains of Paradise that make this a truly tasty treat) preparing to wrap up the leftovers. I've attached a picture here to show the layout and to later provide a visual aid.

I'm standing directly in front of this cabinet at the stove with my back to said cabinet. It's 10 feet away or so, all the way across the kitchen. I'm wrapping these hamburgers and flailing about with the plastic wrap when I finally (after 2 wadded up balls of wrap) manage to get them into a bunch and a seemingly passable mess. That's when I pick up the package, and they slide out the back and onto the floor. The floor that I'd just cleaned that morning. And the grease residue? Down the front of my stove. The plastic wrap, however, managed to stay in exactly the same shape it was in before I picked up and perfectly stuck to absolutely nothing as its contents fall devil-may-care to the floor. I picked up the roll, undaunted, and tried again. 2 more wadded balls of nothing. All of a sudden, I went blind with rage at this wrap and sent it hurling behind me to the floor. Or where I thought the floor should be, which was apparently exactly where the pink gravy boat is sitting on the shelf of the cabinet. It broke (from the plastic wrap roll....really??) as did the black serving plate stacked under the blue plate behind it. 2 pieces of rather costly dinnerware are now broken due to my saving of $2. I can't blame this on irrational anger or beer or no patience, really, because I gave that damnable wrap every chance to perform correctly. Or perhaps it was performing correctly...in its uselessness. Needless to say, the wrap is going in the trash and I'm buying foil again. And, now, $40 or so in replacement dishes. Those dishes rarely, if ever, get used, so I don't need to replace them, but they mean more to me than that. They're representations of a new time in my life (or an older one revisited maybe) and a time in that I didn't think I got that damned mad anymore (apparently I was wrong), so, I'm going to suck it up and buy other ones (although apparently the pink is rare now because it's entirely too expensive on the old ebay) and use it as a reminder and a lesson learned. I just wish I would've learned the lesson on a cheaper beer glass or something. I should send the plastic wrap company a letter and a bill, but it won't do any good. Rest assured, however, that there will never, ever be plastic wrap in my house again. Ever. I won't even let someone else bring theirs in. I'm mad now, just thinking about it. Damn you Glad/Saran/Generic plastic people. Damn you to hell.

yesterday, today, and tomorrow

Is a man the sum of memories and deeds or is he the sum of experience and lessons learned? Are the two different? Vastly, I should think. The first seems to lend no forgiveness or redemption. The second promises hope in some type of a better future.

Or, is this the same semantic battle for justification I’ve been fighting my whole life? The prettying up of ugliness? A mule in a horse harness?

Is life one turn of a phrase away from good or bad? With the right phrasing can the balance swing? Is there ever really a balance anyway, or is that an illusion from our childhood that we’re still holding to?

Lucky there's a family guy....

This is my first weekend at home in 2 weeks. That's not a big deal, right? I mean, most people do things outside of their home most weekends, don't they? Most people don't savor the time spent sitting on the porch and cursing at the troublesome neighborhood people and watching shitty television all weekend, do they? I mean, I do, but normal people don't. Right? Anyway, so being gone for 2 weeks and now getting to stay home and enjoy the peace and quiet and warm, summer days comes as a welcome reward. You know why? I spent the last 2 weekends with my family. My family. I live far enough away to discourage frequent visits. And, not only did I spend 2 weekends with my mother, but I also got to see some extended family too. Woo. Hoo. Why is it when you see someone in your family that you haven't seen in awhile, they have to comment on your appearance? Your hair, your weight, your clothes, something? I hadn't been at my uncle's for 20 mins. before he made a comment about me gaining weight. Well, uncle, as you can see in your mirror, beer is not the same as a diet pill. I know, right? I keep believing that they'll invent it one day, and I don't want to miss my chance. So, yeah.


My mom lives in the mountains. I love it there. I grew up there. Their house is awesome. My stepdad is awesome. My mom is the sweetest person in the world, really she is. She has a great heart. BUT. BUT, she needs to get out more. You see, out here in the real world, there are other things to worry about besides flies, what time we're having dinner, how many beers we've had, what we're going to have for breakfast, the internet, gas prices, the digital television conversion next year and whatever the newest paranoia of plagues that the television news is spewing forth 86 fucking times a day. Yeah, out here we worry about other stuff. Life. Out here we worry about things like hoping traffic's not bad so my beer's not warm by the time I get home from the store, do I really need to eat tonight because I don't feel like cooking AND washing dishes, having to do laundry because I'm out of underwear and socks, will the rabbit come back this evening or did he get in the neighbor's garden and get hurt, etc., etc. I mean, this is serious stuff man. But, the beauty of out here in my world? No Drama. None. When drama calls, I hang up on that shit. My mom worries about everything. Everything. I feel bad for her really because I don't know how she gets to sleep at night. She asked me at one point if there was anything I cared about or worried about when we were sitting out on the porch. I looked around and leaned out so I could see that the sky was perfectly blue and said "nope, not really, because it doesn't do any damned good at all." She didn't get it, I don't think. I couldn't imagine living that way. My friend and I were talking about it at work the other day and we realized that 95% of the people around us and that we interact with on a regular basis are like that. No wonder I'm frazzled and grouchy most of the time! Hey, world, it's not me it's YOU.


I think, in celebration of my reunion with my porch, I'm going to grill some stuff and take myself to the movies tomorrow. And possibly wash my truck. I hate washing a vehicle, but it needs to be done because I hate looking dirty more. If I still lived at home in the mountains and drove places that got a vehicle dirty, I wouldn't mind so much. But, no. I live in town. Hellish town. Therefore, my truck should be clean dammit. Also I might scrub the walls in the bathroom. I don't know why. They look like they need it and it's been on my mind. Maybe I have too much time alone after all.......

Really? or, the way my world turns

I go to an auction with my dad every Thursday night. Mostly, we go so we can go out to eat beforehand. But, once in awhile there's a treasure to be had or resold, and there's always a more than a few people to make fun of, so it's a good time. And, that's where my nemesis Junk Man is, so that's a plus. Although lately, he's been kicking my ass. Stupid economy. Stupid old people with pocketfuls of money.

Anyway, so last night, we're standing outside smoking and enjoying our coffee when I hear "I'll give you $20 for that shirt." I looked around and saw this old woman standing there and figured that she must really like Chris Knight. I laughed and told her "Sorry, I paid $20 for it and don't know if I can get another one." She kept on and on and on til the price got to $35. At this point, I'm seriously considering going home and changing shirts and bringing this one back. I mean, I'm all about the Benjamins, you know. So, I'm standing there mulling it over and I tell her that for $35 up front, I'll go home and be back in 10 mins with the shirt. Hells yeah. And NOW is the point in the story where it all goes to hell and you get a glimpse into my life. She looks right at me and says "Ah, you figured me out. I just wanted you to take your shirt off." I thought I would die. And puke simultaneously. You see, a) I'm not in the shape I used to be in (or I would've done it anyway) and b) this woman was over 60 and missing teeth. I'll give you a minute to let point B set in. Just to catch you up, I'm 34. Got it? Good. My dad was standing there. My dad, who at that point says "For $35, I'll take it off of him by force." I looked at him and said "You can shut the hell up now."

I don't think I've ever smoked a cigarette so quickly in my life. Not even when we used to sneak them in the bathrooms in high school.

I mean, is this what I can expect for the rest of my life?

I'm joining a monastery. Tonight.

Charity begins at home

You know what really pisses me off?

Oh, wait.

I'll tell you. Don't wear yourself out making a mental list. You don't have that much time.

I went to the store Thursday (a day early due to the holiday) and loaded up on the usual stuff, counting my pennies as I pushed the cart around looking ever so single in my food choices, and pulled up to the checkout. I was trying to sneak the extra case of beer that I left in my cart through (because sometimes you can and fuck them they shouldn't be charging that much for it anyway) when the manager walks by and reminds the cashier to ring it up. You bastard. Then, as I'm bagging my own groceries (just as well since no one can do it right anymore anyway), the cashier has the gall to ask me if I want to donate a dollar to whatever idiot organization that has the little jugs out at all the registers. For all I know it was send monkey-faced kids to space camp or some shit like that (although that I might actually pay to see) but I didn't hear any of that. All I heard was Rage (that's right, capital R) filling up my head. I'm pretty sure I channeled Carl from Sling Blade at that point. "I just saw red" I kept bagging while looking right at the cashier and said "Why no, I wouldn't. It's bad enough that Food Lion (yes, I'm calling you assholes out) charges me ridiculous prices for the same things I was buying a month ago and can get elsewhere cheaper except I don't want to make a hundred stops on the way home and I'm bagging my own shit, but then you want me to give another dollar for something that I'm pretty sure never gets where it's going? haha! Good luck with that. For all the money I spend in here every week, Food Lion can pony up my dollar's worth and be happy to do it." She just laughed and kept ringing stuff. I hope that prick manager heard too. And, I hope the monkey faced kids don't get to go to space camp because I totally would've given a dollar if they'd have let that beer slide through.

Sometimes, the truth doesn't hurt.