2009 - The Year In Review

Today is the last day of that year...and what an unforgettable year it was for a lot of us.

We lost a great deal of good people this year...too many.

As we embark together on the journey that is to become the year 2010, please take a moment with me to think about what these people gave us during their lives.

Here, in no particular order, is only a partial list of who we lost:

-Michael Jackson-

-Farrah Fawcett-

-Patrick Swayze-

-Brittany Murphy-

-John Hughes-

-Natasha Richardson-

-Ron Silver-

-Bea Arthur-

-David Carradine-

-Karl Malden-

-Ed McMahon-

-Dom DeLuise-

-Ricardo Montalban-

-Walter Cronkite-

-Danny Gans-

-Henry Gibson-

-Mary Travers-

-Merce Cunningham-

-John Updike-

-James Whitmore-

-Soupy Sales-

-Les Paul-

-Maurice Jarre-

The world is a little emptier without their presence...

The Way I See It #20

"Mommy, what kind of fishing bait is this? It's all gooey!"

Uh, could you change your name...please?

I'm actually at work right now, entering information into the company's database. My job, at least for now, is to update the companys' contact info from the past, oh, several decades.

I just entered an address yesterday that was dated "1986".

But today I entered the name of an organization I simply cannot believe. It's the "History Day in California and Free Expression in a Free Society Programs Constitutional Rights Foundation".

...these guys take themselves WAY too seriously.

Drumroll please...

I got the results back from my recent MRI.

As I feared, they didn't find anything wrong with my knee. No tears, no damage of any kind.

Worst of all, they didn't find ANYTHING. They didn't even see that I'd had part of my meniscus surgically removed in Germany back in 1996.

That's more than just a little disturbing.

What the doctor did state, was that she thought I may be suffering from "tendinosis".

Wikipedia defines "Tendinsosis" as:

"Sometimes called chronic tendinitis, tendinosis, chronic tendinopathy or chronic tendon injury, is damage to a tendon at a cellular level (the suffix "osis" implies a pathology of chronic degeneration without inflammation). It is thought to be caused by microtears in the connective tissue in and around the tendon, leading to an increase in tendon repair cells. This may lead to reduced tensile strength, thus increasing the chance of tendon rupture. Tendinosis is often misdiagnosed as tendinitis due to the limited understanding of tendinopathies by the medical community."

WebMD defines "Tendinitis" as:

"When the tendon gets inflamed it is known as tendinitis, and when the tendons are chronically overused, it may lead to microscopic tears in the collagen matrix and causes a gradual weakening of the tissues."

It is also pointed out that:

"Initial recovery is usually within 2 to 3 months and full recovery is within 3 to 6 months. About 80% of patients will fully recover."

But they also point out that:

'Recurrence of injury in the damaged region of tendon is common."

The doctor is referring me to a specialist who I assume I will be seeing sometime after the New Year.

They will let me know.

Back to work...sort of.

I went back to work yesterday, only 3 hours after having an MRI taken of my knee.

I'm not back to my old job, there's no way I can move furniture all day. I won't receive the results from my MRI for several days.

I've been stuffed into a back room roughly the size of a ham sandwich, sitting down in front of a computer and creating, from scratch, a contact database from years and years of stored up paperwork.

I'm working alphabetically.

I worked for almost 5 hours yesterday.

I'm up to the word "American".

That's halfway through the letter "A".

Or in other words, 1/52 of the way through the alphabet.

Now, I'm no slouch on a computer. At top speed, I've been clocked at 90 words per minute. But some, no MOST of these files are incomplete. For about 1/3 of the entries, I have to go on the Internet to find a missing phone number, or contact name, or e-mail address. It's very time consuming.

It's a damn good thing that the "closet" they've stuck me in is only about 20 feet from the coffee station. Guess I can count my blessings.

No wait, the men's bathroom is on the other side of the building.

So, judging by yesterdays' outcome, mathematically speaking, it's going to take me roughly 260 hours to complete this job. At a full 40 hour work week, not allowing for lunches or bathroom breaks, that's 6 1/2 WEEKS of sitting in front of a computer screen, in a cramped room, entering the same information over, and over, and over, and over.

...and you know there are more entries under some letters than others.

I can't WAIT to get to the letters "E" and "S"!!!

But do you want to know the silliest part of this entire situation?

I have to show up for work every day dressed in black dress slacks, a white pressed shirt and a tie.

I enter the hotel through the back door.

I walk down a short hallway to my dungeon, where I spend the entire shift at a computer console in a modified closet.

I don't come into contact with any guests.

I might see 1 or 2 other employees...probably not even that many.

So why can't I come to work in a tank top, pajama bottoms and fuzzy, pink bunny slippers?

UPDATE:

After another 8 hours of data entry, I'm finally up to the letter "B".

Sign of the times...unfortunately.

The United States Post Office has declared that they will no longer deliver your "letters to Santa".

That service is to be discontinued.

Not to fear, though. They have the problem well in hand.

Children everywhere can send Santa Claus a text message from their cell phone.

...wait a minute.

Jolly old Saint Nick?

Who is still dressed in a red suit from the 1800's?

Who still drives a SLEIGH?

Who still makes toys out of, what's that stuff called again? Oh yeah, WOOD?

Has a cell phone???

Does he get reception at the North Pole???

...and just how much would it cost to receive 6 BILLION text messages anyway???

The Way I See It #19

Of course, DEAD animals are OK!

An accident waiting to happen?

Does anyone out there remember a ship named, umm, what was it called again?

Oh yeah, TITANIC???

Didn't we learn our lesson the FIRST time?

_____________________________________________________________

"Oasis of the Seas: Titanic Proportions"

"Royal Carribean's Oasis of the Seas debuts in December as the world's largest cruise ship. It is nearly five times the gross tonnage of the Titanic, and 1 1/2 times longer than the U.S. Capitol building, has 16 decks and has a capacity for 6,296 guests. You may also be pleased to know that Oasis has the largest lifeboats in the cruise world. Each one can hold nearly 370 people."

___________________________________________________________________

Oh, I'm VERY pleased to know that. If history has a lesson to be learned here, those lifeboats are going to be needed.

Why are we as humans OBSESSED with "bigger and better"?

5 TIMES the size of the TITANIC???

We all know how well THAT ended.

When does it stop?

How many warning signs do you need?????

The 12 Days of Christmas

On my way home from the gym this afternoon in my car, I decided to turn on the local "Christmas" radio station.

Every town's got one.

You know, the one that plays only Christmas music starting around Thanksgiving and plays it 24 hours a day until Christmas. Well, they just happened to be playing "The 12 Days of Christmas". Not my favorite Christmas tune, but what the heck.

What startled me was after the song finished.

The DJ came back on and announced that a small independent company had tallied up what everything in that song would cost at today's market value.

...you wanna take a guess as to how much it would cost you?

...I'll wait.

...dum-dee-dum-dee-dum.

...la-dee-dah-dee-dah.

...okay, here's what they said it would cost at today's market price.

...hold on to your wallet.

$87,000.00!!!

Hey babe, it may be Christmas and yes, I do love you...but wouldn't you rather settle for, oh, I don't know, maybe A CAR???

IT WOULD BE CHEAPER!!!!!

I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to say, so call it "stream of consciousness"...

Today is Wednesday.

I see the doctor again tomorrow.

I'm bored speechless.

I actually caught myself watching "Days Of Our Lives" yesterday.

Dear God.

I started my annual "24 days of Christmas" decorating yesterday. I do it every year.

On December 1st, you hang a string of lights.

On December 2nd, you put a wreath on the front door.

On December 3rd, you hang another string of lights.

On December 4th, you put out one of those light-up, animated reindeer.

On December 5th, you hang yet another string of lights.

...and so on, and so on, all month long until by December 24th your place resembles Chevy Chase's house in "Christmas Vacation". Thank God for LED's. They save you TONS of money on the electric bill. Hey, it just ain't Christmas if you can still see the house behind all the decorations on Christmas morning. How else do you think Santa's gonna find you? My place is clearly visible from space. The astronauts on the International Space Station use it as a beacon.

It's true.

...and I've got the only Christmas Palm Tree on the block, that's for sure.

Well, gotta go now. I have to line the front walkway with light-up candy canes!

Merry Christmas everybody!

Thanksgiving

To give thanks.

But who exactly are we giving thanks to?

Ourselves?

We make our own lives.

We live by our own decisions.

We decide poorly at times, but that which does not kill us makes us stronger.

Perhaps an over-used saying, but oh so true.

But I am thankful.

Even as I sit here on my couch, my knee wrapped up, hobbling around the house.

I see the doctor again in 5 hours. I hope they will finally schedule me for an MRI. I've been out of work for 5 weeks now. They've GOT to do SOMETHING!!! It's not getting any better on its own.

Unfortunately, in my heart of hearts, I'm reasonably sure this is more than some sort of bad sprain. It, more than likely, is going to require some sort of surgery. I can still walk, but not for very long. It looks fine first thing in the morning, but after moving around by afternoon it's swollen back up again.

I'm sick of ice.

I'm sick of heating pads.

I'm sick of that cane.

I'm sick of those crutches.

I'm sick of my couch.

But I suppose that things could be a lot worse.

So Happy Thanksgiving everyone. May you enjoy the comfort of family this holiday and stuff yourselves silly with turkey!

Welcome to my brain. Try not to be afraid.

Scientists say that the Universe is infinite.
Scientists also say that the Universe is expanding.
If the Universe is truly infinite then how can it be expanding?

Why is it called a "Doughnut"?
Okay, it's made with dough, but where's the nut?
And how exactly can you eat a "Doughnut Hole"?

Why were there "Holy Wars"?
If murder is a sin, then why would you kill in the name of God?

If women don't want to be viewed as sex objects why are cosmetics, diet pills, breast implants, push-up bras, plastic surgery, high heels, corsets, mini skirts, tube tops, nylons and hair dye such big business? And what about all those "articles" in womens' magazines about how to "Spice Up Your Sex Life"? Not to mention the fact that there is a waiting list 1,000 miles long of women who want to pose for "Playboy".

Is it the same person? Or triplets separated at birth?

This is Colm Meaney.

He played Engineer "Miles O'Brian" on "Star Trek: the Next Generation" and "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine".

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This is John C. Reilly.

He is probably best known for his roles in "Chicago", "The Dewey Cox Story" and opposite Will Ferrell in "Step Brothers".

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

...and this, God help us all, is Susan Boyle from "Britain's Got Talent".

Does anyone else notice anything, uhh, familiar???

Zurm.

Shiz nizzle whatsit flurm.

Bogdanny fliznit joogamahits flub-jub.

Skizzle blatwad Pia Zadora

Misz blankwad frahizzle???

Bleeg.

Am I back in Germany???

I'm sitting here on my couch.

Leg propped up, pain medication and heating pad administered.

What the fuck?

My life, as I knew it, was just starting to get back on track.

Things were finally returning to some sense of "normality".

...and then this.

Is it a new injury?

Or is it from the Arthroscopic knee surgery I had in Germany back in 1996?

X-rays were taken.

I doubt...EXTREMELY...that they will show anything.

I've been through this before.

Soft tissue damage.

It doesn't show up on an X-ray.

I know that.

Basically, probably, hopefully not, but more than likely I'm fucked.

And there is absolutely NOTHING that I can do about it.

I've been here before.

Unfortunately.

I can barely walk.

I can barely stand.

It might as well be a 10 mile hike just to get to the bathroom.

This is nothing new to me.

Like I said, I've been here before.

Halfway across the world...but I've been here before.

But does this mean, once this passes, that I will, more than likely, spend the rest of my life hobbling about like some old, feeble, handicapped person?

Something is telling me yes.

Me.

I used to dance.

REALLY dance.

Ballet.

Jazz.

Tap.

Modern.

I can't even get to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich.

Fuck you world.

Fuck you.

No.

I

FUCKING

MEAN

IT.

FOOUH

UHHK

EYOO

OOUU!!!

After everything I've been through in the past year, YOU THROW THIS MOTHER FUCKING SHIT IN MY FACE???

"From Hells heart, I stab at thee."

"For hates' sake, I spit my last breath at thee."

When did the world go completely insane?

When I was little, people had jobs. They went to work everyday and did whatever it was that they did to bring home a paycheck.

It was what it was.

Not anymore.

When I was little, we had "Garbagemen". They rolled up to your house in a big, blue truck and took your garbage away to the dump.

Not anymore.

The job hasn't changed, but now they want you to call them "Sanitary Servicemen".

When I was little, we had "Secretaries". They worked in an office. They typed up memos. They filed paperwork.

Not anymore.

The job hasn't changed, but now they want you to call them "Personal Assistants".

I recently went on a shopping trip to Target. On my way out to the car, bags in hand, a guy rolls by me on one of those "Segues". He's wearing a neon yellow vest. Emblazoned across the back in capital letters is his job title..."ASSETS PROTECTION".

Are you serious?

You're a minimum wage security guard in a Target parking lot.

What is wrong with having the job you have? Obviously, you must think that SOMETHING is wrong. Giving your job a more "important" title changes nothing.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Last night I went to Safeway to do some grocery shopping. Right inside, near the entrance, there is a large wall covered with shelves. It's usually filled with "seasonal" items.

For weeks, the shelves have been lined with Jack-O-Lanterns and witches. Haunted houses and ghosts. Black cats and tombstones. Scary Halloween stuff.

Not anymore.

Now more than half of the Halloween decor has been taken down. In it's place are reindeer, snowflakes, sleighbells and figurines of Santa Claus.

Seriously?

Halloween is still 2 weeks away and you're already taking it off the shelves and packing it away to make room for Christmas decorations??? It's OCTOBER!!! Christmas is more than TWO MONTHS AWAY!!!

So somebody please tell me, when did the world go completely insane?

Eeeeeeeeeeekkkk!!!

Wishing you a SPOOOOKY Halloween!!!

'Twas beauty killed the beast

I just finished, once again, watching "King Kong".

I've seen it maybe 50 times over my lifetime.

The original 1930's version.

The 1970's version with Jeff Bridges and "Dwan". Really bad acting abounds.

...and the newest, CGI, slick graphics, tricked out version.

I think I understand the intent of the storyline now.

The metaphor of a huge, enormously powerful beast, capable of so much anger and destruction and yet equally as much caring and love.

Fighting to the end and ultimately giving his life for what he holds precious...a beautiful woman who understands him and communicates with him like no one else can.

I think you have to be a man to truly understand the intent.

It only took me a lifetime to figure out.

But just who is the "beauty"? The attractive, blonde starlet...or the 80 foot, monstrous gorilla with a heart of gold?

It truly is in the eye of the beholder.

Black dang the corn swazzlin' ferd...

Jumbo neolithic kindred flip-flops conjoin tinsel makeshift monolithic avatars bestowing irregularity. Saskatchewan beholds fascist fuscia periodontal misfits. The Gregorian montage subsides eloquently beneath.

"Panorama!" Constellation, triumphantly beholding rectangular virtuosity, amends encompassing cardboard.

"Makeshift exoskeleton tyrannical purple! Rhubarb flatulence regards mightily!"

Spherical protruding autumn exudes prehistoric diversity.

Operatic sincerity hilarium.

Fortress pleasantry denied.

Dating In The Year 2009

In an effort to get myself "back out there", as in attempt to date again, I have posted profiles on several different "dating" websites.

These things are a compulsive liars paradise.

Women regail you with stories of how much they like to jet-ski or parachute or hang glide. They love to travel to exotic locations and spend their summers in Fiji. They have amazing lives filled with culture and color. They are deeply spiritual. They are wise beyond their years.

Their stories aren't just "seasoned", they're outright fictional.

If that wasn't bad enough, they are also apparently delusional about their appearance.

Case in point.

I get an e-mail from this woman saying "Hi cutie!". She claims in her bio that her body type is, and I quote, "Average".....


On what PLANET and in what REALITY are you considered average?????

Oh wait, I get it...the person she just ATE was average.

Do these people have funhouse mirrors in their bedrooms? Because I sure as hell ain't seeing an "average" sized woman here...

I see Shamu.

I just got home from yet another 14 1/2 hour workday. I'm exhausted, but I was "entertained".

I have worked in the hotel industry for many, many years, but never before have I experienced a day quite like today.

We had three large group functions taking place at the hotel, all at the same time...

GROUP #1: A young black girls "Sweet 16" birthday party. There wasn't a White, Hispanic or Asian person in sight. All baggy pants, sideways baseball caps, "bling" and ATTITUDE. Throw in a DJ whose playlist all sounds exactly the same.

GROUP #2: The annual ball for "The River City Gems". A group of about 100 middle-aged, blue collar, cross-dressing men and their "dates". Not a single pair of pants in the room. More ball gowns, hoop skirts, "Scarlet O'Hara" wigs and falsies than "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert".

GROUP #3: "Little People of America". Pretty self-explanatory. Would you believe that a gathering of midgets was the most "normal" group?

Nobody can ever say I don't experience "diversity" at the workplace.

Halloween is coming...

Autumn is here

A gentle, light breeze

Temperature changes
The colors of trees
Goodbye lemonade
Hello hot cider
Stores filled with pumpkins

My eyes growing W I D E R
What should I wear?
What would be cool?
Perhaps a SCARY monster
With lots of drool!
Halloween is coming!
It calls out my name
For without this day
Fall wouldn't be the same
Ghost or goblin?
Witch or vampire?
The kid in us all
Loves a head on a spire!

Drive past the graveyard
Ghouls whisper at night
"Happy Haunting to all,
and to all a good FRIGHT!!!"

Somebody PLEASE kill me

I just got home from work.

I worked 14 1/2 hours today.

Yes, I said FOURTEEN AND A HALF HOURS.

I have to be up at 5 AM tomorrow morning to do it all over again.

That's less than 8 hours away.

I pull up to my apartment and there's a group of niggers...

Not "African-Americans".

Not "Blacks".

I mean MUDDAH FUGGIN' IN DA HOOOOOOOOD NIGGAHZ.

There is a HUGE difference.

They're on the rooftop of the building across the street from my apartment with a cheap-ass Casio drum machine, amplifiers and microphones...

Rapping...

BADLY.

It's like a cacophony of bellowing wombats.

No wait, they're worse than that.

A large crowd has gathered on the street below them. Their ears are bleeding.

SHUT THE HELL UP YOU TALENTLESS GROUP OF WHINING PANSIES BEFORE I STRANGLE YOU ALL WITH YOUR GOD DAMN MICROPHONE CORDS WHILE STUFFING PAGES FROM A DICTIONARY DOWN YOUR MOTHER FUCKING THROATS BECAUSE YOU OBVIOUSLY NEVER LEARNED THE ENGLISH FUCKING LANGUAGE!!!!!

Rapping takes no talent.

It takes a thesaurus, some "bling" and maybe some "grillz" yo!

I think it's wonderfully selfless how many generations of blacks gave so much, sometimes paid with their very lives, to assure that their childrens' children would live in a different, better world.

This is what you chose to do with their blood, sweat and tears?

This is their payback?

Bunch of fucking whining deadbeats.

Blow me.

Every day I try to find at least ONE thing to help me remember that I'm unique.

That there is only ONE of me in the entire universe.

I have to.

Most of us will probably never reach our highest goal, our greatest expectation.

That is why we keep reaching.

While visiting my mother in the hospital, I took a trip down to the Gift Shop...

WOW! A "Male Nurse Action Figure.....WITH STETHOSCOPE AND X-RAY CLIPBOARD"!!! What little boy wouldn't want one of these??? Just in case your friends don't already think you're gay, now you can confirm their suspicions!!!

"Good Afternoon! Welcome to the Bank of Sadistic Assholes! My name is Satan. How can I fuck you over today?"

I hate banks.

I almost closed my account today. Perhaps I still may...the jury's out on that one.

Unbeknownst to me, my checking account evidently became, well, $0, after I had to lay down $237.00 to repair my car a couple of weeks ago. It wouldn't start after I got off work.

...that's not including the towing fee.

...and the car still doesn't run right.

I drove it off the repair lot, down the street, took a left turn and got on the entrance to the freeway. Halfway down the ramp, the car bucked and the check engine light came on...again.

I hadn't even driven the car 3 miles yet. But that's only the beginning of the problem.

When I picked up the car, I tried to pay for it with my Visa credit card...it was denied.

Left with no other choice, I put the car repairs on my debit card...as in the money is taken directly out of my checking account.

A couple of days later I rent a DVD from one of those "Red Boxes" you see at the grocery store. I've rented from this particular machine many times before and it automatically enters my banking information. The daily fee for a rental? $1.09.

Let me say that again for those of you that missed it...$1.09

This sets into motion a series of events only Satan would find funny. This $1.09 charge makes my checking account negative. The bank starts ringing up the overdraft charges. No phone calls. No e-mails. No text messages. Nothing. When all is said and done, the bank has rung up over $218.00 in fees.

The grand total of EVERYTHING I actually spent? $22.

4 of the 6 "penalty fees" are for $1 video rentals. The other 2 are for $11 and $7.

Let's see, that a mark-up of...

Umm...

Give me a second here...

Let me do the math...

Wait, I've almost got it...

1,000 PERCENT??? Just where, pray tell, do you ASSHOLES think all this money is going to come from IF THERE ISN'T ANY MONEY IN MY ACCOUNT IN THE FIRST PLACE???

...and just because misery LOVES company, how many hours am I scheduled to work this week?

...17.

...and the rent is due.

"Fatal Attraction"

So...

Today was my first day back in banquets.

Halfway through my shift I run into the Front Office manager, Jenny. She mutters "There's the traitor!" under her breath and passes me by.

Later in the shift, Amelia, the alcoholic who was arrested and thrown in jail, who I was called in to work for on my day off, comes walking into the main ballroom where I'm vacuuming the floor.

It's a HUGE ballroom. There's A LOT of floor.

She just sits there for her ENTIRE LUNCH BREAK,

...and watches,

...and watches,

...and watches.

Never says a thing.

Just watches me vacuum the floor.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, YOU PSYCHO FUCKING BITCHES! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU???

You treat me like a demented, diseased FREAK the entire time I work with you at the Front Desk, but now that I'm gone you're all going "Fatal Attraction" on me?

WHAT THE FUCK ???

I'm hiding the rabbit.

Get a life Glenn Close.

Amy visits Sacramento

...and as you can plainly see, we had absolutely NO FUN!!!

Oxymoron Day

I needed to go PetCo after work this afternoon to get some "food" for Apophis, my corn snake. He eats frozen fetal rats called "Pinkies". So I headed to the "refrigerated section" of the pet store and quickly find what I'm looking for. A small bag containing 3 frozen fetal rats.

The name on the bag?

"Gourmet Rodent".

Now that I've worked up an appetite from buying frozen, dead, baby rats I head next door to a buffet style restaurant. The waiters are all dressed in Hawaiian shirts. There are huge paintings on all of the walls depicting tropical island scenes and whales. Fake palm trees and coconuts abound. You half expect the waitresses to be running around in grass skirts while serving you poi and freshly squeezed pineapple juice.

The name of the restaurant?

"Luau Garden Chinese Buffet".

Like I said.

Oxymoron Day.

Tick...tick...tick...

Okay, it's official. On the advice of someone dear to me (you know who you are), I've decided that the grief associated with the "prestige" of working at the Front Desk ain't worth the freakin' headache.

My official last day is this Wednesday at 11:15 PM.

Not that I'm counting...

...and not a moment too soon.

I am transferring back to the Banquets Department. It's not glamorous work. Not by a long shot. I move tables and chairs all day. Vacuum the floors. It's meaningless work, but I'm on my own almost the entire shift and no one is looking over my shoulder telling me that I'm doing it wrong.

I actually had one of the girls at the Front Desk correct me as I was restocking the rubberbands this morning. She turned to me and said, "You're doing that wrong."

THEY'RE FUCKING RUBBERBANDS YOU COW!!!!!

Pray tell, HOW am I doing it wrong???

Go on Jenny Craig and lose that GIGANTIC FAT ASS of yours, you stuck up bitch.

Rubber fuckin' bands...

Believe it or not, he's actually gotten BIGGER!!!

"Now eat all of your dead, frozen mice and you'll grow up big and strong!"

I hate my job.

No, seriously...

I FUCKING HATE MY MOTHER FUCKING, FUCKED UP, FUCK YOU UP THE ASS WITH A FUCKING POLE, FUCKING FUCK, FUCK, FUCKING JOB!!!!!!!!!!

If I didn't have bills to pay I would walk.

I probably will.

I'm working in a hyenas den of snarling bitches out to fuck you over because they got their poor little feelings hurt in their last relationship when the guy finally wised up and dumped their sorry ass.

It's like going to work every day in a coven of witches...and they DO NOT want you around!!!

Well that, and "Witches" begins with a "B".

I fucking hate them.

Fucking hive of man-haters.

The SECOND I can find ANYTHING else, I am so FUCKING out of there!!!!!!

I don't care what job it is, as long as it's not there.

You fucking cunts.

I fucking hate you.

Every one of you.

You fucking sit around in your fucking girls club because nobody else WANTS to fucking play with you, you wretched fucking pack of fucking she-wolves.

I actually had one of the girls turn to me yesterday just as I got to work and say, "Don't talk to me."

Fuck you, you miserable fucking cuntbag wretched bitch fuck!

This is the same girl who I got called in to work for last week, at 8 AM, on my day off, because she'd been arrested by the police for being drunk and disorderly, hauled downtown and thrown in the tank.

Crawl back into your fucking miserable shit hole of a life and fucking stay there you fucking cunt!

Let me say it REAL slow, so your feeble minds can grasp what I'm telling you...

FFFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK YYYYYOOOOOUUUUU!!!!!

It's no wonder all you fucking bitches are single! You can't get a man? WHO THE HELL WOULD WANT TO FUCK YOUR SORRY ASS??????????

The most fucked up part of this whole thing? I left a good job tending bar and another working banquets at this hotel to work at the mother fucking front desk.

The Banquets Manager said that she was, and I quote, "losing one of her best people".

I'm seriously considering not even showing up to work for my next shift. I don't fucking care about the god damn consequences anymore.

Either that, or someone is going to fucking die.

First thing tomorrow morning, I'm hitting the pavement and looking for a new job.

Say "hello" to my little friend...

He (or she) is just a BABY!!!

Only 1 month old.

I got him/her today.

Currently accepting suggestions for a name...

Let your fingers do the walking

Has anyone else ever noticed that, when looking through the Yellow Pages, "Pet Stores" comes directly after "Pest Control"?

Life is good.

Try to remember that.

We seem to forget all too often.

I don't really have anything to say today, I was just tired of looking at the last post!

I've had to work for the past 9 days straight.

Yes, that means without a day off.

I finally get one today.

On my last day off, I was called in at 8:00 in the morning to cover for a girl who was arrested for public drunkenness and thrown in the tank until she sobered up.

Can you see the irony in this situation?

So to celebrate, I'm gonna make myself a nice bowl of hot cereal, have a piping hot cup of coffee, hop on my new bike and take a nice, relaxing ride on the Jedediah Smith Recreational Trail out to mile marker #10 and back (yep, that's a 20 mile round-trip, not including the bike ride getting there...feel free to Google Map it).

Then I'm going to IKEA and buy myself a little "bistro" table and some stools for the breakfast nook. I'm tired of eating breakfast, lunch and dinner on the couch!

Hope everyone has a lovely day!

-Scott-

My new theme song...

Why be afraid if I'm not alone

Though life is never easy

The rest is unknown

Up to now for me

It's been hands against stone

Spent each and every moment

Searching for what to believe

Coming out of the dark

I finally see the light now

It's shining on me

Coming out of the dark

I know the love that saved me

You're sharing with me

Starting again is part of the plan

And I'll be so much stronger holding your hand

Step by step I'll make it through

I know I can

It may not make it easier

But I have felt you near all the way.

Won't be fooled again

I'll be fighting in the street

With my life now at my feet

And the morals that they worship will be gone

And the men who spurred me on

Sit in judgement of all wrong

They decide and the shotgun sings the song

And the world looks just the same

And history ain't changed

'Cause the banners, they all flown in the last war

I'll tip my hat to the new constitution

Take a bow for the new revolution

Smile and grin at the change all around me

Pick up my guitar and play

Just like yesterday

I'll move myself aside

If I happen to be left half alive

I'll get all my papers and smile at the sky

For I know that the hypnotized never lie

Do ya?

There's nothing in the street

Looks any different to me

And the slogans are replaced, by and by

And the parting on the left

Is now the parting on the right

And the beards have all grown longer overnight

I'll tip my hat to the new constitution

Take a bow for the new revolution

Smile and grin at the change all around me

Pick up my guitar and play

Just like yesterday

Then I'll get on my knees and pray

I won't be fooled again

Won't be fooled again...

According to Webster's - Part Deux

Xenophobia - (zee-nuh-foh-bee-uh) - noun

1. - An unreasonable fear or hatred of foreigners or strangers or of that which is foreign or strange.

2. - An unreasonable fear or hatred of any woman named "Zina", who is also foreign and strange.

A typical day answering the phones while working at the front desk...

- "Is this the Red Lion Hotel?". This is right after I've just answered the phone saying "Good morning, Red Lion Hotel".

- "How close are you to Disneyland?" Uh, about 500 miles or so.

- "Do you know what time it is?" Look at the bedside clock right next to the phone.

- "My granddaughter just peed all over the bed".

- "Do you know what the temperture is?". If you stick your head out your front door I'm sure you'll find out. Me? I'm in the air-conditioned lobby.

- How much are the tickets to "fill-in-the-blank"?

- "Can we get more towels?"

- "Can we get more towels?"

- "CAN WE GET MORE TOWELS???" Listen people, for the last time, the little button you just pushed on the phone says "Front Desk" not "Housekeeping".

- "This is room 125. We were just moved to this room because we didn't like the way the air-conditioning worked in room 451. We were moved to room 451 because the water pressure in room 104 was too low. We were moved to room 104 because there was a stain on the carpet in room 503. We were moved to room 503 because we didn't like the curtains in room 175. We were moved to room 175 because it was too far away from where we parked the car. Now we want to move from this room because we don't like the view."

- "Can you give me directions? I'm on highway whatchamahoozit just passing thingamajig street...there's a purple billboard...and a crow."

- "I heard about this local garage band that's going to play in your lounge there. I don't know their name. I don't know what day they are playing. Can you tell me more about that?"

- "This is the Southwest Airlines crew. I don't know our in-bound flight number. Can you come pick us up?"

- "Is this the DoubleTree Hotel?" Again, this is right after I've just answered the phone saying "Good morning, Red Lion Hotel".

So...

I just got back from a date.

My first since Zina, the warrior princess, destroyer of lives decided to leave me.

It may very well may be my LAST date.

I met her on "Craig's List". I had placed an ad looking for, well, ANYTHING. I haven't even attempted to date since her highness packed up and left me with a pile of shit almost a year-and-a-half ago. Why would I WANT to do that to myself again?

It appears that my gut instinct was right...I should have listened.

First of all, this girl appears to have been named after a tree...you know, like "Sequioa" or "Magnolia".

Clue #1.

She shows up at my front door wearing flip-flops and an ill-fitted mumu. She's about 30 pounds heavier than her online photo and in THAT she was heavy. She's only about 5'2".

We get into her car, a Suburban that hasn't been washed or cleaned in, oh, about 15 years or so, and head off to a local Chinese restaurant.

I'm thinking to myself, "Okay Scott, now you haven't done this in a while. Maybe it's not really as bad as it first seems. Give it a chance."

We drive to the restauarant, sit down and order.

Okay, this next part took me just a LITTLE off guard. Right off the bat, she starts to discuss her previous lovers. I know, faux pas numero uno. But wait, it gets worse...if that's possible. She eventually puts 2 and 2 together and realizes that someone she dated last year was...

...have you guessed it yet?

...wait for the trumpets.

My younger brother.

Jesus Christ.

You

have

GOT

to

be

freakin'

KIDDING!!!

Jesus F-ing Christ.

Somebody please shoot me.

This date has only been going on for 20 minutes and I already thought it was bad. But now you spring THIS shit on me?

She leans across the table to tell me that she has a "system". She keeps her first dates down to 30 minutes. She likes to keep the date short and makes it a point to tell me that she doesn't sleep with a guy until she's been dating him for at least a month.

Don't worry babe. That was the LAST thing I had in mind.

So...after this JOYOUS romp back into the dating scene again, somebody PLEASE tell me just ONE thing...

After Zina, the Wonder Mess, and how well all THAT all turned out, why...WHY...WHY would I ever want to date again???

Sometimes you just need to STOP. . . and "listen"

It's been such a long time

I think I should be goin'

Time doesn't wait for me

It keeps on rollin'

Sail on, on a distant highway

I've got to keep on chasin' a dream

I've got to be on my way

Wish there was something I could say

Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' along

You'll forget about me after I've been gone

And I take what I find, I don't want no more

It's just outside of your front door

It's been such a long time

It's been such a LONG time

Well I get so lonely when I am without you

But in my mind, deep in my mind

I can't forget about you

Good times and faces that remind me

I'm tryin' to forget your name and leave it all behind me

Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' along

You'll forget about me after I've been gone

And I take what I find, I don't want no more

It's just outside of your front door

It's been such a long time

It's been such a LONG time

It's been such a long time, I think I should be goin', yeah

And time doesn't wait for me, it keeps on rollin'

There's a long road, I gotta stay in time with

I've got to keep on chasin' that dream, though I may never find it

I'm always just behind it

Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' along

Takin' my time, just movin' along

Takin' my time, yeah, I'm takin' my time...

Everyone gets their "Day In The Sun"...

...then we spend the rest of our lives trying to heal the sunburn.

My brother ROCKS THE HOUSE!!!

"Chicago Tribute Authority"

The Fountains, Rocklin, CA

June 6, 2009

I think I may have gotten a LITTLE carried away...

Now where am I going to put all my clothes???

I took Bikram class again this morning.

I've been taking class for a couple of weeks now after a 7 or 8 month break.

Somewhere around the 3rd pose I looked forward in the mirror.

Someone was staring back.

Me.

Welcome back, Scott.

Phase X

Every once in a while, I feel it's healthy to make a short "Life List", a summary of where you have been and what you have accomplished so far. When life gets you down, you can always look back, feel proud, and say "Yeah, I did that. I REALLY did that."

I haven't made one in a while, so here is the abbreviated version of my life thus far to share with all of you...

Phase I- Childhood through teens (Gumdrop Dr., Lincoln, Odd jobs).

Phase II- Start of career (Move to New York, "Kiss Me, Kate" national tour, "Fiddler on the Roof" national tour, "A Chorus Line" Atlantic City, "Starlight Express" Las Vegas).

Phase III- Hollywood.

Phase IV- "Starlight Express" Germany and "Fantasy" in South Korea.

Phase V- Las Vegas (version 2.0), "Star Trek" and "Jubilee".

Phase VI- "Starlight Express" tour.

Phase VII- New York Part II (Inwood).

Phase VIII- Las Vegas (version 3.0), Return to "Jubilee", Bevertainment at the Rio, slow decline to oblivion.

Phase VIIII- Admitted to St. Rose Hospital and slow recovery at Mom's house in Rocklin.

Welcome to Phase X.

Bikram Yoga?

I am probably one of the least racist people you will ever meet.

Seriously.

I judge a person by their actions, by the way they react to, and treat, the rest of the world. Not by their skin color. That being said...

I have been taking Bikram Yoga for a while now, probably 60-70 classes. I have NEVER seen a black person in a Bikram class.

...until yesterday.

The instructor was a large black man. I mean grossly overweight. In my experiences with yoga, the instructor is always very thin with about %3 bodyfat. This guy would probably be classified by a doctor as being clinically obese.

In the back of the room were about 4 or 5 black women....LARGE black women. They weigh more than I do.

Easily.

So, let me guess, the only class you'll attend is if there's a black instructor? Because I've already taken dozens of classes here and I've never seen your fat ass before.

These women spend the entire class grouped together in a back corner of the room talking to each other (which is NOT allowed in Bikram, the studio stays completely silent for a reason), and sitting or lying down, not even ATTEMPTING to do most postures.

They probably can't. They are FAR too overweight and out of shape.

Unless that shape is "Grapefruit".

The teacher is giving his instructions to the class in "Ebonics", using words like "uncomftertable" and "seminasation". He spends almost all of the class in the corner with the fat black girls, his back to the rest of the class, barking out his instructions to us, assisting no one.

After class, I take a shower, grab my stuff and head out. He looks at me as I'm leaving and utters his first words to me in 90 minutes, "Come back soon".

Not if YOU'RE teaching I'm not...

Somebody PLEASE explain this to me...

Why do groups of gay men ALWAYS have one (not two, not three) big, fat, unattractive female friend, with an "I'm better than you" personality, who follows them around like a lost puppy dog???

Out, out brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more; it is a tale

Told by and idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

-William Shakespeare-

Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5

Uhh...somehow I don't think so

__________________________________________________

I am Pumpkin, hear me roar.

A wise man once said...

"When I let go of what I am

I become what I might be."

-Lao Tzu-

"Life can only be understood backward

but it must be lived forward."

-Soren Kierkegaard-

Man, I Feel Like A Woman

As I posted on an earlier blog, I recently started working as a bartender at the Red Lion Inn here in Sacramento. Things have been running along rather smoothly, I get along with everyone and it's an interesting job.

Especially last night.

I come in to work Saturday evening and my boss tells me that I am going to be working out in one of the meeting rooms serving drinks for a private party.

He wasn't exactly forthcoming about the fact that the party is a monthly get-together for a local group of transvestites.

Yes, I mean cross-dressers.

O.K., I get it. Throw the new guy to the wolves and see how he handles it. Good thing I've been in theater my whole adult life, right?

I show up for work and am surprised at the news, but think I should be able to handle it. I've been working closely with gay men for how long?

But most of these guys, I mean gals, are not gay. They have brought their spouses, yes real women, with them to the event. I love how their outfits complement each other. I can just imagine them getting ready at home. The husband turns to the wife and says, "Honey, does this skirt make my ass look big?".

The night goes along smoothly enough. I was half-expecting all the "men" to be ordering Cosmopolitans and Pina Coladas but no, it was mostly wine and beer.

The group had hired a DJ (also in drag) to play for the event. At one point in the evening, after it started slowing down, I started to pay attention to the music being played. Here is, in order (yes, I actually wrote it down), a list of the last 7 songs that were played.

I'm not making this shit up...

"Man, I Feel Like A Woman", by Shania Twain. Everyone in drag gets up and starts line dancing.
Next song? "I Kissed A Girl", by Katy Perry.

Followed by "U & Ur Hand", by Pink, in which she screams "I'm not here for your entertainment".

The obvious..."It's Raining Men".

"What A Girl Wants", by Christina Aguilera.

"Believe", by Cher, the queen of all drag queens.

And the last song of the night? "Unforgettable", with Nat King and Natalie Cole.

Yes, it truly was unforgettable...

I hate California

I went on a bike ride today.

I rode along bike trails that run through the hills surrounding this area of Northern California.

It was a miserable trip.

There was nothing to look at.

It's spring dammit!

Where's the sunshine?

Where's the gorgeous blue skies?

Where's the blossoming flowers and the green trees and the wild animals frolicking in the sun?

Just to show you what a nightmare it truly was, I took these pictures...

God, I HATE California...

Livestrong

Anyone who has known or seen me in the past several years knows that I regularly wear one of those little yellow rubber wristbands by Lance Armstrong that says "LIVESTRONG". I never go anywhere without it.

Especially lately.

With everything I've been through, it's a daily reminder that you are a stronger person than you give yourself credit for. I feel it helps to remind me just what it takes to get through life on a daily basis.

I started job training Friday night and felt that it was innappropriate to wear at work, so I took it off and set it on my nightstand.

This morning I picked the bracelet up, looked at it briefly and decided not to put it on because I was going to the gym to sit in the sauna and steam room. I thought perhaps all the sweat might break it down a little, so I set it back down.

After steaming for a bit, I felt like a drink of water, so I left the steam room and stopped at the water fountain. Turning around, I see a tall man, maybe 6' 6'' or so leaning against the wall behind me. I see that on his right wrist he is wearing the "LIVESTRONG" bracelet.

Then I look up at the man's face...HOLY SHIT!!! IT'S LANCE ARMSTRONG!!!

Now, I'm not one for hero worship, but I think this guy is one cool character.

Then I look down at my wrist...

FFFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!!!!!

I politely introduce myself and he very nicely responds and shakes my hand. I tell him "You won't believe this, but..." He smiles at me and we part ways.

I've been wearing that damn bracelet religiously forever. The ONE TIME I actually get to meet with it's creator...

According to Webster's

i·ro·ny [irənee], n. 1. humor based on opposites: humor based on using words to suggest the opposite of their literal meaning. 2. something humorous based on contradiction: something said or written that uses humor based on words suggesting the opposite of their literal meaning. See also ironic.

i·ron·ic [ī rónnik], adj. 1. Scott spends most of 2008 in Las Vegas drowning his life in alcohol. Kingfisher rescues him from himself and delivers him to a doctor. He spends 16 days in a hospital bed trying to get his eyes uncrossed...literally. After 7 months of recovery back in California, what is the first job he lands?

Bartender.

Native Sons - Part II

I awoke this morning to the sound of scurrying puppy paws and thundering feet coming down the staircase. It’s my stepfather. What’s he doing up this early? He NEVER gets up until after 9 a.m. and it’s not even 8 yet. THUD, THUD, THUD…FRONT DOOR SQUEEKING OPEN…SLAM!…FRONT DOOR OPENING AGAIN…SLAM!…THUD, THUD, THUD. Now mind you, the front door is, oh, 2 feet from the head of my bed. The only thing separating me from it is a thin wall.

More commotion out in the kitchen. The smallest dog, Chrissy, grabs her chew toy and it starts to squeek. “CHRISSY!!!” he blurts out in a “whisper” so as not to "wake me up”.

Too late there, bucko.

Tired of this scenario, and not sleeping anymore anyway, I get up and go out into the living room to see what is going on. I find the downstairs vacant. Where the hell is he? I look out into the backyard. Nope. He must be out in the garage, I think.

Starting my morning ritual, I go over to the coffee pot to make the morning coffee. The coffee’s already been made. Hmm… On my way into the living room, I notice that the paper has already been brought in. Double Hmm…Must have been what all the door slamming was all about.

I continue down my checklist…

I straighten the duvet on the couch, fluff the pillows, pick the dog toys up off the floor, open the blinds, straighten the coffee table, uncover the bird and give the dogs some much needed attention. I notice that the “clean” light is on for the dishwasher. I empty it out and continue on my journey.

As I’m bending over the couch, lint brush in hand, cleaning the cat fur off, I hear thundering footsteps and jangling keys coming down the stairs. It’s my stepfather, dressed in his “Native Sons of the Golden West” sweatshirt and matching baseball cap. “Oh Dear God”, I think. He is carrying a clipboard in one hand and a travelers’ mug filled with coffee in the other. He tries to step over the dog gate at the foot of the stairs…clumsily. Well, his hands are full! He can’t possibly move the gate now could he?

He is going to fall down and crack his head open and I’m going to have to drive him to the hospital.

Entering the room, he looks at me, says “Neener, neener, neener!” then promptly turns and disappears. He doesn’t really go anywhere, he just wants me to come chasing after him, of course.

I don’t.

I sit there on the couch and await his triumphant return.

And wait…

And wait…

And wait…

Now, he’s only moved about 2 feet away, BUT HE’S BEHIND A WALL, SO YOU CAN’T SEE HIM!!!

Is this guy in kindergarten or something?

He finally returns to the living room and I ask him what the “Neener, Neener” was all about. He looks at me triumphantly and says, “I did all the stuff YOU normally do in the morning!”.

You bet you did! You big boy you!

You made a pot of coffee, which you already drank half of, and brought in the newspaper. Here big boy, let me give you a gold star to put on your homework. I ask him why he’s wearing all the “Native Sons” memorabilia. He says proudly, “It’s spring cleaning day down at the hall. Do you wanna come?”

No thanks dude, I just finished cleaning your house.

I spend the entire time that he’s gone mowing and edging the front lawn, sweeping up the grass and hosing down the driveway and sidewalk.

Just as I’m finishing, his car comes rolling up the street. He stops at the beginning of the driveway, idling. I move the lawnmower, garbage can, broom and hose out of his way. He parks his car and gets out to inspect my handiwork.

The reward for my efforts? He looks at me and says, “Hey, you wanna go and get a root beer float?”.

Overqualified

I just returned from my first job interview in about 20 years, give or take a decade. Notice that I said “interview” and not “audition”. It was for a receptionist position at a local spa. Having recently been employed in the fitness industry as a personal trainer I figured I’d be a shoe-in. Perhaps I am. The jury’s still out on that one…

I show up to the interview about 10 minutes early, you want to give a good first impression of course. I’m dressed “smart and casual”. No tie. Not for a spa. You're supposed to evoke relaxing thoughts to guests, not remind them of their daily grind.

I think I look pretty damn good.

I am greeted by not one, but two women. They are both in their mid-twenties (at the most), dressed in business suits, wearing too much jewelry and carrying clipboards. I introduce myself politely and we move into the hotel’s lobby to conduct the interview.

I thought I handled the whole situation rather admirably. I never stumbled, never faltered, never tripped over my own words or had to re-phrase my sentences. I answered their questions quickly and to the point.

The first girl to speak, we'll call her Interviewer #1 , has a lazy eye. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in this situation, but it’s very hard to distinguish which eye you should be looking into.

I take the safe route and stare at the bridge of her nose.

She glances down at her clipboard (with her good eye) and presents me with a “situation”. I'm pretty sure she was reading from the cliff notes for "How To Conduct An Interview For Dummies".

“You’re at the front desk. A person is checking-out. Another person is checking-in. The phone starts ringing…what do you do?”

Gee, I didn’t realize there was a psychiatric evaluation for a receptionist job at a spa.

I answer her question to the best of my ability and we continue.

I tell them of my days working in many different countries around the world, as well as throughout the United States. I also, of course, touch on my days working as a personal trainer in Las Vegas.

Interviewer #2 is just sitting there, pretending to listen.

A forced half-smile is plastered on her face.

She is staring blankly at the air.

Is there some reason she's present? Is she a deaf/mute? Does she have vocal chords?

Interviewer #1 poses another mind-boggling question... “You DO understand that this is an entry level position, right?”

Of course I do. I just spent the better part of last year face down in a gutter watching my life flow silently toward the storm drain. Not that I'm telling her that.

I tell her “yes”, and that I had recently moved to the area "to be with family”. She doesn’t need to know the whole "situation".

Hell, even I don’t want to know the whole "situation".

Interviewer #1 continues.“You seem overqualified for this position...”

Wow.

Now there’s a shocker.

Look, I'll take a shift shoveling sheets of shriveled sheep shit in Shanghai right now...I just need to feel like a useful member of society again.

That, and I need to GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE!!!

Listen interviewer ladies, I empathize with your situation.

Honestly, I do.

I know who you’re really looking to hire is a ditzy, airhead, 20-year-old, bleach-blonde bimbo who spends the whole day manicuring her fingernails, popping her bubble gum and touching up her already too-heavy makeup while ignoring the phone and making the customers feel like they’re a nuisance.

Cut a guy some slack will ya? I’m trying to pick myself up off the floor here…

"Brain and brain, what is brain?" - Star Trek TOS

This is your brain...

This is your brain on 2008.

Any Questions?

Wintertime in Northern California

My older brother Kingfisher and I recently got lost (on purpose) in a Northern California Winter Wonderland.

Poor us . . .

Native Sons of the Golden West

My alarm clock went off this morning at 6:30 a.m.

I’ve been recruited to help my step-father of 26 years set up for his Parlor’s annual “Crab Feed”. By “Parlor” I mean that it’s a group of emasculated old guys, milling around aimlessly, devouring dead animals and drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. They spend the evening regaling each other with stories from their glory days, trying to remind each other what it is to be MEN and reassuring each other that they still are…

The Crab Feed is a fundraiser for the organization…wait a minute, did I just say ORGANIZATION? This group of guys is anything but…

First of all, the youngest person there, besides myself, was at least 55 years old.

I’ve never been witness to such a massive collection of plaid flannel shirts in my entire life. The one guy NOT wearing plaid was wearing a T-shirt with a cartoon of a massively large-breasted girl draped over the hood of an “off-road” truck with the words “Tits Or Tires” emblazoned across the front.

As yet another 4X4 came roaring up the road we all headed outside to unload. It’s important to have a gas-guzzling off-road vehicle in the suburbs you know. One bumper sticker on the back of the car read “No Bama” and another was an endorsement for “Bush/Cheney”. As we unloaded, I noticed quite a few solid steel plates on the bed of the truck. They were at least an inch thick and weighed a ton. The driver smiled toothlessly at me and said that they were “perfect for stopping the buckshot from my 50-caliber shotgun“…never mind the ricochet.

Moving back inside, I see another plaid flannel shirt up near the stage trying to tune a guitar…badly. It’s going to be auctioned off later that evening. Strum…STRUM…S-T-R-U-M!!!

He’s a rock star don’t you know.

My ears are bleeding.

I stop by the table(s) of items to be auctioned off later that evening to take a look. One item catches my eye. It’s a small, round trashcan with the words “Cowboy Stuff” printed on the front.

Inside? The tag reads “Beers and Nuts”.

Another item? A giant wheelbarrow with a shovel and a hoe.

Just then, a commotion stirs outside the front of the building. I go out to investigate. There’s a large Alpaca…yes, a llama…near the entrance.

It is wearing a Rastafarian wig and hat. I glance at his nametag…“Van Gogh”.

Stepping back inside, I see a woman working to “straighten” the chairs I have already put down.

Ten feet behind her? A man un-straightening them.

Ten feet behind him? Another man un-un-straightening them.

Cutting across the back of the room, I happen upon my step-father. He is standing there regally, hands on his hips, surveying the scene. Taking a deep, satisfying breath he turns to me and says, “Now this is where the ACTION is!”.

When all the tables have been set up and all the chairs have been put in their places, every guy in the building grabs his cell phone and starts dialing. He’s important! Somebody must have been trying to reach him, right?

By this time, all the coffee that’s been keeping me going all morning is making me want to, well, go.

I scan the room. Nothing.

I go outside and survey the building. Nothing.

Back inside, as I’m standing in a corner of the room looking perplexed, a man approaches me and asks if I need some help. “I’m just looking for the bathroom”, I say. He looks at me blankly and points directly behind me.

I’m standing not 2 feet in front of the door.

Oh my god, I’m becoming one of them…