Housecoat

First Day of School

2007-01-22T18:33:00.000-06:00

7:00 AM - Wake up, get around

7:30 AM - Fiancee asks me to scrape snow off her car because our cat, Lawyer (the name he came with from the rescue program) gets declawed today.

7:40 AM - Realization that she does not have any brush or scraping apparatus in her car--possible motive for asking me to do it?

8:50 AM - First class of spring semester during which a colleague dumped a dozen CD's, a movie (Lost in Translation), and a book (Dave Eggers) to "check out when I get a chance".

10:00 AM - Meeting discussing presentation that I helped prepare

11:00 AM - Cleaning out office/preparing materials for spring semester/doing assigned readings for tomorrow

12:00 Noon - Monday Seminar

1:00 PM Arrive at work, find a surprise: 2-3 hours of coding data, due tomorrow

1:20 PM Meet with advisor about paper proposals submitting progress report, and submitting abstracts to conferences coming up.

2:15 PM Get back to my office only to have advisor come back with more questions about a NEW paper proposal.

3:00 PMbegin data coding work, paper proposals, analyses for yet another paper proposal.

4:45 PM Walk home to talk to Finacee, Rene, about her day (and the cat) before she goes to the community college to take a soup-making class.

5:15 PM After taking out the trash, Rene wants me to drive her to the soup-making class.

5:30 PM Scraping snow off my car proves time-consuming, and Rene forgot her phone and keys so she borrows my keys to run back to the apartment to get her own. Says she'll meet me on the corner once I'm in my car.

5:40 PM Blow a fuse with the windshield wiper trying to wipe away heavy snow and ice.

5:45 PM Pick Rene up on least obvious corner possible on the way (what was she thinking when she said "corner").

5:58 PM Drop her off on time.

6:10 PM Replace fuse for windshield wiper in my car- Wiper works again!

6:15 PM Get to apartment only to realize Rene never gave me back my keys.

6:20 PM Locked out of my house, I head to my office and compose an itinerary.

6:30 PM Going to try to finish work due tomorrow before I leave to pick up Rene. Trying not to be pissed off.

Not even a little disturbing

2007-01-04T12:35:00.000-06:00

I had the strangest dream. I was hanging out with my friends in Madison, and we were going to take a bus downtown. The driver stopped somewhere to go get something to eat or use the bathroom (it often happens at the Open Pantry across from my apartment). After he got out, one of my friends hopped into the driver's chair and started to drive away. We were all laughing really hard (practically in tears!) because we thought it was hilarious that "We stole his bus!" Once the laughter subsided, one of the guys decided to drive the bus into the lake. We all got out, and the guy driving escaped as the bus disappeared into the dark water. There were a few other people on the bus that we did not know, and they did not get off the bus.

Obviously, this would not go unnoticed for very long. The Police were able to recover the security camera from the bus (which identified us). We were all laughing like madmen on the security tape. They found us (inexplicably) still wandering around on the street and laughing about what we had done. As they arrested all of us, a really sick feeling started to come over me. While sitting handcuffed in the police car, I thought about the repercussions--how stealing and destroying a city bus and then drowning a few people could ruin my life. Why did I think stealing the bus and drowning people was so funny? Didn't I realize it was a bad idea at the time--that there would be consequences for "hiding that guy's bus in the lake"--no matter how funny it seemed when we were doing it?

That was when I woke up. In the haze between sleep and waking, I was trying to decide whether the dream was real; I still felt like I was going to be in a lot of trouble.

Then it hit me.

"Wait a minute--I don't have any friends...It was just a dream!!!"

I'm Always the Bridesmaid...

2006-04-26T18:42:00.000-05:00

Here's your long post.

Monday morning, I sat at my desk gently shaking my Tazo Iced Green Tea when Meg (my co-worker) entered the office. She appeared excited, and was headed directly toward me. Without saying a word, she started waving her hand in front of my face.

I stared blankly and said (not asked) "What."

"The ring?!? Don't you see it?"

Sure enough, there was a big ol' platinum diamond ring on her finger (it even looked prominent with her large hands!). Her boyfriend asked her over the weekend. I think they really are each others' equals; there are no worries that they are "unequally yoked". Meg seems equally excited about having the ring, the small media frenzy she gets to have dispersing her news, and the actual engagement. So, I'm very happy for them. I like it when people are able to actualize their plans.

While this news was still piping hot, someone made commented "I guess House is next!" and that is where the bulk of this post will reside.

Here's my dilemma: How does one make the engagement act not shitty?

In my pea-sized, idealistic brain, I see conflicting issues. The engagement is supposed to be a total surprise--isn't that tradition now? When I decide to pop the question, Rene shouldn't see it coming. Unfortunately, it seems like it is reasonably common to shop for the wedding ring as a couple. Or at least, the fiance-to-be gets to have input. Isn't ring shopping as a couple already indicative of a non-verbal "Yes" on the part of the girl, and sort of a test for the boyfriend so he doesn't blow thousands of dollars?

The surprise is ruined--the girlfriend knows it is coming, and the boyfriend knows that it's pretty much a sure thing. Why bother with all the surprise bullshit? My Co-worker helped pick out the ring, and she knew her boyfriend bought it (and how much he paid), and was on pins and needles waiting. She knew it was coming.

I'm not picking on them, I like them both a lot. They are just a handy example. My roommates went ring shopping together the other night, too.

Why? Because it's downright expected. If I got engaged, the first thing people would ask is "Oh! How did you ask her?". If I said "At the end of a really nice dinner, I pulled out the ring and popped the question," it would be a let-down. People want something crazy, and it seems like many of the stories I hear end with "I knew we were going to get engaged, but I didn't know WHEN"-- as in, which day within a few months window.

I say low risk, low reward. You already know the answer, why go to the trouble? She'll still say yes if you ask her in a Taco Bell, but she'll be pissed that she won't have a great story involving flowers and kneeling to tell everyone. She'll just have to show off the ring... better hope it's big. (...grumble...)

The nice gestures are indeed nice, and I'm sure they are appreciated. My co-worker was a couple hours away with her friend in another city, and her boyfriend "appeared" there and proposed to her in a park, and had her stand in the middle of a ring of long-stem flowers. Her friend conspired with the boyfriend to help plan. It's a perfectly suitable setup for an engagement, but without the surprise I just couldn't do it.

BF: "Honey, let's talk about our future."

GF: "I think it includes marriage.

BF: "I think it does too. Wanna go ring shopping?"

GF: YES.

BF: Honey do you like this exact ring here for $x,xxx

GF: It's good. It shows you love me enough.

BF: Ho-kay! PREPARE TO BE SURPRISED IN THE NEXT TWO MONTHS WITH THIS RING!

GF: I WILL WAIT FOR A FEW WEEKS TO GET THAT RING. THEN I'LL START GETTING AGITATED WHEN I FIND OUT FRIENDS ARE GETTING ENGAGED AND I CAN'T HAVE MY RING YET.

BF: I WILL SURPRISE YOU WITH FLOWERS AND THIS RING. I WILL BE SURPRISED WHEN YOU SAY YES AND TAKE THE RING.

I'm eagerly accepting submissions on why the above conversation isn't totally bullshit. Be warned, I'm pretty sure it is.

I feel the need to reiterate that I don't have a problem with other people doing this. I will have a problem with ME doing this. I think of it as The Good Kind of Double Standards. (I'll keep that phrase in my pocket next time I decide to create and name yet another blog.)

I think a large number of my woes could be alleviated by not having Rene pick out the ring with me. We've talked about marriage, and her parents are encouraging us to get engaged before we move in together. And I know that she wouldn't turn me down in a million years. But it will at least be a surprise to HER. And that is what counts. I figure, I know what she likes and she's marrying me--not the ring. It isn't like I'm raking in the dough (nor will I be this fall), so I imagine my choices will be somewhat limited.

It's a start.

The hard part will be surprising her without making her have a nervous breakdown.

-----
As an extra bonus, I'll leave you with two fun engagement stories. One may have heard, one is new.

Pieface and Radiant (Rene's friend) were courting each other for a number of months, when Pieface worked up the sack to propose. Instead of doing it with actual words, he had Radiant close her eyes and he brought her a Bible with Radiant's first name and Piefaces surname. Confused at this--even though she was a rabid Christ-hound--Pieface clued her in by pulling out the ring after that.

My co-workers friend was dating a nice guy for a while, and they were on a family vacation with parents and aunts and uncles, and the boyfriend insisted that they go bungie jumping. The girlfriend wasn't too keen on this but he was pushing and pushing her to go. Right before they jumped, he pulls out a ring and proposes to her. She says "YES!" and as he is putting the ring on her finger, they jump. The ring sprung free and landed in the lake beneath them! The girl was freaking out, wanting to get scuba gear or something to go get the ring, but the rest of the family didn't seem to concerned. That was when the boyfriend admitted it was a FAKE RING that he INTENTIONALLY dropped in the water. He produced the real ring, and everyone seemed to think it was pretty funny.

I bet you can guess which guy I'd like to emulate.

The Greatest Christmas Story Ever Told

2005-12-21T22:14:00.000-06:00

This will be my last post until after Christmas, so Happy Holidays. Also, I talked to SD. Phil is still treating her nicely, and wants her to accompany him to Costa Rica in the spring. What gives? Do people actually turn over a new leaf like this?

A Warning:

This is probably the most disgusting story I've told here. You might not like it. Then again, this is the internet.

And now, the story:

As you know, I'm a health nut. Part of my regimen requires me to drink a bottle of Coke each morning. After I was done with the Coke, I made my way to the bathroom to eliminate it.

Before I go any further, I must once again realize that my entire readership is female, and may not be aware of the Urinal Code which is second nature to most males. Anyway, if you don't quite get it you can take the online quiz.

Here you go, Valerie: http://www.wimp.com/quiz/

I'll continue.

All the urinal experience and years of actually taking urinal lessons were rendered useless upon getting a job in my building. The bathroom I use only has two urinals--either you've got a buddy or you don't.

Tuesday morning, I entered the bathroom around 11:30. There was a guy at the urinal. It wasn't just any guy; it was one of the disabled fellows who has some garbage collecting/sorting job. Following regulations, I went over to the sink for a moment, hoping he'd finish up and I could have the place to myself. But, he was still there, and moreover--he was leaning forward against the wall, like he was really drunk.

A useful bit of trivia is that you can usually tell how drunk a guy is by how much support he needs while peeing. Standard procedure while drunk is to place your free hand in front of you against the wall. No one wants to have an unnecessary spill. If you are completely wasted, you may stabilize your head on your arm (or even the wall itself).

Our handi-capable friend had his forearm on the wall and his head nestled in the crook of his arm. And he wasn't moving. I had to make a decision. I chose to saddle up.

As I stepped next to him, he still wasn't moving. I detected his breathing. It sounded slightly distressed, almost ragged. As I was finishing up, I noticed him shaking out of the corner of my eye. It was too late for me now, I hoped I wasn't witnessing something terrible. I washed my hands, and as I was leaving, I could hear his breathing was increasing in pace. The source of his tremor? His other hand-- the one not on the wall.

That was all the jury needed to convict him. He was pleasuring himself. I was just thankful that I wasn't there when it was all over. This was terribly disturbing to me, and while he didn't actually molest me, it's like he molested my mind somehow.

Yep, why don't you take a minute and tell all the people around you that you are currently reading a story about a retarded man beating off into a urinal in a public bathroom?

Now, you aren't the first group to hear my woes. Strangely, the first thing that people tell me is by witnessing this heinous act, it totally makes me gay. It's surprising that everyone makes the same joke.

The other thing that people wonder about (aside from whether I was present for the grand finale) is why he didn't just go into a stall to do that. I actually wonder why he doesn't just do it in the sink. That way, upon entering the bathroom you'll immediately see what's up and leave the guy alone. He's obviously not capable of good judgement, and he'd probably get less intruders at the sink. Though, I can see how it would make sense if you were mentally retarded; the urinal catches the stuff that comes out of your wang. What's the difference?

I think thoughts like these are going to keep me out of the really good grad schools.

Here's the scary part: I'm only partly sure he was one of the disabled fellows. I never saw his face, and I didn't make much of an effort to identify him for obvious reasons. What if he wasn't the guy I thought he was?

I'm not going to sleep a wink tonight.

Also, I found out if you want to win a no-laughing contest with someone, all you have to do is say "retarded guy beating off into a urinal". Try it, write it on your Christmas cards.

Edit: Now with improved spelling!

Mario Kart

2005-11-17T21:53:00.000-06:00

You'll be relieved to know that I've been taking it very easy since Monday. My roommate got me Mario Kart DS for my birthday, and I've made a triumphant return to video games. I can practically hear your brains tuning out after learning my topic sentence, but I'm going to forge ahead anyway.

As I've gotten older, my interest has steadily decreased. It feels like games become more and more complex, in an effort to be more "realistic" and one has to invest more time and energy into them. Certainly, the learning curve for the latest Madden is much steeper than a true classic like Tecmo Super Bowl. I like the diversion, but I'm not willing to invest that much time into a game. I've just realized that video games and women share the same time allotment. It can't bode well for Rene if I'm playing a lot of Mario Kart.

The other thing I've begun to hate is the emphasis on "maturity". I'm sick of the current trend of dismissing something as a "kiddie game" if it does not contain graphic violence or some other kind of adult content. I don't remember who said it, but something that has always stuck with me is:

"People seem to think games which require a mature audience somehow bestow maturity upon the player."

Can't argue with that. Everyone always wants to mimic the older kids. It's just weird when more and more adults who grew up with video games are still playing in their 30's and they have no qualms about being lumped in the same target demographic as 14 year olds.

This is not to say that there aren't things that everyone can enjoy, and Mario Kart is one of them. Not only is it a faithful extension of the series, it now lets you play against real people over the internet. I've never really been into playing people online, because of the amount of time required to become competitive at a game. This situation is different, however, because Mario Kart has been around for 10 years. I already know how to play. It was part of my formative years.

My online experience has been mixed. There is no communication between players. Each player has a unique number--called a "friends code"--and they can give themselves a name and make a little avatar that represents them and is also displayed as a decal on their car. So, my name is "TonyDanza" and I have either a Lego Man's smiley face or a pair of balls as my avatar (depending on if my roommate is playing my guy). That's it for interaction between players--no one is given an opportunity to call the other a cock-hungy retarded school bus driver. You just race.

Still, there are times when it is apparent that you know what the other is thinking. Like when you screw them over and swoop into the lead to win a race at the last second. You know that as good as it feels to do that, someone--somewhere on Earth--is feeling exactly the opposite. It's great.

Unfortunately, it takes me forever to get a game, and half the time I can't connect to the service. I learned an hour ago, that my router is not officially supported, for some reason (D-Link 524A1). I guess I'll see if that improves when I replace it. The other thing is that while it tracks your wins and losses. It doesn't penalize you for quitting in the middle of a race when you are getting your ass beat. It seems like whoever is in last place will bail when they realize they're about to lose. Then the game is over and you go back to trying to set up a whole new race.

So far, most of the people I've played really sucked. Based on their names, I would guess half are kids, and maybe 25% were girls. The game has universal appeal. And I get to feel good because I can be competitive playing a game so familiar allows me to own strangers on the internet. They've got a good thing going here.

.

2005-10-30T16:32:00.001-06:00

"I could never live in a place where the outstanding geographical feature is the horizon."

--George Carlin on the (entire) midwest.

And you know he's right. Argue if you want, but it'll fall on deaf ears.

Halloween in Madison resulted in only 375 arrests, and pepper spray instead of tear gas (which was used the past couple of years). No storefronts were smashed, and the police had the streets cleaned up shortly after bar time.

I'm feeling old. This weekend convinced me of my adulthood. Here's something from today's newspaper (available at madison.com, if you're really interested):

Matt Sokol, 19, a UW-Whitewater student, said the chanting "is a Madison thing. You do it because you are in Madison."
Sokol and his friends, including Kristi Prokop, 18, said they didn't want to see anyone hurt. But they appeared to feel that to get the full effect of Halloween in Madison, it would include "a riot."

This is what causes most of the trouble. (A comment: Since when is Madison special enough where it is warranted to say "You do it because you are in Madison"?)

Don't get me wrong, I like the huge Halloween celebrations and I enjoy my alma mater's national ranking on the list of party schools. I've had my good times and embarrassing stories over the years, but I have no desire to hang out with the guy they quoted in the paper. Not because he wants to party (a word which is feeling more and more generic each time I write it), but because he sounds like a tool.

The people who live here, go to school here, and party here usually aren't the idiots. After all, admissions standards prevent every kid like Mr. Sokol from attending here. By Saturday afternoon, downtown (and the surrounding student areas) are getting pretty ridiculous. The influx of people who are convinced that this is going to be the best party ever only adds to the impression that everyone is trying too hard. I'm sure it's similar in any city when you get visitors who are trying their hardest to show that they can party, too.

The reputation of Halloween brings 'em in, and they see to it to fulfill their expectations. They spend the evening in a costume standing shoulder-to-shoulder with 100,000 others drunkenly shouting "Fuck YEAH!" for five hours. Afterwards, they go back to their second-tier state schools with stories of the craziness, keeping a watchful eye on the horizon for their next chance to do something interesting.

I'm not saying I'm the greatest guy ever, but...

2005-10-03T20:11:00.000-05:00

1. My co-worker returned today. I think I'm handling it the best, but what do you expect when everyone else on our project is a woman? ;) No real stories yet, but I think they are on their way.

The only thing to note is that the banter in my office is now at a minimum. In order to communicate with each other in a covert fashion, Meg and I signed onto that AIM Express thing. She was awfully chatty with that thing. A little too chatty.

2. My Jeep is still not fixed. I think everyone involved just wishes it gets blown up or stolen.

3. It's my blog, so ahh... I'm going to post this:

4. Hey, I got the Wolf Parade CD and if I could feed myself by listening to it, I'd be obese right now. Upon first listen, I didn't understand why people were saying it was one of the best albums of the year. After a few listens, it grew on me. And now I can't stop. You can download a couple of their songs at subpop.com

Franz Ferdinand comes out tomorrow. 'sposed to be good.

5. I don't usually talk about video games (mostly because I don't have time for them), but I do enjoy them on occasion. Every so often, something catches my attention, and Rene insists I get it. I think she can somehow turn this into a mechanism to control me, because she'll insist that I get a game. For a girlfriend to do that, there has to be ulterior motives.

Anyway, I got Battalion Wars, and I'm having a great time so far. You're in the army and you get to command your troops to take over the enemy bases. But, the game isn't the typical ultra-violent-bloody-action-game for 14 year olds who think playing this will make them look like a hardass. There's a lot of strategy involved. They also made it feel extremely satisfying to blow aircraft out of the sky with your anti-air artillery. I can't say why, it just seems really fun to shoot down helicopters and planes, and that's the whole point anyway.

Unfortunately, you can't name your soldiers, or else I'd have a Lt. Bent, if only because it's fun to say.

5a.

The lack of video game quality time (cited earlier), naturally translates into games that I don't play very much. My boss' kid was planning on buying a Nintendo DS, so I told her he could have one of the games that I don't play anymore. I bought it used, and it was a buy-2-get-1-free type of thing. So, it wasn't a big deal to me.

Apparently, it's a huge deal to a 10 year old because I got a nicely decorated thank-you card today. The kid referred to me as "Mr. Housecoat" (remember, that's my last name) twice. I think that is the first time I've ever been a "Mr." to anyone. Sure, I've been a "sir", or a "Mr." in the sense that I'm a (potential)/customer to someone, but that's because they *have* to call me that.

This was the first time someone called me "Mr." because I'm an adult and they wanted to be respectful. I forgot about that. As I've enjoyed slowly transitioning into adulthood, I've obviously become accustomed to being on a first name basis with all adults. I have to say I enjoyed it. Meg offered to call me "Mr.", but I had to decline. I think it has to come from children to be significant.

Oh, wait! I do have a story about my crazy co-worker. When my boss gave me the thank-you note, my crazy co-worker blurted out "Oh, now Housecoat is babysitting for your kids!?!?"

MoMD: On Finishing Last

2005-09-20T18:52:00.000-05:00

I applaud you for visiting. I really do. You know that I will dutifully post my dinner, and you know it will consist of either sandwiches or garbage.

But not this week.

I'm volunteering to take a different route, as there's something I need to find out. My entire life, I've been a "nice guy". I stick to my own set of rules and morals, and that (usually) prevents me from acting like a jerk around women. I'm not saying that being a "nice guy" has screwed me over in this department, but it's a popularly held idea that nice guys usually have trouble with the ladies.

So, I got to thinking: How much better could I be doing?

At this point, I'm not in a position to try this on any unsuspecting lady-friend. All my efforts really should be directed at Rene. Here, the experiment was born--Will Rene like me more if I act like a jerk? And how can I show the results to my internet pals?

Here's the deal: I will show you pictures of Rene and me, our experimental happy couple. We'll look at pictures taken when I was being nice, and also pictures taken at the exact moment I was acting like an ass. Only at Rene's expense can our thirst for Science be quenched.

Picture 1:

Housecoat: Rene, let's get a picture of us as a couple. We haven't had one in so long!

*CLICK!*

Analysis: As you can see here, I'm no good at taking self pictures. But, I implore you to ignore things like poor camera angles, blurry pictures, and stupid expressions on my face. These pictures were taken to capture Rene's Happiness, so there was no time to prepare.

Anyway, Guide your eyes to Rene's smile. It seems a little fake. That's not a real smile--it's a "smile for the camera" smile. She's pleasant, but not overjoyed. It gets a 3 on the Enjoyment scale, and I get a 2 on the Jerk scale. I wasn't being a jerk, but I wasn't sweeping her off her feet with romance.

Picture 2:

Housecoat: You ready for another picture Rene, you bitch?

*CLICK!*

Analysis: Yes, Rene's surprised. But look at her--beneath the shock, she's positively beaming! A real smile! She gets a 5 on the Enjoyment scale, and a 7 on the Jerk scale.

Could this be the start of a disturbing trend? Being a bigger jerk is more pleasing to the girl? Let's see:

Picture 3:

Housecoat: AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

*CLICK*

Analysis: I'm screaming like a madman while pawing at her chest... while taking our picture. I know the picture looks like shit, but you can definitely see her smiling and laughing while this is happening. Look closely, friends and you will see a rare 8 on the enjoyment scale. The cost, however, was great; I scored a 9 on the Jerk scale to make her this happy.

Conclusion:

It seems pretty clear now that the magic of science supports this "rule of thumb". I think the secret here is this gives the girlfriend material for complaining, which is a favorite activity of girlfriends. I thought I was a pretty enlightened chap, but I really feel like I learned a lesson today.

So... which journal should I submit this to for publication?

See? She's not really happy. I should find some way to degrade her to cheer her up.

92¢

2005-09-08T22:08:00.000-05:00

After I took the bus home from work, I found out we were grilling tonight. I decided to tag along with my roommate to the grocery store to get supplies.

Sure, we had beer, but you don't need to use good beer for boiling. Cheap, crappy beer works equally well. I picked up a six pack of MGD. Given the chance I would have sunk even lower, but the grocery store didn't have anything cheaper than that.

In line at the grocery store with my roommate, we had burgers, brats, buns, mustard, cheese, and beer. The lady in line behind us was very quietly speaking, and I just didn't think anything of it. I mean, she wasn't trying to get my attention.

My roommate noticed she was trying to talk to me. I turned around and saw a little old woman, easily in her 60's. She explained to me that she didn't see any single cans of beer for sale, and that was all she really wanted. She said that every month or two, she gets a taste for a beer, and she doesn't even drink an entire beer.

So, she wondered if I would be kind enough to sell her one of my six.

I just kind of looked at her trying to figure out what was wrong with this picture. Ultimately, I couldn't find anything wrong with it, so I told her it was okay. I only wanted a few for boiling brats, so I didn't care what happened to the rest. Her eyes lit up when she heard that. She looked upon us as though we knew some kind of grilling secret. Her grandfather or someone did that, too! Then we found out she recently moved from Miami, so she probably doesn't know that boiling brats in beer is pretty standard. She just loved us.

Then she wanted to know how much a single beer cost. The six pack wasn't even $5, so I told her not to worry about the money. She insisted, I refused. Eventually she thrust a small handful of change toward me, and I told her to put it away. She looked as though she was going to try to drop it in my shirt pocket, but since I didn't have one, she kind of held her small fist of change against my ribcage. It was a little weird.

"Put it in the collection plate on Sunday, then," she instructed me, and after pausing for a second added "or on Saturday." Classy.

My roommate and I waited for her outside to give her the beer. I kept thinking I was missing something. It's an odd situation. What was the catch? What if she was crazy, or not supposed to have beer?

"Do you see something wrong with this? Am I missing something?" I asked my roommate.

"I see an old lady who's probably a little lonely, who just wants one beer, without having another five sit around for half a year."

Alright, I thought. Good enough for me. The lady came out and we dropped her can of MGD into her bag.

"Thanks, you guys are the best!" she told us. Isn't the situation usually reversed? With the younger people waiting to get the beer from the older person in the store?

"How much did she give you?" my roommate asked me. I counted it up and told him.

All Things Green

2005-08-31T16:51:00.000-05:00

We got the Hybrid today. A 2002 Toyota Prius. We drove about 220 miles roundtrip, so we had time to check out the subtleties of the car.

The first thing you notice is that the speedometer and shift indicator is not behind the steering wheel, but in the center of the car, just below the windshield. There is also a full-color touch screen which consistently pumps out information about how you're doing mileage-wise. Every five minutes, a new bar is added to a graph showing you your mileage in the last five minutes, and then tells you overall mileage, and how much energy is "reclaimed" from breaking or coasting. You get a gold star (just like in kindergarten) for every 50 watt hours you generate in each 5 minutes.

The brakes were touchy. There was no middle ground once you pushed the brake. They wanted to grab onto the wheels and slow the car down quickly. The car didn't lurch forward or anything, but it was difficult to gracefully and gradually come to a stop.

The motor in the car is very tiny. You only really feel it when it starts, which happens frequently around town. It is really weird to come to a complete stop and have the car be silent. Completely motionless; no idle, no noise. The gasoline engine shuts off for a good part of "around town" driving and the electric motor scoots you around. It was a weird experience.

It's a compact car, similar to the Foci and Neons that we all seem to love. After spending countless days in both of those cars, I'd say that the Prius felt a little better built than the Focus, and much better built than the Neon. Trunk space was better than I expected, but the 38 batteries did make a noticeable bump on the floor of the trunk.

While the 2005 Prius reports to be as fast as either of these cars (in 0-30, 0-60, and even 45-60), the 2002 model feels a few steps slower. Quite a few steps slower. (Edit: it is about 2 seconds slower than a stock Focus in the 0-60) Especially on the highway, one would have to put the pedal to the floor and hope the other driver doesn't increase their speed while passing.

And then there's the main reason people buy a hybrid car: fuel economy. Overall, on our 220 mile journey, we got exactly 44 mpg. It was in the upper 40's--even approaching 50mpg--in the city, and the high 30's/ low 40's on the highway. It really did get better mileage in the city. But, since you don't brake often on the highway, you don't regenerate energy, and the gas engine is running all the time.

I liked it, overall. It was better than the either of my two usual "daily drivers", and I really felt like I was being conditioned to be mindful of the fuel I was spending. The novelty of having that much information fed to you was something that was appealing, and I think it was smart of Toyota to feature that so prominently in the car. That same touch screen displayed the radio information, so there's no way to ignore it. Since better fuel mileage = saving money, I can imagine how this gewgaw can convince someone to get a Hybrid.

But, if you sit down and do the math, you realize that you aren't buying a Prius to save money. At least you better not be thinking that. Take a car like the Toyota Echo. Sticker price is about 10 grand. Overall(highway and city), Consumer Reports says it got 38mpg in their test. The Prius got 46mpg (at the high end). It also costs almost twice as much as the Echo.

So, if you really thought you were going to save money, you'd have your work cut out for you. Let's say gas costs $4 a gallon. It's over three now, so who knows where it'll stop. And, let's say you'll own your new car for 5 years (until the warranty runs out, right?). Even if you sell the Prius for $5k more than you sell the Echo, you've still got 5k to make up in 5 years just in gas.... $1000 a year.

Now we just have to figure out how many miles per year is the "break-even" point.... at $4 a gallon. Here's the equation, if you are still paying attention. X is the number of miles, 4 is the dollars per gallon, and the denominators are the respective mileages of the cars. Obviously, the Prius has to be $1000 less on the same mileage to "break even".

4*(X/46) + 1000 = 4*(X/38)

Solving for X we get 54,625 miles per year to break even. If you drive less than that, don't kid yourself and say it's to save money. There are other good reasons. You're using the least amount of gasoline possible, saving the planet, it is a nice car, you like the bar graphs and gold stars, etc. (Also, there's no way in hell you'd be able to recoup much of your initial investment when you sell a 5 year-old car with 270,000 miles. That makes the break-even point higher still. And this is all at gasoline that costs $4/gallon). Furthermore, the batteries would likely need to be replaced (maybe multiple times?), and I don't know how much that costs. Probably not cheap.

By the same math, you break even at 13,690 miles per year if the Echo got only 25 miles to the gallon. that's still a little above average. It's hard to ballpark things like this when you factor in depreciation, but with these numbers, I hope the figures qualitatively show my point.

And for the eco-minded, how much do the batteries pollute in their manufacturing and disposal? Is that worth the extra 8 mpg's?

I feel like I should stress that it was a nice car. It was slow, but cool in a geeky/earth-friendly way. Our car also had a cassette deck. Weird. I didn't know they still did that.

A++++ WOULD BLOG AGAIN!!!!

2005-08-22T18:19:00.000-05:00

I was sitting here thinking that I need to do just a little more than my pathetic mandatory Tuesday post. And then I was thinking that it actually was a little cool outside today. It felt like summer was on its way out. My walk to work was pleasant, if a little brisk, and the humidity that has lingered in the air since late June has taken a break.

As far as the blog goes, I realized that something I do quite often is describe people I know in detail. And almost always in a negative sense (though I'd argue that being negative is more entertaining). So far, we've got the people I live with, SD, my girlfriend, my crazy co-worker, and a few other minor characters. I want to introduce two new characters to you, and I think they might be your favorite yet.

But first, I want to point out some things that I think are really fun:

1. Talking the way people talk when they leave feedback on eBay. (see post title). I know the joke is old and it was only funny to do that for about a week, a couple years ago. Still, you couldn't imagine how delighted I'd be if comments were occasionally left in that style.

2. I might be repeating this from before, but it's worth taking that risk. I used to have a little joke with my friends when we'd go out. We'd befriend some girl at the party or bar and then say "Hey, go ask that guy how many push-ups his uncle can do!" and send her over to one of our friends. Being a good sport, the poor girl would ask, only to have the guy flip out and say "MY UNCLE DOESN'T HAVE ANY ARMS! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!?" I think that's some good clean fun right there.

3. When someone asks me what I'm reading or what I've read lately, I always have an answer ready. I stare back at the person with an offended expression on my face, and while sneering at them I say the following in a snotty (yet almost on the verge of tears) voice:

Oh, I'm reading an *amazing* book. It's got everything--murder, betrayal, and the greatest love story of all time. It's called the bible. Maybe you should check it out sometime.

Printed form really doesn't do it justice. Say it out loud, in just the way I said. Then picture every whiney, holier-than-thou, wannabe-martyr christian that you've ever met who likes to rub their spirituality in your face. That is why it is so god damned funny.

The New Characters

I'm slowly realizing that I have very few "normal" friends. My opinion on whether that is a good or bad thing fluctuates.

Rene's best friend from childhood got married last summer. Their one year anniversary was a couple weeks ago.

The Radiant Bride
She is a tall (six foot), energetic girl who is a year younger than Rene and I. She went to a small school in the northern part of Michigan, and since college has been a textbook definition of a big fish in a small pond. She was heavily involved in music, and the marching band, and head of some youth group for a church, and worked in the speech and language lab on campus. She thought very highly of everything she did, and dominates the conversation accordingly.

A conversation from a year ago:

Radiant: So, I was working in the speech lab, and this kid wouldn't do what I told him to! I was getting so frustrated and he started getting upset! It was so crazy! Could you imagine working with a child who was refusing to do what he was told and started crying?
House: Actually, I can. I've worked with some of the most violent disabled children in the state, outside of institutions. I know it can be very trying.
Radiant: But this kid was crying and yelling It was awful!
House: ...

She then went on to say how she wants to open a stuttering clinic, because so very little is known about stuttering. I wonder if that's what she put on her grad school applications, because she didn't get in.

In all, she's a take-charge kinda gal who thinks she's the greatest and has a list ready to tell you why she is, in fact, the greatest. She's very goal-driven, and I think that's why she picked out her husband.

The Pie-Faced Groom
Radiant could never marry anyone with whom she would have to share the pants, so she chose Pieface. He is a meek, chubby guy with no direction in life. A lot of times when people say "they have no direction in life" they mean that the person is sort of a deadbeat, or is doing something wrong. This guy just likes to play X-box and make fun of the Packers on his blog. (Lions fo' life). Whenever those two get together with Rene and I, he rarely speaks--and certainly not to me. I don't think I'm an intimidating guy, but he gets a lot braver when he's just around Radiant and Rene.

He spends a lot of time doing those "Free iPod" deals online, and actually got quite a few of them to work. I can't tell you how much I hated those things. They were wrong on multiple levels. He's just very lame. His idea of a good time is going out to eat at Applebee's and then going to Wal-Mart. Honestly, that's what he likes. He's very generic.

There are plenty of odd little stories, but I'm trying to keep this short.

Since he's such a push-over, it allowed Radiant to check off one more thing on life's "To Do" list: get married. He'll do whatever she wants, which works just fine for her. Before Rene met Pieface for the first time, Radiant told her that Pieface "wasn't much to look at, and he's very shy, but he's nice." Must be god's will, I guess. Oh, speaking of god's will, Pieface wasn't religious at all until Radiant came along. Radiant is extremely religious (in that non-denominational fanatic Christian way), so he had to "convert" to be with her.

Courtship and Ceremony

He proposed by giving her a bible with Radiant's first name and Pieface's (completely hilarious) last name embossed on the cover. He didn't say anything or ask her the question. He's far too shy. She accepted, since that was next on her list after "college".

Rene got screwed into being the maid of honor. For the bridal shower, on the invitations they wrote "We know a lot of you are still in school and don't have a lot of money, but please remember that this is a very special time for Radiant, so dig down extra hard and make this a special time for her!" Pieface would also gloat on his blog about how much money he hoped the wedding (including the dreaded "money" dance) would fetch.

They are obviously thrilled with what they have, even though it appears they aren't doing particularly well in any area (except maybe the catch-all "In Good with Jesus"). Yet they feel the need to kind of rub it in whenever they can. Radiant is always telling Rene she should get married (she's aware of Rene's problems) and tries to brag to Rene about Pieface's new entry-level job at a help-desk for some auto parts company. "Too bad Housecoat isn't into his career yet." she tells Rene. We can't understand why they think we should envy them.

Which Takes Us To the Present

Rene called Radiant to "chat" the other day. Pieface answered the phone and did a French accent pretending to be the maid. It would be the kind of accent you would expect from him (terrible). Once Radiant was on the phone, she asked Rene if she liked Pieface's charming antics.

"Yeah, that was pretty funny of Pieface," Rene humored her friend.

"Um, Rene? He's not Pieface anymore... he's my husband, okay? Remember that little thing last summer? Um, yeah, that was our wedding. So, now he's my husband, so we should call him my husband, because that's what he is now, ok?"

So there goes the newest happy couple, thrilled with their mediocrity. I don't know how they do it; I'm not thrilled with mine.

I hate the suburbs.

2005-08-11T16:30:00.000-05:00

So, you really couldn't tell it was a flower in my picture? Did you click on it to see it in all its glory? I suppose I have some work to do. :)

Things have been busy, friends.

Ravinia 1

The weekend got off to a rough start. Rene scratched her eye with one of her new contact lenses, and couldn't wear contacts for two days. Being unfit to drive without correction (and fresh out of monocles), Rene didn't get to Madison until about an hour before we needed to leave.

I had packed a picnic (the least I could do since our tickets were free). We had fancy sandwiches, a bottle of wine I'd been saving for an "occasion", crackers, desert, etc. I really went all out, and the people seemed to enjoy it. Aside from one odd moment (which I may cite one day), everyone had a lot of fun.

I even took off of work on Monday, so Rene could enjoy the afternoon with me. I wanted the trip to be worth her while. She's a handful, and I was mentally drained by the time she left (she was only here for roughly 24 hours!).

Work, Smirk

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday have been daily trips back to Milwaukee to do Quality Assurance. It's a lot of driving, but things aren't so bad when you have good company.

Our study sets our accuracy goal at 100% in one area. We strive to do things perfectly. I had missed one item overall, so my overall reliabilty was like 99.5%--I was pretty proud of that, especially since I worked about twice as fast as the Czech lady (we were checking old work, before Meg--new coworker--started).

The Czech lady's performance was appalling. I don't even know how my boss will react when she sees how lazy and terrible it all was. Even if she only missed half of the items that she did, she would still be required to re-do our entire 1-month training from when we started. The idea is that re-training will get your work reliable with others'.

There's really no excuse, and I'm excited/nervous to see how my boss reacts. She doesn't want Czech lady to return, and now she can tell Czech lady she has to redo the entire training if she wants to return to work.

Ravinia 2

I went to the Rufus Wainwright/ Ben Folds concert last night. So, I went to Ravinia Sunday, Milwaukee Tuesday and Wednesday, Ravinia Wednesday night and Milwaukee Thursday. That's 21 hours in the car in travel time.

The Ravinia was packed. The CSO doesn't get crowds like this. I'd also like to say I'm now a fan of Rufus. He was fantastic.

Mr. Folds gave what you would expect. He's a great musician and managed to interact with the crowd on some songs. But, he isn't my favorite. You know that song he wrote, Rockin' the Suburbs? (It's a song that I *thought* kinda poked fun at suburban kids "Y'all don't know what it's like/ Bein' male, middle class and white.") He didn't perform it at the concert, but I now believe it should be interpreted without a hint of irony.

We were in Suburbia. And the whole park was crawling with those types of people. They thought it was *so hilarious* that Folds covered "Bitches Ain't Shit". I thought it was a dumb gimmick. I'm all for funny, but it was funny in a wow-look-at-how-wacky-this-all-must-be kind of way.

Rufus Wainwright took a jab at the audience by remarking how "well dressed everyone was" and how it "matched the venue so well". I liked him. One of the people in our group wondered aloud if he would look out of place for peeing on the lawn. I told him that most of the people here would probably look at him funny since they were used to pissing on poor people.

Folds didn't even do an encore. I don't see what the draw is for him. He's talented, can write a great pop song, and can try to be somehow ironic/hilarious by picking rap covers, but I don't think his songs and lyrics are very affecting. Most people would have disagreed with me last night.

Also, we had "lawn seats", and chose to stand at the back of the seated area instead of sitting down. I could see the stage just fine. I think it would be weird to have to just listen and not watch if it was someone you really liked.

Car?

I'll need my Jeep for moving day for my sister and (maybe) a friend, but after that it's going up for sale.

I'm evaluating my options for a new car, and I think whatever I end up with will be a nice return to form for myself.

Rene's in charge of sniffing out deals, so you never know what will happen.

Some 'splainin'

2005-07-15T11:40:00.000-05:00

I'm really sorry I've kept you all on pins and needles.

Last Tuesday (last week), I went to the Memorial Union with a few people to have some sun and drinks by the lake. One of our friends, brought his friend/co-worker along.

This guy was the most pompous, full of shit, douchebag you could meet. He was still a student, majorin in Psychology, Sociology and one other thing (read: nothing useful). As he got drunker, he still tried to sound like some kind of stereotypical academic-type, but he just doesn't have the knowledge or maturity to back it up. He was a like a little kid who puts on his father's suit, and runs around trying to act like business man.

He stopped making any sense, and would start arguing with us, but then agreeing with us. I'm not going to relive the entire night (sorry). We would be talking about how much we love Madison and how it is really a great city to live in, whether you are in college or like to pretend you are still in college. He would interrupt us and say "I'm sorry guys, I don't want to offend you, or step on your toes, but let me say this: Madison is the shit. I love it here."

My friend and I would look at each other and I would give him the look saying "Why did you bring this dumbass along? A few more stupid comments and I'm leaving." And his look would say "I'm sorry, this guy's clearly an idiot. I'm not crazy like him, I swear!"

My roommate left before things got really weird. I think he had his fill when this guy was talking about how awesome it was to hook up with this girl he used to date over the weekend, and how my roommate and I were suckers for having girlfriends. He even took it a step further and tried to make us feel bad.

"I just hooked up with this girl on Friday. When was the last time either of you guys had sex?"

"Yesterday" I said. (Rene was here for Monday, the 4th.)

"Yesterday in the car on the way back from Chicago." my roommate said.

"Oh."

"That's what girlfriend are for, you dipshit," I drove the nail in a little deeper. Later, in this guys drunken stupor, he loudly confided in my friend that when he "hooked up" with his ex Friday night, they "didn't go all the way" because she started crying about something. I feel bad that there is a girl out there who is somehow emotionally attached to his guy. Any adult who uses the term "go all the way" has problems.

After the sun started to set, we went to a bar (a crappy bar that I would never choose). It did have an outdoor patio so we sat outside having drinks, and this guy would try to pick arguments and he was trying to be arrogant but it just wasn't working. Then, he entered the "I love everybody" stage of drunkenness. Out of the blue, he kissed me on the cheek. But he did it in a "Hey guys, aren't we all having a great time? Wow, look I'm so funny, I just kissed another guy!" sort of way. A few minutes later it started raining, so we headed for the door. The guy threw his arms around our shoulders and did another "Wow, what a great time! MWAH! MWAH!" and kissed both of us on the cheek. I told him that was enough kissing for the night, and that I wasn't going to tolerate it if it happened a third time.

Five minutes lateer, part of his drunken haze cleared and he was like "Oh, you know, you guys aren't like homophobes, right? LIke, we don't have to tiptoe around anyone, because, I did that because I'm not gay. Like, if I was gay, that wouldn't be okay, but because I did it I'm not gay."

Or something like that. As soon as it stopped pouring, I exited the bar to State Street and began my 15 minute walk home. The nice thing is that my friend invited me to go see Ben Folds at the Ravinia in August (lawn seats, though). I'm already seeing the Chicago Symphony there earlier in the week, so I guess it was worth going out with them. Does that make me a whore?

Grammar Police!

2005-07-10T16:53:00.000-05:00

On Writing Well is much more enjoyable than I predicted. I quoted something he wrote a couple weeks ago, but there are treasures on every page. It's funny to read a book written by someone who is an authority on writing and usage--his opinions on these subjects are as strong as most people's political views. And he gets so sassy when he criticizes something he doesn't like.

For example:

(Discussing the period): The quickest way out is to break the long sentence into two short sentences, or even three. There is no minimum length for a sentence that's acceptable in the eyes of God. Among good writers it is the short sentence that predominates, and don't tell me about Norman Mailer--he's a genius. If you want to write long sentences, be a genius.

(On Overstatement, emphasis mine): "I felt as if ten 747 jets were flying through my brain," he writes, "and I seriously considered jumping out the window and killing myself." These verbal high jinks can get just so high--and this writer is already well over the limit--before the reader feels an overpowering drosiness. It's like being trapped with a man who can't stop reciting limericks. Don't overstate.

(Adverbs): And while we're at it, let's retire "decidedly" and all it's slippery cousins. Every day I see in the paper that some situations are decidedly better and others are decidedly worse, but I never know how eminent a result is that's eminently fair, or whether to believe a fact that's arguably true. "He's arguably the best pitcher on the Mets," the preening sportswriter writes, aspiring to Parnassus, which Red Smith reached by never using words like "arguably."

I can't wait to hear how he ended the book. It has to be something great.

Diversifying My Portfolio

2005-06-26T21:11:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd tell another story. This one is a bit longer, and not nearly as funny.

This took place the summer after my second year of college. It was the first summer I was staying away from home, and to augment the hours I spent working with the autistic kid, I was hired by another program. The goal of this group was community integration for "kids" with disabilities ages 13-21.

My training went fine, just fine. It was a humid late-May afternoon, and I had to pick up my guy from his High School. As I was driving over to get him, I thought about how this job was different from the other one with the autistic kid. With the autistic kid, it was behavioral modification to an extreme. It was the only thing that worked with him. We had to be stoic under extreme situations, and always ready to spring into action in case someone was going to get hurt.

This new job was a little different. I was supposed to be this guy's friend, show him a good time about town and keep him safe. I felt like I could do it; if the kid was any more extreme than the autistic kid I worked with, he'd be in an institution (that's the truth).

I was given a description of what "Bill" looked like, and I could count on him being escorted out of the school with his caretaker, Don. I had an easy time picking them out from the crowd. I walked over to greet them and found out that due to some construction, the staff had to park a few blocks away. The three of us got in the car.

Bill can't talk, and is dependent for just about every self-care skill. It is hard to say how much he understands, or how much he cares. The best thing to do in these situations is to assume that they can understand just about everything (until you know them better)--that's just being a decent person. Don, obviously, did the explaining when I asked them how their day was.

"Bad," Don said. "Bill didn't do his job today, and kept signing that he had to go to the bathroom, even when he didn't." Bill's vocation at the school was collecting the recycle bins out of classrooms, similar to most disabled kid's "vocations" in high school. Don was a middle aged man who seemed like he would be doing something more glamorous than working as an aide (not to disrespect special ed. aides, but they pay terrible and require little skill to become one). He went on at length about how terrible the day was and called Bill "naughty" or something that I didn't like.

We couldn't drop Don off soon enough.

"Seeya, Don," I said.

"Seeya," he replied. "Goodbye, Jerk," he said to Bill on his way out of the car.

The fuck is his problem? I wondered. That was really rude. But I couldn't dwell on it; my time with this kid was now starting, and I had two or so hours before he needed to be back.

I decided that since Bill (apparently) had such a bad day inside, we should go outside to have a good day. And on a balmy spring day in Madison, what could be better than Picnic Point?

Picnic Point (seriously, click the link it matters for the story. Depending on your browser, you might have to zoom in.), aside from being recognized as one of the most romantic places in the country to propose to a girl, is a great place to go for a walk. It is a narrow peninsula on the UW grounds that extends into polluted Lake Mendota for quite a distance. The little "O" shape across from the peninsula is where I parked that day. You can walk all the way to the end of it.

Bill didn't think that was so hot. He was screaming, shrieking, trying to walk in the opposite direction of Picnic Point. Disabled kids try to pull the exact same stuff as regular kids. He wasn't going to pull one over on the new guy.

Also, he wasn't very big.

I was able to guide him toward Picnic Point pretty easily, despite is screams and protests. Compared to the other kid, this one was a pushover. However, after a few yards on the trail, his mood completely reversed. He loved it. He was laughing, making a sort of "touchdown" gesture with his arms. My naive, new-job optimism kicked in.

You're the greatest, Housecoat; this kid was having a bad day, and you took him out here--screaming and all--and now he's having a good day. Yeah, this is what it's all about, making a difference.

We were really moving now. He was laughing, walking all the way down the trail. Before long, we were at the very tip of Picnic Point, but Bill wasn't done--he wanted to climb down the little rocky slope to touch the water. After a few minutes, I suggested we should get going. But now, he didn't want to leave! I'm still thinking I'm pretty great; I am, aren't I? The answer lies in the happy face of this little guy hanging out with me.

Reluctantly, he began to climb up the rocky hill to the main trail. He wasn't a steady walker, so each step was very deliberate and shaky. One, then another, and then he froze between two steps. And he made a soft, low grunting sound.

"Come on, we gotta move, your mom's gonna be waiting for you," I encouraged him. He didn't budge for another minute. Then it hit me--the smell hit me. This 18 year old guy shit his pants. "Is there any way you could take that back?" I asked, expecting the answer to be a flat "No."

Okay, go back to the map now. Do you see how I'm now at least a half mile away from the car (where his... supplies were)? Do you see any fucking bathrooms on the map? Do I look like someone who would change a grown man's diaper?

What am I going to do? I was fucked. Silently, I thought about how much I regretted agreeing to work for these people. We had to walk back, but now Bill didn't want to walk.

He wanted to run! I suppose this is as good a time as any to point out that under his everyday clothes, he wore a wrestling singlet because he delighted in digging in his own poop. The singlet was to delay him enough to stop him from spelunking before he could be changed.

On this humid afternoon, we went the entire length of Picnic Point (a popular place in the nice months) with him doing an odd hopping/lunging trot and trying to get his hands on the stinky treasure contained within his singlet. I ran alongside him, tried to steer him down the correct path, and was only partially successful in keeping his hands above the equator. Hey, guess what? He was still having his great afternoon. Good fucking job, Housecoat. You made his day; the Poop&Lunge combo, his favorite.

I was sweating, but it wasn't the cold sweat I would experience if I was thinking about the truly Hot Mess in his nether regions. It was humid, and we were running. This left no doubt in my mind that the combination of heat and vigorous displacement could have only transformed his payload into pudding, or something equally viscous. Or Nutella.

We got back to the car, and Bill was having a ball. This was like Christmas for him. I looked at my watch, and it was 15 minutes before he needed to be dropped off.

I wasn't going to change him. No. No way. Not gonna happen. Dropping the kids off late was kind of a cardinal rule, and this was my first real day, and no one showed me how to change another man, and I don't even know if gloves were in the bag. I was driving straight to his mom's. We were going to be late already. My stomach was turning thinking about how easy it was for chocolate candy to melt on a day like today. And people don't carry that stuff around in their ass while they run. I could only imagine what the "scene" was like.

It started raining on the way to drop him off. This was when I had my 1981 Mercedes 280E (not a nice car, though I did love it), with the windows down in the rain. The smell was awful. There was nothing else I could do, it was an old car, and it the air conditioning definitely did not work. I turned the radio up really loud to try to overload my senses, thinking my hearing would counteract my sense of smell. I don't know, I was crazy at the time with worry wondering how I would explain this to his mom.

We pulled into work, and a familiar face was waiting for us. Don. He must work with Bill at home, too. Suddenly, I felt worlds better. This is for calling him a jerk.

"I think he soiled himself on the ride over," I said.

"Smells like it," Don said as he scrunched up his nose. He had no idea...

That was the last time I worked with Bill. I saw him around at the group days after that, but I wasn't ever responsible for him again. I called the organization after work, and I told them I couldn't handle poop. If the kid wants to yell and scream and hit and bite, that would be fine. But they have to be able to use the bathroom. Surprisingly, they were happy to hear that. The people there would much rather change his diaper while he tried to stick his fingers in his own crap, than be hit or bit. Everybody won, I guess.

--

By the way, I've decided that this blog will be only to entertain from now on. A second blog will contain my day-to-day whining. I didn't like the idea of having both "types" of posts in the same place. Now, you can choose, and nothing from that other blog will ever be referenced here (so you don't have to read both to "get" what's going on). I'm hoping it will be a little more private than this place, so, you know, keep it under your hats. ;)

Prohibition of Inhibition

2005-06-24T16:48:00.000-05:00

I'm in a rare mood. I've spent the last five minutes deciding on a post title, only to realize that each of my choices would have been a magnet for perverts from all corners of the globe (I think my previous post mentioning ipple-nays gets almost as much traffic as my three blog-amigos).

How does a handful of uncomfortable childhood memories sound?

We moved into the "New" house after I finished first grade. It was a bit further out of town so there were no sidewalks or curbs, but instead it had gravel "shoulders". On several occasions my mother made me go out in front of the house and sweep the little stones back onto the shoulder. My mom would make some comment about how the mailman didn't need to drive on the shoulder the entire time. This behavior experienced extinction after extreme protesting from me. Mom now denies this.

-

Then there was the time my sister and I told my youngest sister that my mom would find it funny if she pooped in the living room. We lied to her, though--it wasn't mom who found it funny, it was us. Mom's job was cleaning up the poop, not laughing about it.

-

Speaking of my littlest sister, I remember her coming home from school one day and my mom creating a commotion and treating her backpack as if a bomb were inside. It turns out my sister shared a seat on the bus with a sick girl. The jerky stopping and starting of the bus eventually caused this girl to throw up on herself. Not wanting to get "in trouble" and bring attention to the scene, the two of them tried to pick up the vomit with tissues. Unable to think of a better place to put the tissues, my sister put the vomit-soaked tissues in her Lisa Frank folder.

My sister has always had a weak stomach, and she threw up during the clean-up task. She got out more tissues and the two of them cleaned up the vomit and put the used tissues into the other pocket of the Lisa Frank folder. After the puke-fest, she put the Lisa Frank folder in her backpack and nonchalantly got off the bus and walked up to the house.

-

Whenever one of my uncles would see us at birthday/Christmas parties, he would always pick a child up and in a play-fighting way, threaten to throw us in a snowbank. This happened to me at an age where I wish it would have stopped years before it finally did end.

-

I was raised Catholic, and the prevailing rationale for going to church was "Come on, you can't even give up one hour of your week for this?" I think this is why I still have the traditional Catholic-overwhelming-sense-of-guilt-about-everything. My mom always used to say "See? God is punishing you!" when I would bang my toes on something or slam a finger in a car door.

Anyway, I think my parents knew it was kind of a crock, because-get this: They actually let my sisters put on their own "church" production in the living room in lieu of attending mass.

This happened about half a dozen times, and my sisters switched between being the priest (!) and the music leader. Instead of communion, we had Skittles.

-

My mom would mute out the parts of Mrs. Doubtfire where they (briefly) talked about sex. My grandmother got us the tape, and the first few times we watched it as a family, my mom would simply turn the volume down and move the door of the entertainment center to block the tv from us, so only she could see and hear it.

The saddest part? I was probably almost 14 by the time it was out on video. "Just because a movie is rated PG-13, doesn't mean 13 year olds should watch it," Mom would say.

I never liked the movie enough to go back and watch the oft-muted scene, so I still have no idea what they were saying. Something sexy, probably.

-
I request that any replies contain either your own stories, or skillfully insult my lame childhood (in addition to what you were going to comment on).

Awkward Moment

2005-06-05T22:07:00.000-05:00

I went home this weekend for my sister's high school graduation. I stayed over at Rene's house Saturday night, and I felt a little bit weird because her grandparents (who are complete religious zealot wackos) were staying there. But, whatever. F them, I thought.

We went to sleep a little after midnight. Sometime after that the storms started. There were big gusts of wind, and thunder seemed to roar on for abnormally long periods of time. Several times it was so loud it woke me up. With all the windows in the house open (they are the slowest group to kick on the air for the summer), the storm was felt like it was right next to me.

Around 3:30 in the morning, I heard Rene's door open... and then slam completely shut. Hard. Rene's door doesn't close properly; it won't "click" into place and hold itself shut. (They have a fairly modern house, there's no reason why it isn't fixed. It has made things a little risky fooling around in there over the years.)

Then it happened again: the door swung open, and then slammed itself. The window in Rene's room and the window out in the hall were playing tug-of war with her door. Open... Slam! Open... Slam! Open... Slam!

Rene wasn't going to do anything about it. She was pretty much out cold for the night. I stumbled out of bed and went over to inspect the door. I pushed on it-really hard-to try to get it to "snap" into place, but no luck. Then I put my shoes in the path of the door, as a doorstop, but the mighty gusts of wind scoffed at them and flung them aside on it's latest attempt.

I felt like my choices were to keep the door from opening, or keep the door from shutting. And when you are sleeping with my girlfriend and her parent's are in the next room, I like the little extra privacy of having the door shut. I guess I'm fussy, huh? I spotted Rene's desk chair across the room. It is a plain, four-legged wooden chair. I brought it over to the continuously slamming door, and tried to position it so the door couldn't move at all from its "closed" state.

Well, the wind was angry that night. And it was really pushing hard against the door trying to best my efforts. Then, I realized it wasn't the wind anymore, but Rene's father trying to push the door open.

There I was at 3:30 in the morning, wearing only boxer shorts, trying to barricade the door with a chair while my girlfriend's father was trying to push it open. I try not to guess what must have been going through his mind.

It was so awkward. Even though Rene lives at home with her parents, there is usually some fun to be had sneaking around when I visit. This time I felt like I was "caught" and all I did was try to to shut the goddamn door.

"The wind keeps blowing it open." I said.

"No problem, I can take care of it." Rene's dad said, and he pulled the door shut. I thought that was the end of it, I mean it is his house, he would know the little nuances of the door, right? One minute later--open.... SLAM! I dragged the chair back in front of the door. When I shut the door for the last time, I saw the lights come on downstairs. Rene's grandparents were awake, and the grandfather sounded grumpy...

Community Outreach and Participation I: Sibling Rivalry; Story Revised?

2005-06-02T21:02:00.000-05:00

Introduction
The purpose of this new activity is to have people other than Our Hero contribute. We'll do this each Thursday until I decide it isn't working. Also, this is the longest post title I've ever made.

I thought it would be best to have options in the format, since I cannot control what happens. To prevent confusion, here is the "hierarchy" of what I put up for the week.

1. Someone Else Writes My Thursday Post
If someone wants to write something, I'll post it on Thursday. If one was compelled, they could write a degrading parody, pretending to be me. I'll post it unedited.

2. Q&A
You send me questions, I answer them on Thursday.

3. Outside Ninja Contribution
I post words belonging to other people, and probably make a witty comment here and there. This week, to get things started, I chose to do number 3. (Which is different than doing number 2. Tuh-huh!)

----
Post
Remember the story about hiding the beand in my sister's cup? I thought it would be interesting to compare my version of the story to my sister's. As it turns out, my youngest sister (a senior in high school) had to write an anecdote for class. My other sister wrote it for her (she likes to do our sister's homework for her. I think it makes her feel smart).

Anyway, the anecdote she chose was the beans-in-the-cup story, but made it about me and our sister instead of herself. I asked her to send me a copy of it. So, if you are interested, read the first one that I wrote nearly two months ago, and then read what my sister had to say:

Not many people are able to say, "I've eaten green beans soaked in
apple juice."  But I know.  I shouldn't know, but I do.  It all
started at dinner in 1996.  My brother, who despises all things
located in the produce department, always came up with clever ways of
"eating" his veggies for dinner.  Whether they were smuggled to the
bathroom and flushed away or carefully concealed in a napkin and taken
out with the trash, he always seemed to "eat" them.  This night he was
trying something new.  It was called "Sneak my green beans into my
cup without me noticing after I've eaten mine."  And that's exactly
what he did.  I went to take a drink of my glass of apple juice when I
noticed the absurd surprise at the bottom.  "THERE'S BEANS IN MY
GLASS!"  Everyone looked around dumbfounded.  I said again, "HOUSECOAT PUT
BEANS IN MY GLASS!"  He denied it.  My parents asked which one did it.
"HOUSECOAT!" I said.  "SISTER!" he said.  They made us stand at opposite
sides of the entrance to the kitchen until someone confessed.  No one
ever did and I was forced to eat the apple juice soaked beans.  My
cup. Apparently, my beans.  Years later my brother admitted he did it
(although that's what I always knew) and years after that he retracted
it when the situation was brought up in front of our parents.  He
still denies it and my parents deny making me eat the beans.  But one
just doesn't forget how green beans soaked in apple juice taste.

Compare and Contrast

I said I was 9, and my sister said 1996. I think this disagreement is mostly due to the fact that she was writing it about our younger sister. I may have been older than 9 when it happened, but I was certainly not 16.
I said that my parents found the beans, and my sister claims that discovery in her name. I would think that if she found them and told my parents, they wouldn't suspect her as the culprit. Why would someone say "MOM DAD THERE'S BEANS IN MY CUP" and then have the parents say "Did you put those there? And then tell on yourself? I bet that was it!!" I like to think everyone in my family is smarter than that.
We both remembered standing in the kitchen, and that she was drinking apple juice. Only my sister correctly identified them as green beans.
My sister left out the funniest part, which was her freaking out when I "came clean" years later. Imagine my sister's excitement when she thought I would be brought to justice.
It was a couple years later when I came forward. In my version of the story, my parents didn't remember. My sister agrees with that, but claims that they eventually did remember and then I retracted my confession. I don't know if I took it back, unless my parents were like "Is this true?" and I would've said "No way!" just to rile my sister.
My parents do frequently say "Oh, we never made you do that." And that might be an entire post in itself.

That's it! Hope you guys enjoyed. I'm open to suggestions; let me know.

Idiot Contest

2005-04-18T21:45:00.000-05:00

The Challenger: Housecoat
Of Note: Sweet Tooth, Smart Mouth
Special Power: Aloofness
Credentials: I thought the guy in the car fleet was talking on his headset phone, but he was talking to me, so I just stared blankly at him for around a minute while he asked me questions.

Then I got lost in Janesville and drove around for about 30 minutes until I found out where I was.

Once there, and up to my eyeballs in medical records, I realized my shirt was kind of riding up. All that shuffling and moving around files made me need to adjust it. So, I try to find a place on the shirt to pull down on, but it is a pocketless short-sleeved dress shirt (and tucked in). I ended up trying to straighten it out by pulling on the front of the shirt. After I spent a few seconds mending my disheveled appearance, I realized that it probably looked like I was tugging on my nipples while I was doing this. One older lady who worked in their medical records was dropping off something at the desk where I worked, and she kind of glared disapprovingly at me while dropping the envelope in the "In" box. Her facial expression made it all too clear that she was thinking "This guy has a hard morning of reading through the medical files, and then figures to chill for a bit by giving his nipples a good yank." I wanted to say "I wasn't pulling on my nipples, you know...I was pinching them." but then thought better of it.

This weekend, I played capture the flag with a bunch of children under age 11, and my team lost every time. I maintain that the other team always cheated by having their flag attached to the top of the swing set with a series of tight knots.

Yesterday I took my sister shopping and bought a pair of shoes that are far more expensive than they needed to be. My sister pointed out that plenty of people buy shoes in the $100 and up range, but I feel like I'm not at the stage in my life when I should be setting that precedent.

Rene usually has a pretty bad days on the days when we have to part ways. She says she always does better when I'm around, and by her logic, if she was always around me she'd always be doing well. I tried to tell her that it didn't work that way because she would eventually have a hard time when I'm around, and I wouldn't be able to maintain the level of energy required to keep her in good spirits. She became offended and upset at that, but I'm pretty sure that's true (at least at this point in time). I just have no idea how to say it in a more pleasant manner.

Yesterday I told a porch full of people that I used to work with a "retarded kid I nicknamed FoodBag", upon seeing one of those giant containers of cheese puffs that he used to with him (You know, those huge clear plastic jars). The part of the story that makes me such a gem at social functions was how he got a job a few years later working at the grocery store-- putting food in bags. The irony (yes, irony; he went from being a food bag to being a food bagg-er) is so sweet I think I have cancer.

I think these are the big things, other than showing my mom how to use eBay (and now getting stupid questions 24/7), and being told by my dad and uncle that the waiter sure seemed to be pretty attentive to me when our family went out for lunch.

The Reigning Champ: SD
Of Note: Previously Mentioned, Liked Housecoat for the longest time (and went to embarrassing lengths to get the point across)
Special Power: Can Morph Into A Doormat When Faced With the Prospect of Being Alone
Credentials: So, she was dating this guy, who started out as simply a male roommate. He was like "Oh, I didn't remember the conversation when I said we were boyfriend/girlfriend; I must have been asleep." about three times. He slept with a woman from his office, and had her pick SD up at the airport when she visited Minnesota before they broke up.

Annnnd, now she's going to see him this weekend, "to see if they have a chance". He promised he was going to buy her a plane ticket, and then told her to buy it, and finally agreed to split it. This invite came after she revealed that she lost 15 pounds by going to the gym every day.

SD assumes he won't change overnight, so she is prepared for things to be crappy for a while. But, she'll probably go out there, sleep with the guy, and then be heartbroken all over again. She's completely afraid of being alone (because she very rarely has suitors), and would accept the first marriage proposal offered to her.

As a guy, I can see this train wreck coming from right here. I realize all you guys are not really "guys" at all, so maybe you see things differently.

Cast your votes!

Story: Disposing of Unwanted Food as a Child

2005-04-07T14:17:00.000-05:00

Bent's comment from last night inspired this post because I used to do that. My parents also made me stay at the table, and hiding food in my napkin wasn't cutting it.

So, I would put whatever disgusting veggies we were having in one of my socks. Then, after eating, I would excuse myself to the restroom and flush the evidence. It seemed like the perfect crime, until some cauliflower resisted the flush and lingered around to be discovered later. My parents didn't accept that "maybe I just can't digest cauliflower". I was no longer allowed to use the bathroom before or immediately after dinner. My parents would also watch me like a hawk and reaching down to my feet would become noticed.

My parents were unrelenting with their choice of disgusting veggies and still wanted me to choke them down. One day when we were served some gruesome variety of beans, I mine into my sister's cup when no one was looking.

"Well, I guess I ate them all and I'll be going." I said. My parents had to inspect my plate, my napkin, and (of course) my socks. They had to let me go, they had nothin' on me.

Unfortunately, several minutes later the beans in my sister's cup were discovered by my mother. My sister received the most suspicion initially, but after her denial and my track record, the focus turned to me. I was probably 9 and my sister was 6.

We had to stand at opposite ends of the kitchen, and wouldn't be allowed to leave until one of us admitted to this treachery. My sister wasn't going to admit it because she didn't do it. And I sure as hell wasn't going to admit it at this point. We stood there for what seemed like hours, but in reality it was probably only 45 minutes. Finally, my parents made an executive decision and concluded that this was my sister's doing.

They made her eat the beans. She didn't like them either, but she did manage to choke down the ones allotted to her. And now she had to eat mine, too. Not only were they a gross food, they were sitting in a cup for roughly an hour. This did not please her.

Three or four years later, at the dinner table I announced "Hey, I was the one who put those beans in Sister's cup."

My sister was freaking out. Yelling, waving her arms, "Oh. My. God. You're in so much trouble now!" You know, exactly what a sibling would do when they know you're going to get in trouble.

The only problem was, my parents were like "What beans? What? In a cup? We don't remember." My sister's flailing and screaming increased exponentially after that.

"PUNISH HIM!!!" she screamed, "HOW CAN YOU NOT REMEMBER?!? YOU MADE ME EAT THEM!!! THEY TASTED LIKE APPLE JUICE!!!" But my parents had no idea what she was talking about.

I told my sister that was exactly why I waited to come forward.

You would have done the same thing. So tell me about it.

Falling For The Hype

2005-02-27T22:52:00.000-06:00

I consider myself to be a pretty smart cookie. I pride myself on the fact that I don't fall for things that fool the "Average Joe." But, looking back on it, these are some inconsistencies I have with my idealized version of myself.

The 'New' Clearly Canadian Bottles
The Scenario
In 1999, the first year I was in college, a new-looking bevarge appeared in the cafeteria. The Clearly Canadian drink that I had never expressed any interest in became extremely appealing.
The Hype
The bottles seemed pretty to us. They were now the 'color of the flavor' of the drink and the rest white--from head to toe. They were completely opaque. The bottles are similar to what they show now, but the colored part used to be a solid color. They mention their "award-winning packaging" right at the top of their homepage.
Result
My friends and I spent about a week having a Clearly Canadian at lunch until we realized that it was just some crap diet soft drink. I hope the cancer I get from the artificial sweeteners is half as stylish as those bottles.

OralB Brush-Ups
Scenario
I was at the grocery store with my sister, and these things were in the checkout lane. We both agreed they were stupid, but I couldn't let that stop me.
Hype
They were like little miniature finger-gloves that you slipped over your finger, and were supposed to brush your teeth with them. To me this seemed like a horrible idea, but then I was thinking... what if I was at work and I wanted to get all the lunch out of my mouth so I could speak to people? Surely, this would be handy. The packages they come in are fairly compact, and lots of guys carry around something else about that size in their wallets...
Result
Imagine brushing your teeth with a glove made out of a mint-flavored paper towel. The package calls them "textured teeth wipes", which I think is funny, until I remember that I bought them. I've only used them to gross out my girlfriend when I tell her I need to "freshen up so we can make out." She doesn't find that funny, but it is.

Candy Raisins
Scenario
I found myself in the candy isle of the grocery store with my sister, slaves to our sweet tooths. Tucked away in the corner, I saw the bag of Candy Raisins for 89 cents.
Hype
There was so little hype, I thought that they had to be awesome. I mean, if they were terrible, they'd have to advertise so people would buy them. They came in a clear bag, marked "Candy Raisins". "They didn't fuck around with the hype; they don't need it." I told my sister. She told me to stay away, but I purchased them announcing that it was because they were somehow above the hype and they were going to rock my face.
Result
Calling them "Candy Raisins" is kind of a misnomer. I would have called them "Dead Skin and Earwax Candy" because that seems more truthful. I can't believe I psyched myself out on this one. Reverse psychology is a bitch. After spitting the first one out back into the bag from which it came, I threw the bag away.

Dating a girl who is a black belt in karate, vegan, and in Straight Edge
Scenario
This will be it's own story, but let's just say it certainly did not live up to the hype.
Hype
psh
Result
LOL

The Razorless Shave
Scenario
A girl like Rene would prefer if I shaved my face every 30 seconds. It isn't even like I'm some hairy lumberjack type guy. I get my five o'clock shadow around lunchtime the following day. Come to think of it, I'm kind of surprised other girls tolerated it. Because if I didn't shave, I would be all prickly and scrape their faces when we kissed. I guess it was nice of them to bear that cross for me.
Hype
A couple of years ago, Rene said "Hey, if you use this razorless shave cream, you won't have to shave for a couple of weeks." It also came with other promises, like the notion that it wouldn't hurt, and I would magically become more attractive. Her razorless paean had worn down my defenses and supplanted my better judgement. "Well, why not?" I said.
Result
Rene was so excited to get me to do this, she went out and bought the stuff herself. She did her research on the internet, and told me she read that it is best to get the stuff specifically formulated for black folks, as it has more things in it to soothe the skin. She returned from Walmart (of all places) with a tube of razorless shave cream, formulated for black people, proudly offering 25% more cocoa butter for sensitive skin. I thought it seemed a little generic, but I didn't know who the name-brand razorless shave cream people were. I was just a little alarmed that it only cost three dollars for a big ol' tube of goo from Walmart.

I read the instructions and put it on on my face. I didn't even have to wait the full amount of time before I realized it was doing something--it was burning my face. I tried scraping and washing it all off, not caring about the patchy job it was doing at removing my scruff. I looked at myself in the mirror when it was all washed off. Half of my facial hair was removed in a seemingly random pattern. My face was also red, presumably to remind me of the intense burning sensation I was feeling. I called Rene and screamed into the phone "MY FACE IS BURNING OFF" and she asked me to come over to her dorm (she went to school in Madison for a short time). She wanted me to go over there like this? No way.

But, my face was in searing agony and I thought it was going to start cracking and bleeding. She had some stuff to put on it. I drove over there, had to walk up to her room (sprinting past many people seeing me with my beet-red face and asking me if everything was ok), and Rene put some Eucerin cream on it which melted like butter in a frying pan. It helped the burning, and the redness went away the next day. I never did it again.

If anyone has any stories of their own misfortunes with 'Falling for the Hype', I'd love to hear them.

Story: Playing the DD Card

2005-02-25T00:05:00.000-06:00

When I was in college I would work about a half dozen summer jobs simultaneously. One of them was a social/community outreach program for 13-21-year-old people with developmental disabilities. The autistic kid I've mentioned before was also in that program, so I frequently got to hang out with him at that program, too. Every Friday was a group day; we would usually do something a little bit more exciting and leave the Madison Area.

The Milwaukee Zoo was one of our yearly Friday destinations. It's not a huge zoo; even places like the Brookfield Zoo dwarf it. But it seemed like they weren't really missing any animals, and it was big enough to have one of those miniature trains to ride around the zoo.

"Make sure you take A on the train, he loves it." A's dad told us.

My friend Comella and I had A for the day, and my buddy Shawn had to keep track of a couple other kids. Towards the end of the day, we decided that the six of us would go on the train--since A loved it so much.

It was set up very similar to an amusement park; you got the guy taking tickets, someone "driving" the tiny train, and a guy with a microphone who mumbles the rules unemphatically and in one breath. We were in line, and getting near the front, and wondering if we would make it on this train, or the next one (there are two, and they are spaced evenly apart).

"Go ahead," the person counting guy told us.

My four semesters of calculus paid off in spades here, because I realized that there weren't any more empty cars. The person counting guy seemed to have a similarly scientific mind and told us--a couple seconds later--to come back and wait for the next one.

A didn't understand that as well as the rest of us. He thought he was told "Now you can't go on the train" so he flipped out and threw himself on the ground and started crying and screaming. He didn't attack anyone, and it really was pretty understandable that he got upset, so we didn't have to restrain him. It was quite a show for everyone else, though. The three staff tried to explain to A that we'd get to go on the next train. I think he understood, but he was still upset and screaming and crying, laying on the ground.

The microphone guy picks up his microphone and starts reading the rules. "Please remain in the car, do not stick your arms out of the car, do not throw things, etc." And the funny thing was A stopped crying after each sentence, just briefly enough to say "OK" to each of the rules. It was like

A: [Crying and screaming]
Rule guy: Please remain seated in the car for the entire trip
A: [completely stops his tantrum] O-k! [Resumes crying and screaming]
Rule guy: Do not put your arms or legs outside the car.
A: [completely stops his tantrum] O-k! [Resumes crying and screaming]

Anyway, after knowing him for almost 4 years at that point, I thought it was quite humorous. Now everyone else in line for the train is watching a teenage boy screaming and crying on the ground, three "adults" standing near him all smiles, and two other disabled kids completely apathetic to all this (because they've seen all this before).

The next train came in a couple minutes, and we were in the very front of the line which meant A got to pick where he wanted to sit. That seemed to make everything better, and the six of us were all excited for a train ride around the zoo. The cars each had two "compartments" with two benches facing each other in each compartment. The six of us were in one car, but Shawn and his kids were in one compartment; Comella, A, and myself were in the other.

The train starts going, and A was pretty excited at the beginning. He kept saying something, and we couldn't make out what it was, but our best guess was that he was trying to tell us to go faster. That precipitated a discussion about how slow we were going, and how we could run faster than this train.

As the reader, you've most likely realized that last bit of foreshadowing wasn't subtle in the least. Comella and I hopped off the train and ran next to it for a few seconds. We slowed down, so we were running next to Shawn's compartment, and then we sped up and hopped back in the car. The two kids with Shawn were going nuts, as if we just jumped through a wall of fire and into a shark tank.

Then, to satisfy our audience, we wanted started throwing around the idea that Shawn and Comella should hop out and switch compartments. They jumped out of the train, high-fived, and dove back into the other compartment. Again, the kids loved it.

Almost as soon as our laughter and celebration died down, the train stopped. We weren't back at the "station". Some zoo employee from the back of the train started slowly pacing up the length of the train.

"All-riiight... Who JUMPED!?!" He snapped. We were giggling, asking each other if we would either have to stay in from recess or write "I will not jump off the train" 100 times. As the guy walked by Shawn shot his hand up "Right here!"

The guy stopped and glared at Shawn. He then explained that when people misbehave on the train, the person is given a ticket, arrested, and removed from the park by the police. That seems a little harsh.

Thinking fast, I said "He has special needs, we needed to do this" and I gestured in A's direction.

"Yeah, I needed to help calm him down," Shawn chimed in.
"Yep, for his special needs," I added. Shawn nodded.

Taking his job way too seriously, the guy walked up to the front of the train and had a little conference with Mr. Conductor. He came back and said "Well, we won't punish you this time. BUT, next time just yell and we'll stop the train. The problem was when you jumped, other people jumped, too."

Did he not see them high-five and switch seats?

The train started again, going approximately twice as fast to make up for lost time. A was delighted. None of the other riders seemed as impressed with the group of blackguards responsible.

We got back and everyone (only the six of us) was happy. A couple hours later it was time to leave, and A wasn't ready to go. He was having such a great day. He aggressed toward a staff in the parking lot and we had to take him down and restrain him, per his behavioral intervention plan. (A note: in order to do this legally, he had to get a prescription signed by a team of doctors recommending that this plan.) Unfortunately, we were right near an exit and cars were streaming past us. Every third or fourth car would usually roll down there window and say one of the following:
"Is he having a seizure?" This is stupid, because you don't restrain people when they are having seizures. Thanks for the help, asshole. This was the most frequent question

"Do we need to call 911?" "Do you have everything under control?" This is more appropriate, at least people are trying to help.

"What are you doing to that kid?!?! [to the kid] ARE THEY HURTING YOU?" These people were out in the sun for too long. When you have a large canvas and velcro mat with a kid wrapped up in it, you can discount the group as being bullies. Especially when there are about 10 people standing around with a bunch of other clearly disabled kids.

"Is he having a seizure?" See? I told you they asked that one a lot.

After A had calmed down, another kid darted past us. It was Damien. This kid jerked my steering wheel on the freeway one day, and nearly killed both of us. He is another story all-together. Sara (yes the one from the last story) was assigned to him today, and he pretty much beat her up all day. I had to ride back her and Damien, because he was being so aggressive. He was fine the entire ride back, but after I left he fractured Sara's wrist with a kick. The sympathy she got from that probably swayed my decision to date her a little more than it should have. But, like I said, that's another story and I'm quite thirsty.

A's parents loved the train story.

Storytime: My Darling Valentine

2005-02-20T16:20:00.000-06:00

I have decided to hold off on my list-making for now. I'm going to promise to return to it, but we all know how good I am at following through on things.

This story is about Valentine's Day 2003. Initially, I planned to write it in time for Valentine's Day, but that just didn't happen. I figure no one can fault me if I get it out in February. This story is going to intentionally meander from the plot, so it is not going to be very concise. Therefore, it is not Housecoat Required Reading. But, I think you'd learn more about me from this than from a list. So, it's up to you whether you want to read this; there won't be a test at the end.

In 2003, I was still in college, and I lived in an apartment with 3 other guys above a Korean restaurant. The restaurant smelled so bad, we never ate there. I was not with Rene, and was dating a girl named Sara. It was stupid of me to even date her, looking back on it. First of all, we worked together; and that was a mistake that I ended up repeating that summer.

Another thing was, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to date her. One night we'd hang out and have a really good time, and I could see myself dating her; and then another night she would do something that would almost completely repulse me from wanting to be with her. She grew up in a tiny town in the middle of the state, and sometimes a little bit of redneck would show through. I was never really impressed by her stories of drinking four bottles of Boone's in one afternoon in a field at Country America. She was also a lot more low-maintenance than a lot of the girls I've dated. To a degree that's cool, but I think she was used to dating shitty guys and found that she got along better with them when she just acted like one of the guys. And that is a stark contrast to what I am used to. I feel like my girlfriend should stand out from being 'one of the guys', and if I am going to make the effort and commitment of having a girlfriend she should be very different than the assholes I usually hang out with.

Despite the warning signs, I ended up giving in around Halloween of 2002. After all, she is a cute girl.

Things were pretty good for a while. The newness of it all helped, I think. Soon, problems began to pop up. I hated most of her friends. They were the kind of people from really small towns where all you do is sit in a field and drink every weekend. Not really classy people. They were people that I would avoid in other situations.

She also could drink. Like a fox (fish?). I am not exaggerating when I say she could regularly have 12+ beers/drinks in a night. That's a lot, especially for a small-ish girl. Her dad was an alcoholic and she thought he was stupid for getting addicted.

Taking my grandma's advice, if she was fun to hang out with I didn't need to worry about hating her friends or her boozing tendencies. I had a good time, and with our busy schedules there really wasn't time to worry. There isn't a hell of a lot of time on the academic calendar between Halloween and Valentine's day. Especially with Halloween in Madison; it's a big deal. About a week later, it's Housecoat's birthday, then Thanksgiving, then Finals, then Winter break. Her dad was really struggling around Finals time. I don't remember if he tried to kill himself, or if he was just really depressed and talking about it, but Sara spent a lot of time at home in the month of December. I tried to be the supportive boyfriend and make her less stressed.

I visited her on Christmas Eve at her parents' house. She was too hungover from the night before to do anything other than lie on the couch. She had an all-day re-union with her buddies from back home on the 23rd, so she was still feeling it 24 hours later. It was about a 4 hour drive round-trip for me, and I was a little annoyed that she was so useless. I tried to explain to her that I wasn't really impressed, and though she can do whatever she wants, we shouldn't hang out if she's just going to be sitting there hungover. She said that if I would hang out with her friends, I could see her when she was more fun.

After New Year's, she went on a cruise with her friends and came back shortly before school started. It wasn't too long before I was getting fed up. Again, with school, work, and her going home all the time, I didn't see too much of her. She did decide that she was going to start being more healthy and insitute a "meal-plan" as described in some book she read. It was a little ridiculous: six meals a day, each meal had one serving of bread, meat and veggies. It went for six days a week, and the seventh day you could eat and do whatever you wanted.

She religiously followed the meal plan; we couldn't go out to eat unless it was her free day, I kept approved foods on hand at my place so she could eat. But it seemed a little dumb to me, when that seventh day came around she would eat a pizza and then go get completely drunk at the bars that night, squandering any chance of us going out to dinner somewhere nice. I thought it was kind of stupid that she would insist on not having a glass of wine with dinner on Wednesday, but get completely wasted on Saturday night. I'm not a diet guru, so I shouldn't comment on how retarded that sounds.

This was about when her Lenny Kravitz Obsession went from stupid to annoying. I knew she always had a thing for Lenny. Whenever he would come on TV, she would get all excited and talk about how dreamy he was. That was fine, but she wouldn't shut up about it. I would be nearly as irritated if she talked that much about anything else: person, place, or thing. I really didn't have anything against Lenny, she could have talked about creamed corn that much and I would get pissed at it. It was a part of our daily conversation to hear how hot Lenny was or how she had a dream about him, how she wishes she could hook up with him and how great that would be, etc. I asked her why she was so obsessed with him and said it was getting a little annoying, and she said "Oh, it's not like I'll ever meet him." Oddly, that didn't make it any less irritating.

The meal plan and Lenny were the two driving plotlines on Valentine's Day. I couldn't take her out to eat, because it wasn't her "day off" (which she was saving for someone's going away party from back home...). She said if I wanted to make her dinner I had to follow the mealplan. So, I went to the store and spent the day cooking two meals. Each meal with 1 serving each of grain, meat, and veggies (no dairy was allowed in the recipes, meat had to be extra lean, no oils or sugar). I planned it so when she arrived, one meal would be ready to eat, while the other would be cooking in the oven for a few hours until it was time for dinner #2. I greeted her at the door in shirt and tie, and used the spare room in our apartment as a dining room to give a little privacy from the guys I lived with.

During dinner, she explained to me how she would have a three-way with another girl for the opportunity to be with Lenny. "Just to be held in his arms." She expounded on this idea, saying how she would be totally willing to "take one for the team" for him, and only him. I was surprised that she would take dinner with her boyfriend on Valentines Day as a launching point of her new stance on sex with Lenny Kravitz. I asked her if she was kidding, thinking this might be some kind of ruse to playfully get under my skin, but she said that she was quite serious and then started getting a little more graphic. Again, she said "It's not like I'll ever meet him."

You can imagine how pleased I was the rest of the night. I decided that I wanted to break things off that night. Here, I'm the best boyfriend she had that far (she told me so), and that isn't enough to prevent her from telling me her celebrity sex fantasies during our Valentine's Day date.

The only problem was that her birthday was one week away, and we had already made plans for her birthday -- with her parents. I thought that her birthday should be happy and I shouldn't wreck it by dumping her a few days before. People always talk like the worst thing to do is break up with someone right before their birthday, but I found out waiting can be bad, too.

So, her birthday came, and I gave her a cactus (Actually two cacti grafted on to each other. It was really cool, just not as thoughtful as I usually am). Her roommates decorated the apartment with pictures of Lenny Kravitz and speech bubbles of him saying dirty things to Sara. After she told her parents about it at dinner, I asked them if she's always had an unhealthy obsession with Lenny. They (and her older sister) were like "What? It's not like she'll ever meet him." I felt like I was in a twilight zone episode.

We got back to her house and I had told her I was not going out with her that night, because I didn't get along with her friends. She didn't try to argue that, but she did take the opportunity to tell me that she loved me. Well, shit. Next time I want to break up with a girl, I need to do it ASAP. I told her, as gently as I could, that I didn't feel the same way. I couldn't believe that she thought this was a good time to tell me.

A couple of her friends stopped by to wish her a happy birthday, and one was doing one of those "polar-bear" jumps into a frozen lake the next day. He said he didn't have money for a present, but if he wrote "Happy Birthday" on himself, his picture might get in the newspaper or something.

Then, using his massive intellect, his face lit up and he said "I know! Sign my ass! HA HA HA." and he dropped his drawers right in the middle of the living room. "No, wait! Sign my balls!" he exclaimed as he grabbed his balls and offered a marker to Sara.

I told them that even though I was planning on waiting till the end of the naked marker party, I was going to head out now. I didn't stick around to see if she wrote a happy birthday message to herself on him. I would guess that she at least kept it above the waist. Unless he was secretly Lenny Kravitz.

The next week, I broke up with her. I heard she took it pretty hard, but she never really understood that I was unhappy with things. I always told her the things I didn't like, but I also always told her that she's free to do whatever she wants. She really only seemed to hear the second half of that statement, thinking it nullified the first half. She tried to bargain with me, and I tried to explain how that would be a bad deal for her; if I want to break up with her once, how could she ever feel secure in our relationship? I just wanted her to realize that there were a lot of people that would be more compatible than we were.

She finally accepted that and I wasn't willing compromise and I walked out of there exhausted, but also feeling like million bucks. For the next couple weeks, I would silently thank Lenny Kravitz whenever he was on tv or the radio.

You know, I thought, he ain't half-bad lookin'.

I bite my fingernails

2005-02-11T10:49:00.000-06:00

Ok, I have a bit of a change of plans. Rene got sick, so I'll be going up to see her this weekend, and I won't really have time to work on my great list of flaws. But, I won't back out of it either. I'm sure you're all on the edges of your seats.

I have decided to quickly highlight my less pathological problems here. After all, when I get to what's wrong with me in a dating situation, I imagine it could fill several volumes of text. But, perhaps this is the better way. Kind of like building suspense for the grand finale.

I bite my fingernails.
Yep, have since I can remember. It happens when I need to think about something. I tried to stop by chewing gum, but I think I look like an asshole always walking around chewing gum.

I'm horrible at keeping in touch with people.
I have more friends that I've lost touch with than actual "current" friends. Right now there are three people that I really should call that I'm probably risking losing touch with for good. I don't know how other people can be so good about calling everyone all the time.

I'm usually oblivious to attention from girls.
Or at least I convince myself that I shouldn't read into things. I think it is a conditioned response. I went out with two girls in high school (both my senior year), and really never received or expected much attention from them. Then everything changed when I came to college. Maybe it's because I started putting wax in my hair, who knows. Whatever the case, I still don't pick up on it. Rene frequently gets frustrated and says things like "She was totally flirting with you! You couldn't see that?!?" It's never me acting inappropriately, just not realizing others' actions.

I couldn't carry a tune with a bucket and a lid.
I love music but I can't sing for crap. I never really had to (took band in middle school), and it would be a disadvantage to start now. It is terrible. And that leads to weird situations like going out with some friends and then they're like "Hey! A karaoke bar!" and I won't get up and sing. Then they figure they can badger me into it, because I'm pretty outgoing (at least outspoken). This has lead me to be...

Resistant to Peer Pressure
It really doesn't affect me, and that is a problem when I stick to my guns when other people are figuring they can get me to cave in. Result: I end up looking like a dick. I have to tell myself to give in once in a while. That is the thought process that lead to me putting up my picture.

I hate using fast-food drive-throughs.
If I am getting something to go, I'll just go inside and take it back to my car. I can't really say why. Though, I rarely eat fast food anymore, so this isn't a huge problem.

I don't have sympathy for people who only have stupidity as an excuse.
I can understand if someone has a problem, medical or otherwise, that causes them some hardship. But I really don't like people who just do things because they weren't thinking. For example, I don't hold it against the retarded kid at the grocery store for taking so long to bag my groceries. I am happy for him to be working, and I'll never be in enough of a rush to get angry at him. Contrast this to my database pal in Alabama. He accepted a job that he wasn't qualified for, and refuses to spend an afternoon reading up on the software he is supposed to manage. That irritates me.

I don't like to talk while I'm eating.
I guess this applies to meals that aren't special occasions. I love to go out to eat, or have people over for brats and beer in the summer. But if I'm just having a regular meal, then please leave me alone. I don't want to talk to Rene on the phone while I eat (she's the opposite and it annoys me), and I don't want to chat with my co-worker during lunch. I just want to eat and be left in peace.

Ok, that's a pretty decent start. I apologize for it not being thorough, but it's kind of an "off-the-cuff" (tuh-huh!) list.

Hopefully you can see the cracks forming in my flawless facade.

I Would Like to Kick A. G. Bell in the Eye

2005-02-05T11:23:00.000-06:00

The following are actual messages or conversations I've had on my phone this week. They aren't word for word, but the facts of the story aren't embellished in any way.

Wednesday 4:30 p.m.
Housecoat: Hey dollface.
Rene: Hey, you're off work early.
Housecoat: Yeah, we left early because we have to do some address checking at home.
Rene: Oh, ok. Well, I have to go soon, too. My brother has my car today, and I had my mom's car, so I have to pick her up in just a little bit.
Housecoat: OK, I'll call you later on.
Rene: OK.
Housecoat: 'k-thanks-love-you-bye.
Rene: 'k-thanks-love-you-bye.

Wednesday 5:10 p.m.
Voicemail from the day

Message from 12:30 pm: Hey this is Sara from A's [Autistic Kid] team. I was wondering if you could come in tomorrow night to help train the new staff. It would be great if you could come in for a little bit and go out in the community so you can show her what that's like. Give me a call and let me know what your schedule is like. Thanks, see you later!

Message from 3:30 pm [From my friend SD in San Diego]: Hey. So, I know you're at work, but I really wish you would answer your phone so I don't do anything stupid. I talked to Phil again last night, and I know I should really not talk to him anymore but I just miss him. I just wish we could start with a clean slate, and I think that we'd just do so much better. It'd be really nice if you could answer your phone so I don't say anything stupid to him. Well, I have to work at 3:30 my time, so give me a call if you get this before then. Bye.

Wednesday 5:20 p.m.
SD: Hey.
Housecoat: How's it going?
SD: This sucks.
Housecoat: Well, why do you keep talking to him? He cheated on you constantly, lied about it, and now you are telling him that you wish you could start everything over?
SD: Well, it would work much better. I read this book called "Why Guys Like Bitches" and it made some really good points.
Housecoat: Jesus Christ. You're reading a book now?
SD: Yeah, and it says that you gotta be tough make him work for things, and you don't always have to be nice and understanding and make him earn things and be challenging. Like, you should make things difficult sometimes.
Housecoat: It sounds like that book assumes you are only capable of dating an asshole in the first place, and merely tells you how to 'keep him in line'.
SD: Well, yeah. And I didn't do that with Phil.
Housecoat: Don't you think that's a bad reasoning? If you weren't dating a jerk in the first place, you wouldn't have to assume that there was any malicious intent if he did something you didn't like. That book sounds like a field guide for dating second-rate guys.
SD: No, it's actually good.
Housecoat: Well, still. Why would you want to try again when he's in Minnesota and will probably continue to constantly cheat on you?
SD: I just miss him.
Housecoat: You just miss having a boyfriend. He's easily replaced.
SD: Yeah, replaced when? I'll have to wait another few years?
Housecoat: Just go online. I hear Craigslist is pretty popular.
SD: Whatever. I'm not doing that. I'm not going to meet someone online.
Housecoat: Why not? I would consider it if I was single.
SD: Riiiight. You wouldn't even make it to your computer before you met a new girl.
Housecoat: That isn't true.
SD: Whatever!
Housecoat: Still. I say at least look. Maybe there are other people who are just frustrated like you are.
SD: I'm not doing it.
Housecoat: Then I'll look for you.
SD: What?
Housecoat: I'll look. And I'll email some guys and pretend to be you. And then I might go on a few dates with them, and then I'll give you a full report.
SD: [laughing] Eew! Sick!
Housecoat: Hey, I'm just trying to be a good friend.
SD: Well, then I want someone taller than me, who dresses well, is fun, and cute, and good looking with short blond hair...
Housecoat: Hey. You say all those things now, but when the time comes you're willing to compromise on some of them.
SD: I was describing Phil, you jerk!
Housecoat: Well, he wasn't fun or good looking.
SD: You've never met him!
Housecoat: I've seen pictures and have several eyewitness reports. There's just something off about him.
SD: Like what?
Housecoat: You know, it doesn't matter. So long as YOU liked him.
SD: Cut that out, what?
Housecoat: He's a tool.
SD: No he isn't.
Housecoat: Sometimes girls don't pick up on it until it is too late. But, he definitely looks like a big toe-headed tool.
SD: Whatever. That picture you saw of him was a good one, too!
Housecoat: [unable to contain laughter]
SD: [also laughing] Whatever. I gotta go into work now. I'll talk to you later.
Housecoat: Okay. Have a good one.
SD: Bye.

Wednesday 6:30 p.m.
Rene: ... and the keys are in the glove compartment of the car and all his stuff is gone.
Housecoat: Hello?
Rene: Yeah. So, all his stuff is gone.
Housecoat: You started in the middle of a sentence with me again. What's going on?
Rene: My brother called and said that he left the keys to my car in the glove compartment and all his stuff is gone. I should have listened to him better!
Housecoat: So, his stuff got stolen out of your car?
Rene: No! All his stuff is gone. He left the car at the airport with the keys in the glove compartment.
Housecoat: Oh, he went somewhere?
Rene: Apparently. Everything in his room is gone.
Housecoat: HE RAN AWAY?!?
Rene: Looks like it.
Housecoat: Why didn't you say that in the first place? What happened?
Rene: He called me about 20 minutes ago saying he was done playing soccer and he left the car at the airport with the keys in it. I'm so stupid.
Housecoat: You're so stupid how?
Rene: I thought maybe he just had to park there because he was playing by the airport or something.
Housecoat: Would he play soccer near the airport.
Rene: Probably not, but now he's gone and his room is packed up and he left a letter here.
Housecoat: What does it say?
Rene: It says he doesn't like college anymore (He went to a christian college for one semester, then after realizing it was full of hypocracy and god didn't grant his wishes, then he became an agnostic and anti-government, and started going to the local college in January), and that he is moving away to somewhere that he won't say, but that by the time we read this we are out of state. He also said he withdrew $3400 from my parents bank account.
Housecoat: He has access to your parents bank account?
Rene: Yeah, and he said he didn't plan on returning and not to worry about him, and that his parents should sell his car to be even on the money he borrowed.
Housecoat: More like stole.
Rene: My mom is bawling, and everything is a mess and we don't know where he is.
Housecoat: Check his computer.
Rene: He took it.
Housecoat: He couldn't have taken a desktop computer on a plane. Not if he brought his clothes and other stuff.
Rene: Well, it's gone.
Housecoat: Maybe he left it in the car.
Rene: How are we supposed to know where he went?
Housecoat: Doesn't his girlfriend live out of state?
Rene: No, he broke up with her when he came back from school and he has a new one from a week ago. She goes to school in Eau Claire [Wisconsin].
Housecoat: Well, call her then. Maybe she knows.
Rene: Okay.

Wednesday 7:00 p.m.
Sister: Hey Buddy.
Housecoat: Hey buddy.
Sister: Um, I was wondering if you were going to the store anytime this week?
Housecoat: Well, tomorrow I go to A's house, and I could go tonight around 8.
Sister: Why so late?
Housecoat: Long story.
Sister: Okay, call me when you're on your way over.
Housecoat: Okay, bye

Wednesday 7:20 p.m.
Rene: Well, his girlfriend didn't know he was doing this either. She's pretty pissed off that he would ask her to be his girlfriend last week and now he's moved away.
Housecoat: Your brother is kind of an asshole, though.
Rene: Now, my dad is home and he's devastated, and my mom is crying and no one knows where Eric is.
Housecoat: Maybe he went crazy. Both sides of your family have some pretty nasty genes to pass on to him.
Rene: I know. I'm just so worried, I want to go and get him myself. I would go, too, if I didn't know how bad of an idea that would be.
Housecoat: Well, I'm sure--
Rene: Oh, that's him on the house phone. I'll call you back!

Wednesday 7:35 p.m.
Rene: He called from Chicago. He's on his way to Tucson, Arizona.
Housecoat: Why Tucson?
Rene: He said he was bored and didn't like living here, and wanted to go to a place more like it was when he went to Mexico for his last semester of high school. [After he got back from Mexico he was a changed person. Before he was ultra-religious, and upon coming back he wanted to act like the people in he was with in Mexico. He dressed differently, started drinking, listened to Mexican music all the time. Not that these were bad changes, just that he threw himself into one thing, and then completely threw himself into another, based on the people he was around.]
Housecoat: That's it?
Rene: Yeah, my parents didn't give him any restrictions other than he couldn't have his own cat, because we already have a cat and a dog. And he had to be in around 2 a.m. each night because my parents didn't want him driving at bar time.
Housecoat: So, he didn't go crazy or anything? It runs in your family.
Rene: No, he was just bored, and he said he was planning it for a couple of months. He stopped on his way to the airport to UPS all his big stuff to his apartment in Tucson.
Housecoat: Apartment?
Rene: Yeah, he signed a six month lease over the internet. He called around and checked with the police station to make sure it is in a good neighborhood. He didn't want to tell anyone because he thought they'd be mad, but my parents wouldn't care.
Housecoat: That's true, they're so hands-off with their parenting--almost to a fault.
Rene: I'm really mad at him. How could he do that without telling anyone?
Housecoat: If your parents wouldn't have given him access to their bank account, he couldn't have made it happen without telling them.
Rene: And now he's upset that everyone is going to be mad at him.
Housecoat: Your brother is pretty self-centered... and a fucking idiot. Isn't this the third girlfriend he's just stopped talking to when he's moved away?
Rene: Yeah. I just hope he isn't crazy.
Housecoat: It doesn't sound like it. Crazy people don't plan this well. Dickheads do, though. And-- Hey, hold on, I have another call.

Wednesday 8:05 p.m.
Sister: Hey, what's the deal? Are we going shopping?
Housecoat: Yeah, I'm just running a little behind.
Sister: Well, I'm waiting...
Housecoat: I'm on my way.

Wednesday 8:06 p.m.
Housecoat: Sorry, I have to take my sister shopping now.
Rene: Ok.
Housecoat: Hang in there, ok?
Rene: I'll try. I'm just so mad at him. My parents are such a mess right now. I feel like if I was a better sister I would have realized this or made him want to stay.
Housecoat: It isn't your fault. Don't worry about this. Just try not to think about it. I'll call you after I get to the store.
Rene: 'k-thanks-love-you-bye?
Housecoat: 'k-thanks-love-you-bye.

This was a fun endeavor. But I'm going to stop at Wednesday. I'm tired of typing. Hope you had fun reading it. Especially if you are stuck at work on a beautiful day like today.

...grumble...

2005-01-27T21:59:00.000-06:00

I haven't had a lot to say this week. My co-worker has gone from being a cartoonish annoyance to downright irritating. I didn't have the heart to re-list everything from the last couple days, but since people seem to be amused...

She accused me of lying to her about how to change the radio station in the car. We were planning to switch from Madison's NPR to Milwaukee's NPR, which would mean travelling from 88.7 ot 89.7 on your FM dial. Instead of her pushing the "seek" button in the "up" direction, she pressed down and then accused the radio of being broken when it tuned to 107.7. After several attempts of her tyring to use the radio and me trying to explain to her that she needs to simply "push the up button", I did it myself. She asked how, and then told me that I must have done something different than what I said. She also wanted to know how come I didn't tell her how to do it in the first place. And that I "held the button in instead of pressing it." Also, she doesn't like that radio. PS- Everyone is wrong and stupid except her.

She's sick. I think she loses 2 pounds a day by filling kleenexes. I get to sit a few feet from that slimy gurgling noise of her blowing her nose all day. I can't believe a Kleenex can hold that much. They must have looked like mushy, nearly translucent, snot-filled ballons after she was through with them.

And today she told me I was wasting my time and making a mistake by deciding to take time off before grad school. She said young people screw around too much, and do not take their careers enough. I wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing with her degree (PhD) at her age (almost 40). Before I could say something she told me I would do better in an "applied" field, meaning I'm a better at "doing" than "thinking." This was like half an hour of rambling. I said I was quite confident that I will be successful in any field that I choose, and that my passion and inspiration will be there at any age. But she was really being ugly about it. She made it sound like I have been wasting my whole life doing nothing. I told her that people with PhD's and MD's have told me that taking time off is a good thing sometimes, and she was the first to give a dissenting opinion.

So, she said "Well, those people have been successful so they miss having their freedom and youth, so they will tell you to enjoy that. They don't think about what it would be like to not be successful, so they don't consider that."

And I said "So, people who give me advice are going to suggest I do the things that are eluding them the most?" You know, hinting at the fact that she is telling me to be successful...

Well, that sailed right over her head. She said that wasn't an accurate summary, and not all people (like herself) are advising based on their own unrealized goals.

I wasn't able to ignore all that. Not known to her, the reason I am not in grad school is largely due to Rene. It is hard to say whether her manic or depressive episodes have caused the most grief and suffering in my schoolwork. They both took their toll. I'm finally becoming happy with the direction my life has taken but it is still a sore spot, you know?

Blah... I really don't have the energy to type out anything more. Even though I have to go in to work tomorrow (supposed to be my day off), I'm actually looking forward to it. The peace and quiet of the office will be a welcome change. And maybe I can talk with my boss about ways of keeping me sane for the next couple months.

Actually, if anyone wants to offer advice I'm all for it.

Keep in mind, our little study consists of only four people. I have to work with her (at least till she has the baby) and I'm usually trapped within a few feet of her. She's a state employee, so she isn't going to get fired. And "just ignoring her" doesn't work due to our proximity and the fact that she is unable to take hints.

What a mess...

Just Smile All The Time

2005-01-15T11:33:00.000-06:00

Here's the scoop, kids. I keep telling myself that I want to post more stories and entertainment, but, where does the time go?

Work
My boss asked me this week how it was driving to Milwaukee each week. I believe I used the words "fear for my life" and "character building experience" in my description. She kind of agreed. It is good to know that I'm not fighting this on my own.

The Alabama site wants to use the database I built! I'll leave my mark on the world yet! Bbut their "programmer" can't get it working, so I have to call them and find out what is causing the problem. I hope it isn't something on my end.

Girlfriend
Rene is coming to see me today. I'm very optimistic about her outcome, especially now that she is pursuing maintainence ECT. I know it is optimistic to think that it could 'cure' her, but it seems like it is going to make a dramatic improvement in her life.

We have not discussed Milk lately, either.

She is also beginning to have hobbies and interests that she can pursue on her own. (Like when I'm busy.) They are things she picked up from being around me, but I'm interested in everything.

Apartment Living
Kind of a weird situation this weekend. Rene is coming down, and my roommate always has his girlfriend here, but now his dad is coming down for the hockey game(s) this weekend. And he'll be sleeping on the couch of our tiny, tiny living room. That seems a little weird in and of itself, because if it were my dad, he'd get a hotel and laugh at the hovel I live in.

Another body in the house isn't really a big deal. The funny thing (and that made me decide this was entertaining enough to write down) is that his dad seems to want to show off to us (me) just how cool he is. It would almost be endearing in a pathetic way, but it misses the mark.

The two forces at work here are Personal Freedom vs Being Established (in terms of career, financial security, etc). The guy has to show that he's master of both. He usually makes comments about his job, excpecting us (me) to bow down in awe, and how "you get the nice things when you've been working for as long as I have". In past visits at other apartments, he'll make comments as I'm on my way out to work like "You should set your own hours like I do." or "Too bad you don't have vacation this week like me." That's when I say "Yeah, the state gives me five weeks of vacation plus holidays." And then I mumble have fun going home to your bland life and homely spouse. I'm not a morning person.

I think the reality is that he's middle aged, living in small town in the middle of Wisconsin, and he feels like he has to prove some aspect of his life must be better than a bunch of 20 something kids. I try to ignore him. Rene is a bit more of a pistol, and can't always restrain herself from talking back to people. Might be intersting.

Etc.

It is ass cold in the Midwest. It was -7 without the wind chill when I left for work yesterday morning.

Has everyone seen the new Mac Mini? Can someone give me a good reason not to buy one after Tiger comes out? I don't need a new computer, but it is hard to pass up something (apparently) well designed and useful. So, please give me a reason not to do it. I swear my iPod is putting subliminal messages in my songs. It tells me things like "I need a buddy, buy the Mac Mini." And then I end up going home and looking through all of the CD booklets trying to find who sang The Mac Mini Song.

I'm still reading Harold McGee's book. I've read the chapters on Dairy and Eggs, and now I'm on Meat. I still recommend it to anyone--even if you eat food only some of the time. If nothing else, you have to realize that it is beneficial even for cocktail-party trivia. Now, someone has to invite me to a real cocktail party.

Stay hot.

Stereotypy

2005-01-05T21:00:00.000-06:00

Title sums it up.

I'm going to outline a typical weekday for me. After I get this out of my system, I am going to stop writing "How Was My Day?" posts. For a while, at least.

7:00 AM Alarm rings. Original Super Mario Brothers Theme song. (Not the kind you download, the original one right from the game).

7:30 I actually get up after six 5-minute(!) snooze button presses. If I could change my cell phone, it would have 9 minute snooze button presses.

7:53 I leave the house on foot. Work should feel blessed that I showered and decided to wear pants. Shaving is almost exclusively a weekend activity, but I think it actually looks good until about Thursday. I mean, it isn't like I'm going to make out with someone and worry about painfully exfoliating their face.

8:00 I arrive at the UW car fleet lot. It is nice to live so close.

8:11 My co-worker shows up. There's always something that happens that makes her late. Today, the Czech lady "bumped" her car into another car on her way to work this morning. Apparently, there was no damage. I drove today, and then came home early for a snow day. Looking back two sentences ago, I now wish to remove the quotation marks from bumped and place them on lady.

Oh, yes. That's right. I did just go there.

9:30 We arrive in Milwaukee (if I drive).

9:45 We arrive in Milwaukee (if she drives).

9:45/10:00 We get to the medical records department and start working. The cheerful lady at the front desk always has a smile and warm greeting for us, and the records people have a stack of charts for us.

One minute later I'm already annoyed with one of the people who works there. I think she's about 20, and spends her time loudly trying to get the other workers' attention. Imagine the most white trash person you can think of from high school. Imagine the stupidest thing she could say. Now double that.

Actual quotes:

"Hey Julio! You're so coolio! You're the foolio! Get it? Hey, Julio? Foolio!!!"
"My name's Fidel," said an annoyed Julio.

"I'm as broke as a joke! Get it? I'm as broke as a joke! Broke as a joke. Tuh-huh! Yep, I tell my mom that and she doesn't get it I say Mom I'm as broke as a joke and she doesn't give me money I don't think she gets it and I went to a party and was drunk!!!"

[This actually set off the Czech lady--she didn't think that was a very nice thing to say about someone's mother. I tried to explain it to her, but she didn't follow (Ironically, "not following" is what she thought the girl was accusing her of doing). I fashioned an elaborate, step-by-step proof of how the girl was actually asking her mother for money in a too cute manner. It didn't take.

Finally, we past a boat on the highway.

Me: See that boat?
CZ: Yes?
Me: Are you sure? I think you're missing it. (A satisfied grin spreads slowly across my face as I keep my eyes on the road.)

]

After another minute I pull out my iPod. The playlist is heavily slanted toward people named Stephen (Malkmus and Morrissey) and their bands.

11:30 Co-worker asks me if I want to take my lunch now. I never go to lunch until later. I tell her I am going to go at 1:00.

12:50 Co-worker announces she's having lunch now, which means I can't go for lunch (since we have to be in possession of our gear at all times to comply with HIPAA, it is easier for us to take lunch separately than to pack it all up.)

1:30 Co-worker meanders back from lunch.

4:30 It's time to leave! After the drive back to Madison (and stopping for gas), it'll be 6 pm. Co-worker is hassling me about leaving. She always wants to stop a few minutes early.

4:33 Housecoat is packed and ready to go. I've got my laptop packed up and put on my coat and scarf. Yeah, a scarf. What?

4:40 Co-worker has her stuff packed. Then without fail, turns to me and says "I just need to use the bathroom."

4:46 Now we are ready to go, if she doesn't stop at the deli on the way out the door. I guess I should be thankful that she has taken to sleeping in the car when she doesn't have to drive. It is better than talking to her, but I still feel like you shouldn't be asleep when you are "putting in hours."

But, the alternative is getting lectured on why America sucks and hearing things that are simply untrue stated as fact in and presented in a narcissistic, demeaning way. I don't know. Which would you take?

6:10 Arrive in Madison when I drive.

6:25 Arrive in Madison when she drives. Notice here that she cost me 25 minutes, not 15. She dawdles so much leaving the place. Each week, she takes over an hour of my time. An hour! I'm not working, I'm not having fun. I'm just wearing my coat in the office or in the car wishing I was deaf.

Six minutes later I arrive at my house, having checked my voicemails from the day. Half the time I am usually engaged in a conversation with Rene about whatever horrible crisis she's having.

One day a week I go to immediately to the autistic kid's house for about 2 hours. I would eat dinner at nine on those days.

Otherwise, I cook/have something for dinner. I eat in front of my computer. Email, Pitchfork, Slashdot, and a handful of blogs.

7:00pm I figure out what my evening activity will be. I rarely get to pick whatever I want from the list.

*Doing stuff for work that has to be done online/responding to email for work
*Working on my CHIP database
*Videogames with the roommate (very rarely)
*Hobbies (working on stereo, reading for pleasure, teaching myself a new skill) not likely
*Errands, chores, bills
*Grab a bite to eat with friends (About once a week or every other. I do 95% of my socializing on the weekends which start Thursday night.)

7:15 Rene starts calling my phone. "Oh, I thought we were going to talk for a while now..."

Depending on the crisis, I get off the phone and try to proceed with my activity. Otherwise, I have an inbox full of voicemail. I listen to the first 30 seconds (she usually takes them to the limit... she uses my mailbox as therapy) than skip to the next one.

Sometimes at 9:00, I make all my phone calls to friends I ignore too much. A couple of them live on the west coast, so by 9 they probably ate and are free to chat.

9:15 Rene starts calling to talk for a while. I generally try to avoid talking to her, since she already took up a good chunk of my time that I needed for something else.

10:00 is usually the earliest I want to talk. Otherwise, she steals all my time.

11:30 I get off the phone because I have to work in the morning and I wanted to go to bed by 10:30... yeah. I usually watch part of a TV episode (off a DVD) before I go to bed.

12:00 Rene calls again to see if I was asleep, because if I wasn't, she couldn't sleep and wants to talk. But, since I am tired, she's just calling to say goodnight. If she's having a really hard time, I will read her a Kids in the Hall sketch or two from kithfan.org. I love that enjoys that show so much.

12:30 The phone call ends. I'm more tired, and she's usually still upset. It's probably good she called, because now I do a couple quick things that I forgot about.

1 AM I finally go to sleep.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Multiple Etiologies

2005-01-02T15:42:00.000-06:00

Hello.

It's been an action packed weekend, at least, relative to me.

Friday
I almost wrote a post called "Who wants to be my New Year's date?". Rene was worried about coming down here, and scared that she wouldn't look good in the outfit she picked out for her x-mas present. But, she calmed down and got in the car and drove to Madison.

While I was doing my frantic last-minute cleaning, I found a $50 Kohl's gift card under the area rug in my room. The only problem is it wasn't mine-- It said "To Rachel, From Dad & Velma". The only Velma I can think of is from Scooby Doo. I checked online and it had a full balance. That means it is less than two years old (since they deduct 1.50 a month every month after 24).

I decided to do the right thing. I emailed my landlord with the details. I thought I would feel better if I told her about it, and there was still a chance I could keep it anyway. I also found an old check for 28.74 from working with the Autistic kid.

Inspired by my windfalls, I told my roommate and his girlfriend I would cook dinner for the four of us Friday night. I thought steak on the grill would be a good choice, since it was about 40 degrees in Madison. I went in the backyard to check out the grill, and I noticed someone stole the propane tank. Our backyard is fenced in and not visible from the street, so someone would have had to be going through yards looking to steal stuff (probably around christmas when no one was home). I'll have to buy a new one this spring.

I didn't let that thwart my efforts, after all, I said I'd cook for the four of us. I ended up making lobster soup (from scratch) and something very similar to the cordon bleu I made for Rene a couple months ago. I was going to pick a wine for the meal, but I thought New Year's eve requires champagne. I took a recommendation from the guy in the wine shop and we were all pretty pleased with the choice. It was a 1997 California Brut Rose, but I forget the name. It went really well with the meal, though.

Our party was on State Street, in an apartment across the street from the Overture Center (Madison's new performing arts building). We were dressed nearly as fancy as the crowd in the Overture. The party would be interesting to those who like to watch people. There was a definite spectrum among the guests; some were genuinely dressed-up, some were trying to dress up, and some hadn't a clue about what kind of attire to wear.

There were fireworks up at the capital around 10 or 10:30, so we went outside and enjoyed the show until the girls couldn't bear the cold in their dresses. Speaking of, Rene looked amazing. I've been to other parties in that apartment, and I'm usually drunk and dateless (since Rene is usually not in town). But, to be in a suit and have the prettiest girl at the party on your arm...

Saturday
Brunch with friends at the "Pancake Cafe". I was not really impressed. It started to rain outside, and then it started to freeze as it hit the ground. The roads were horrible. The guy on the radio said that the police weren't going to respond to accidents unless people were injured. They'd probably smack into someone just coming out to the scene.

Rene wanted to go shopping, and I had a $50 gift card of my own to blow (at Pier 1). Pier 1 didn't have anything really good. They had things that I already had (glassware, barware, etc), or it was too home-y. And I really don't need any wicker. It felt good to justify my SUV in that weather.

After our unproductive trip, I parked my Jeep across the street from the house. Then I told Rene that she'll have to move her car across the street because of snow parking. She didn't want to, but I said I'd do it right away. I must have spent ten minutes chiseling the ice off of her windows. Then we went inside and took a nap.

We woke up around 5:00 or so, and got something to eat (leftover lobster soup for me!) and watched an episode of Home Movies. It was one of the wittiest and endearing shows, and is probably "Our" show if we had to pick. Season 1 is on DVD, so you can check it out there.

Anyway, my roommate also happened to just wake up from a nap and noticed there were tire tracks on the grass next to the sidewalk (on the side away from the road). And his car was about 10 feet up the road from where he parked it. And the tail light was smashed into the trunk and surrounded by scratches and dents.

"What the fuck?" We all said. And this is where this post's title gains relevance.

The car would probably be totalled, since 10-year-old Geo Prisms don't fetch a lot. Anyone who is in that kind of situation knows how bad that sucks and how the car is really "worth" more than the paltry Blue Book value assigned to it.

There was a note on the windshield which was buried under a sheet of ice--and for that reason, unnoticed in the initial inspection of the car. He called the police and they said they'd come today (Sunday) to check it out.

The note read "I'm seemed to have tapped your car, my phone number is XXXXXX and my name is XXXXX" He called and she said she just scratched it a little. The rear corner was smashed into the trunk. They decided they'd just talk about it in the morning.

Meanwhile my roommate was taking pictures of the damage, when he noticed the car across the street had a nice dent in the driver side door. It looked like the person smashed into my roommates car and bounced across the street into the other. While we were out there pretending to be the forensic evidence police (since they wouldn't come out), the girl who left the note came to look at the car with a couple friends.

She said she didn't do that damage; it was someone else. She also said that after she hit my roommate's car, she drove up onto the sidewalk (note that in my part of the city the sidewalk is separated by a strip of grass) to avoid the other cars. She also said she didn't hit the car across the street.

Sunday
The cop came this morning and pretty much told my roommate to pursue that girl's insurance since she did hit the car and there weren't any other leads. He also said that it looked like her car could have done that damage under the right circumstances. He wasn't going to file a police report and couldn't give a formal opinion on the matter, since this was the day after it happened.

My roommate picked up the debris around his car, and noticed that there was a lot of dark red paint. His car is gold, and the girl's car is white. While he was inside analyzing this, I noticed that a couple were looking at the car that got hit across the street (the car with the dent in the door). My roommate went out to talk to them, and then they called the police.

They found a bumper under their car. There was also red paint on the ground. Now, the police were able to file a report, but they suspect nothing will come of it. Whoever hit those cars will probably just junk their own car, the police told them.

My roommate only has liability insurance, so his own car is not covered. And that pretty much frees the first girl from any liability.

The entire time I was thinking how lucky I was to have moved the cars when I did on Saturday.

After I thought everything had settled down, I went back inside. That's pretty tough luck to have your car wrecked because you left it on the street. It happened to me in April, but I was lucky that the landscaping company that inflicted the damage called the police to report it themselves.

My landlord just emailed me. She says that there was a Rachel who lived here, and sent me her parents' address. I'll be mailing that gift card out this week.

From when I used to be funny...

2004-12-28T22:35:00.000-06:00

Who Wants to Fucking Touch Me?!?!

2004-12-27T19:17:00.000-06:00

Christmas was alllllright.
I'm trying to think of what would be interesting for someone to read. If I had blogged every day, I'm sure the subtle nuances of each story would be expressed in a more energetic fashion. As it is, I feel like I'm just making a list of stuff.

I went the 150 miles to my hometown Thursday night.

Friday, I met with my insurance agent and got my car insurance squared away. I got a great rate--it came out to be almost half of the other rates we found.

Then, I had some last minute shopping to do. I picked up some Eiswein for my parents and Rene's parents. I think they'll enjoy it, but I discovered that they didn't really know what it was. Hopefully they'll like it; that stuff is expensive.

Fingers and Faces
Friday night, we had Christmas Eve at my Aunt and Uncle's house (mom's side of the family). Thankfully, they live 10 minutes away from my folk's house, so traveling was minimal. The oldest cousin on that side of the family, at 27 years old, got drunk on lousy wine and spent way too much time telling me I look 'just like' Josh Groban with different color hair.

I had to go online to find out who he was, and what he looked like. Not even close. I look like him about as much as I sound like him when I sing. He has kind of longer curly hair, and mine is nothing like that. She was just really tipsy, and kind of an annoying person.

My other cousin pointed out that my pinky finger is a lot "pinkier" than the rest of my fingers. That notion had never crossed my mind before. Since I had half the family there, I figured I could do some exploration to see if anyone else was cursed with the "Tiny Pinky Finger" gene. And no one was.

My mom has really long fingers, and my dads are shorter and thicker. And after careful consideration, I think I got my mom's middle three fingers, and my dad's pinky and thumb.

The Comedy Gifts
After everyone was done commenting on my appearance, we went home and exchanged presents as a family. I ended up making my sister's "What Would Jelly Donuts Do?" bracelet into a t-shirt. I ironed a very nice WWJDD logo, and the infamous phrase onto a shirt, and it was a hit. My sister says she can never wear it anywhere, because she'll have to explain the awful story behind it. My mom once more announced that we made this whole thing up.

This left my other sister. I had no idea what to get her. Nothing stood out as a good idea, and the clock was ticking. By Friday, I decided that I just needed to go into a store and get something. I had to find the most humorous store possible, something that would assure that I would be walking out with Comedy Gold.

I parked my Jeep in the Big Lots parking lot. Once inside, I realized that there were indeed items containing the highest comedy potential. (For those who do not know, Big Lots is a closeout store. So, the stuff that would not sell at Kmart gets stuck in this slightly less classy retail venue and then it is sold to patrons of Big Lots. The shelves were full of weird failed products. Something like oatmeal in a squeeze bottle for sandwhiches would not be out of place at Big Lots.) As I was cruising down the isles, a real sadness swept over me as I realized that everyone else in the store was shopping for things for real, and not as jokes. (That always makes me feel depressed. Thursday night, Rene and I were in the grocery store to pick up some candy before we went to a movie, and I was amazed at the amount of people buying a case of shitty beer and a handful of "toys" that the grocery store carries this time of year I've struggled to find what it is about that that bothers me, and I think it is apathy. Apathy on the part of the people who care so little they will wait until the last moment and then buy a bunch of cheap crap just to have the required amount of "present" objects.)

I found what I was looking for: a statue of three elephants stacked on top of each other. Each one was perched upon a larger elephant's back. Perfect, I thought. I was angling for the "What the fuck, Housecoat?" reaction to this present which I hoped to pull off as funny. When I got to the checkout, I grabbed a bag of Circus Peanuts at the very last second and added them to my purchase.

"Don't eat all these at once, you'll get sick." the cashier said.

"Oh, I won't. Those are for the elephants," replied Our Hero. The look on the cashier's face told me that I was approaching "funny" status on this present. (I have never eaten a circus peanut in my life).

My sister actually liked the elephants, but was a little upset about the Circus Peanuts. My protests of "But, that's a year's worth of food for them!" fell on deaf ears.

What did I get? A couple of Two Week Advances. (This is the term my sisters and I made up when we don't have presents ready on time--which happens invariably. Even though Two Week Advance doesn't sound like the right words for it, it is the euphemism we use.)

Christmas Day
We drove 2 hours (it wasn't far from Madison, actually) to my aunt and uncle's house on Dad's side of the family. They bought a large farm property several years ago, and now raise lambs as a hobby. We had lamb for Christmas dinner, and it was awesome.

I think I offended my cousin Tammy. She's kind of gruff. She's nearly 30, but looks like she's been aged beyond her years by bar smoke and hair bleach. (I was thrilled when I found out I shared no blood with her.) When we were sitting around after dinner, my 11 year old cousin asked me what kind of car I drive now. I told him I have a Grand Cherokee. Cousin Tammy spoke up

"Oh, I used to have a Cherokee, now I have kids and have a minivan."

"That's a nice upgrade right there." my cousin Dave (Tammy's half-brother) said while laughing.

I think I laughed and said "Yeah." You know, thinking the joke was "Oh, I used to be young and now I have kids so I am shackled to the minivan." Well, she certainly surprised me when she curtly said:

"It's a fully loaded Town and Country!" There was no trace of a sense of humor or friendliness in her voice. She glared at us waiting for a response.

I didn't know what to do. I thought we were being joke-y. Feigning interest I said "Oh... wow, that sure is a nice car. Golly!"

"Yeah. It is." And with that she turned and walked out of the room.

I have my sisters and my roommate using the catchphrase "It's a fully loaded Town and Country!" Now, e-friends, if you wish to do something for Housecoat this Holiday Season, you need to use that catchphrase in the place of saying something along the lines of "Fuck off". If you do, I'll love ya forever.

Rene
Rene actually had good days from Monday all the way through yesterday. It was wonderful to spend some time with her, and I did finish her lamp. Well, at least a prototype of one. She is very proud of it. I have to say it is neat. It really can change to just about any color. There are a few things that could optimize this, and also it isn't great cosmetically.

I also gave Rene a t-shirt that has a stick figure wearing a dress on it (that I drew) with the words "One New Year's Eve" dress. Since she was worried about what to wear for the New Year's Party we are invited to, she can go pick out a dress to wear and I will buy it for her.

Sadly, today hasn't been as good of a day. I think the aftermath of all the stress with Christmas is getting to her. She usually falls apart after the stressful event has passed. And tonight she was getting pretty worked up.

I have no idea what to say to her when she gets like this. This is almost verbatim of how our conversation went:

Her: I'm just having a really hard time, and I know you're going to be really frustrated and mad at me.
Me: I'm not either of those things, I'm fine. What's going on?
Her: I've been having a hard day and I'm freaking out about school, and I know how mad you get when I am like this.
Me: Love, I'm not mad, it's okay.
Her: And it's just really hard on me when you are mad and frustrated and I just want to make you happy...
Me: (interrupting) I'm NOT mad. Everything is ok.
Her:... and then I end up upsetting you and then that makes me more upset.
Me: Rene! I'M NOT MAD AT YOU!!! Calm down!
Her: See? And now I've frustrated you and you're yelling at me.
Me: I'm not yelling at you, I'm just trying to get your attention. You've got it all wrong.
Her: You sound really frustrated now. Great. Now you're angry at me.
Me: NO. I'm NOT angry. Stop talking for two seconds.
Her: I can't take it when you're so mad at me!
...

It goes on, but I'm not going to write it all out. The interesting part is how it starts. I started out happy, and then ended up frustrated. So, then her reasoning was "See? You're upset. Why were you saying you weren't, when you really were this entire time?"

I don't have the ability to explain it to her that I wasn't frustrated at her, but at the fact that she so tightly holds to her false assumptions about my affect.

In Closing
That's been about it. Both my bosses and Czech Co-worker are not in for the week. The downside is that I can't really slack off, but I like the extra space.

My roommate and his girlfriend exchanged presents with me last night. He got me a bread garage. I think that's pretty cool, since I am very obsessive over my sandwhiches and salads. I feel like making the perfect sandwhich is often better than being able to make a very fancy meal. Perfection in the simple things matter more to me. It's like that story about a king who wanted to commission an artist, so he judged all the artists on their ability to draw a circle unaided.

His girlfriend got me a notebook with a bunch of pictures of Dawson pasted on the cover (an inside joke, since I always call whatever she is watching on tv "Dawson"). It is totally like a middle school girls' trapper keeper. I'm going to take it to work and offer NO explanations to anyone.

I really wish there was something faster than sitting down and typing. I feel like I have 5 minutes of ideas, but it takes forever to type them out. That's probably why I have so many typos and skipped words in my posts.

The Sitcom

2004-12-14T22:41:00.000-06:00

[Cue clever theme song that I have in my head but looks horrible on paper. It makes heavy use of the fact that "Czech" and "car wreck" rhyme.]

[fade in with a few bars of a variation on the theme song]

(CZ is driving a 2002 Dodge Neon from the state fleet out of the parking lot. Our Hero is the passenger.)

CZ: This car is no good. It seems crappy to me. Do you even think it could go fast enough?

JH: I think it could go as fast as we need. Besides, you've only driven it from the parking lot to the stop light.

CZ: It just seems junky to me.

(15 minutes later we are approaching the onramp to the highway.)

CZ: ...and I just think it is stupid that Americans in this country can go to college without knowing what program they are going to enter.

(Audience boos)

JH: You just missed the onramp.

CZ: Well, I can never remember that one! They should have a sign!

JH: There were two signs, and then the onramp was labled.

CZ: They didn't give me enough time!

JH: How much time do you need?

CZ: I don't want to turn around. What is the next best way to get on the highway? Oh, Housecoat...I don't know about this car. I don't feel so comfortable driving this. It seems like they don't give you very good choices for cars.

JH: (explains the next quickest way to get on highway without turning around)

(CZ proceeds to *completely* cut off a car as she's switching lanes still in town. The other driver, appropriately, lays on the horn)

CZ: (Mutters something. It sounded like she called the other driver "ugly". I've noticed she says "ugly" the same way most people would use the word "stupid". She probably needed to get a second word, so she wouldn't be calling everything "stupid" all the time.)

JH: You kind of cut that guy off.

(Audience starts cheering in "You-go-girl!" way)

CZ: I had my turn signal on!

JH: But you were overlapping them by half a car length!

CZ: They should have seen my signal!

JH: (Starts in on a long diatribe about how the driver of the other car cannot see your turn signal when it is, in fact, nearly behind his/her head. CZ does not understand and ends up commenting every single time someone does not use a turn signal for the rest of the day.)

(Audience falls asleep.)

Well, I tried. I just can't bring myself to relive the horrors I experienced today.

Hey, I know!
Have you ever been on a rocket ship? I haven't, but from what I understand, the ship goes the fastest in the middle of the voyage. Because it accelerates at the beginning, then has to decelerate as it approaches its destination. Today, I know what that is like! Unfortunately my analogy falls apart because rocket ships don't have to worry about slamming into other cars when they merge on the freeway going 45. And rocket ships don't slow down an extra 10 miles an hour each time they change lanes. So, today we'd be going pretty slow at first (10-15 miles under the speed limit) for a while, then she would accelerate to 15-20 miles over the speed limit. Then, when we got within 25 miles of Milwaukee, she slowed down and every car that she raced by passed us.

Another thing I can tell you is why cars do not have talking spedometers: they'd be fucking annoying. No one wants a verbal heads-up on how fast you are going, or whether the cruise is on, or whether you think you might be going a hair faster than the car in front of you so you should spend the next 5 minutes trying to pass them. Since the lowly Neon did not come equipped with this, the driver made up for this glaring deficiency.

Today I even brought a book. I had it open on my lap, and it didn't phase her.

I just keep telling myself that she going to be taking maternity leave in the spring.

What Goes Up...

2004-12-09T18:20:00.000-06:00

Instead of writing about what my mom thinks of my sister's ass or how I made fun of a girl by using math, I'm going to discuss my day.

I had to endure the following conversations with the Czech lady in the car today. Well, wait. They weren't really conversations. She just kind of talked at me while I drove. Oh, and I know I'm beating this topic into the ground.

*Names for her future Baby, and why Americans are dumb for not 'getting' the name "Slavek"
*How this job is below her abilities
*How the only the US has sexually abused children, and not other countries.
*Czech Christmas traditions, which are superior to American Christmas practices.
*How black people like fried chicken. She didn't have a reason when I asked her why she said that.
*How she feels bad when I work a full day and she cuts out early. I told her she could work the hours she is being paid for and not worry. She said she doesn't like working long days.
*Doctors who diagnose kids with certain conditions are wrong, and she knows better from reading the file.

Then we got to the Hospital in Milwaukee. With some hard work, we caught up on all the files we needed to do for the day by noon. I called the boss and she said "Hey, good job. Take the rest of the day off." I close down the database and pack up my laptop, and the Czech lady is like "Aren't you going to have lunch?"

"Yeah, at home." I said. She said she was hungry and couldn't wait that long. I told her to go eat, and we'd leave after that. Then, she decided that she didn't want to hold me up, so she would get something to go. There are 3 main places to eat at that hospital: 2 dining rooms and a deli. But, my comrade didn't want to get something from the deli, she thought there was a 4th place one could go to eat lunch, and she wanted food from that place. I told her it would probably be really small and have a poor selection and she should just go to the deli. Well, she didn't want to do that. She asked me where this 4th place was, and was surprised that I didn't know. I've never been there, why would I know? She then gets in line for 10 minutes at the hospital general information desk. Finally, when she comes to the front and the receptionist asks how she can help, my co-worker pretty much starts in the middle of a sentence. (Add an overdramatic Czech/Eastern European accent as you read this to yourself.)

"...And we were wondering, what the place is, where you can get a sahndwich to eat, for something quick."

The receptionist didn't know what the hell was going on, so she did the appropriate thing and looked at the Czech lady like she was a lunatic. I hate it when people try to explain something and they start halfway through their story.

We ended up going to a different part of the hospital to this little "coffee shop". It was tiny. I waited while my co-worker went in and got something to eat. 5 minutes later, she comes out. "The food didn't look so good there, let's go to the deli."

The deli line was about 50 people long, since it was now 12:30. By the time we got in the car, it had been almost an hour and a half since I thought I'd be leaving. I started wondering if this would be what it was like to be married. I feel like I'm a very efficient person, and I don't dawdle. But, maybe my future wife will. And I'll go nuts learning to adapt to a slow, ass-backwards person. During my musing, my co-worker was complaining why they don't have all the places to eat next to each other.

I was treated to these gems on the way home.

*People who watch tv are fat morons, but people who spend that time watching movies are smart.
*They made the highway stupid where you have to change lanes to get to an exit.
*Her victoria's secret buying habits. ick.

I still got home a little earlier than I would have expected. Then I heard from Rene. She was not in a good mood. She was having a hard day already. I tried to explain to her that her meds got changed around and she was back home for the first time. I wasn't expecting a miracle, but i have to admit I was a little disheartened that she was kind of acting psychotic. First she said she was going back to the hospital. Unfortunately for her, you can't just "go" to the hospital. Then she said, she needed time to chill out and would call me Monday. I told her I respected her wish, and I would wait for her call. I think she was expecting me to talk her out of it, because then she started to escalate.

I got off the phone at roughly the same time I would have gotten home form work. So the two people I spend the most time with completely wiped out my free time. I called Rene's dad and we discussed some options and she'll probably take a Xanax to relax and I'll be hearing from them later. I guess she has ECT again tomorrow, and then 3 times next week. It would still be early for it to be affecting her moods, so we will have to wait to see the benefit of the treatment.

While I was on the phone, I decided that I would call my autism behavior-tracking database "CHIP", because the kid I'm making it for loves potato chips. Then, to seem clever, I'm giving it a backronym: "Chip Helps Interpret Patterns" The fact that it is recursive should earn me double points.

Competence in Housework

2004-12-08T22:32:00.000-06:00

This is what happens when I don't re-edit stories before I post them. Ugh.

I had never really understood my parents Kirby vacuum until it was dangling five feet above the ground by a string...

My parents had an older Kirby and they liked it. There is no explanation for why they love Kirby vacuums so much. They're nice, but are they 4 times nicer than a Hoover? If you would ask my parents to rank basic life needs, they would say Kirbies first and then warmth, shelter, and food. When the Kirby man came to our house and shampooed a rug, I don't think my parents could help themselves. I couldn't walk in the living room for a while, and we ended up with a new vacuum. The Kirby G4 (I think.)

The vacuum is pretty nice and it comes with a ton of attachments. There are all different kinds of brushes, and they are a lot nicer than our old kirby model. It also has a switch that will assist you with pushing the entire vacuum. When you flip the switch, it becomes very easy to move; it glides around the room with minimal effort. It is also very responsive; you can rapidly change directions, and it still works. Sometimes I ride it to work. I think that is my favorite feature.

Clearly, I was mildly excited when I found out we got a new vacuum, and my folks wanted me to clean my room before I went back to college. I brought the thirty pound machine up to my room. I plugged it in and turned on the power assist and I was cruising around my room until I came near the window. The cords from my mini blinds were on the floor and I figured the vacuum would be okay with them. It would just roll over them. If they got sucked in, I could just pull them out. Right? I didn't expect to watch the vacuum inhale the cord and drive itself up the wall.

The shock hadn't quite set in yet, so I pushed the on/off foot pedal (which was now at eye level) with my hand. The thinking wasthat once the suction is gone, our hero would gracefully slide back down to the floor. Not so. The cord had wrapped itself around the spinning brush and this was enough to hold the vacuum so high off the ground. I was surprised the blinds were strong enough to support the weight. Then it occurred to me that I should tug on the vacuum, to unwind the cord, and let it slide down to safety. Maybe the cord was just caught up on one of the brush bristles, you know? Sure, it could happen. If I gave it a little help, the vacuum would be on the ground and everything would be back to normal.

I concluded that I had tugged too hard when the vacuum fell all the way to the floor... and pulled the blinds right off the wall leaving a few twisted metal brackets which were then responsible for keeping the sun out of my bedroom.

The loud crash and lack of vacuum noise alerted my parents that something was up. "Those are not regular vacuuming sounds," they thought. And they were right. I could hardly explain away the mixture of vacuum and blinds laying on the floor. I was completely busted. Not only that, the blinds were still stuck in their brand new vacuum cleaner. Imagine everyone's surprise when my parents wanted to know what kind of idiot I was. They had vacuumed many times and never once ripped the blinds off the wall and got them jammed into the base of the vacuum cleaner.

Instead of writing a cute closing sentence that is functionally equivalent to mugging for the camera, I'll just have the story end.

The ONE Time I Was Mean To A Girl

2004-12-08T20:41:00.000-06:00

A story from a long time ago. I struggle with selecting which things to post. Telling a funny story to a group of people is easy. Writing something that will make someone else laugh is not. As you read, keep that in mind (as well as what you paid to get in here).

It was my first semester in college, about 2 months in. It was a Thursday night in the dorms and my new friends and I decided to throw ourselves a little party in the dorm room. By "little" I mean "large", and by "party" I mean "DrinkFest". I was smashed within an hour.

I was in the hall with a necktie on with a couple of my friends when my roommate found me. (We had this thing with wearing ties when we drank. When people would ask us why we were wearing ties, our thing was to stare them down and say "Why aren't you wearing a tie?" Not many people seemed to like us in that dorm.) I was guessing my roommate wanted me to disappear for a little bit so he could be alone with his girlfriend. In the loudest whisper that could still be considered a whisper, he says to me

"Housecoat, can I have the room for sixty seconds?"

"Sixty Seconds? You Stallion!!" Was my drunken reply.

My roommate pondered this for a few seconds and said "Okay, how about one and a half times that-- 90 seconds?"

"You got it." I said, knowing my roommate's mistake in estimation still didn't give me the right to barge into the room in a couple minutes. (I later found out his girlfriend had the sex drive of a spatula, so 90 seconds could have actually been quite a lot of action for him.) Two of my drunken floor mates accompanied me to the den, where I decided I would wait out my exile. The den was empty, except for one girl doing her homework. The girl began chatting with us, and the two other guys started doing drunken headstands and cartwheels, partly (entirely) to try to impress the girl. It seemed a little lame to me, so I ignored all three of them and paid more attention to how much the room was spinning.

The poor girl couldn't do any of her homework with the freaking acrobats performing next to her. So she began talking with us (well, them). I thought I may as well be social during my exile. This is where it gets a little blackout-y, so I am just going by what my friend told me the next day. He was one of the two guys in the room.

Apparently, he and this other guy were trying to impress this girl. Surburban white boys like to call this "mackin' on chicks". I was in the room as well, but I was staying out of this train wreck. I wondered whether I ever looked like that. "No way," I pathetically reassured myself.

After a good amount of this, my friend decides it isn't working and to goes to bed. So that leaves me with that girl and a short, sort of feminine boy. He is trying REALLY hard to impress her, and it wasn't working. He was still doing headstands, calling me names--pretty much anything to call attention to himself. I was checking my watch wondering if it would be safe to go back to my room.

Needless to say, it was a small boost to my confidence that a sober girl decided she liked me better than an effeminate smurf. This was turning out to be a decent use of my time, right? Before I knew what was going on, she somehow rused me into giving her a backrub. I really have no recollection of how she got me to do it. I have a rule of not giving strange girls backrubs. Especially in a college dorm where they become some sort of pseudo-sexual currency. (Another aside-- to this day, she is the only girl whose back I rubbed that I wasn't already involved with. I don't like that kind of stuff out of prinicple. One of my biggest pet peeves is when people use those kind of tactics as a stepping stone to furthering their romantic intentions. As Scott Thompson put it, "I don't lick strangers' faces unless I'm fucking them.")

Sadly, she probably didn't have to work very hard to trick me into doing it.

Her: "Rub my back?"
Me: "Oh-kayyy"

After another hour or two and a romantic encounter I returned to the dorm room, announced I had made a new friend, and passed out.

I awoke with a big headache to go with my big head. My ego was doing very well, as I went over the fact that some girl would be impressed with ME drunk and HER SOBER. The tables have turned, world. My breath smelled like a sewer of cheap booze. But, it seemed that my drunken charisma was intoxicating enough for her to overcome such trivial things.

Fate would eventually require me to interact with this girl when we were both sober. I was dreading this moment. One night we decided to go to the library. We both had a ton of math to do. Something to point out is that we were not in the same math course. She was in a remedial algebra course, and I was in Math 234 - third semester calculus. Math was my forte; I was going to be an engineer. I should mention that I didn't think any less of anyone for not being is such a godforsaken class. In fact, it was an asset to be able to help a girl you were interested in with stuff like that.

We set out all our books on the table and got to work. We both had a shitload of homework. Soon, she asked me for some help.

"How do you do this one?"

Happy to help, I went through the steps with her. It was some story problem. "Okay, well, you know distance equals rate times time, so you know the time, and distance....... and then you're all set."

"Well, you are the genius in Math 234"

"I do what I can," I said with a smile.

A little later she had another question she was stuck on. I did my best to answer her. And she said "Well, they must teach you that in Math 234, because you're *such* a genius."

I didn't want her to think I was smarter than her, so I tried to just downplay what she said. "Come on, I'm not a genius"

The situation repeated itself several times. And each time, she seemed more resentful for me helping her. I became more uncomfortable as she became more sarcastic.

"Ohhhh! You must just be the math genius! You're in TWO-THIRTY-FOUR so you can do anything!"

Or

"Look at that! You can do that one, too! You just must be some kind of genius, huh?"

Or

"I guess you just know everything, huh? Did they teach you how to do that in Math 234? Is that why you know everything?"

What the hell was going on? I was trying to show patience and be friendly, and I've helped people in Math before so I was fairly certain I wasn't rubbing anything in her face. I wasn't talking down to her and I certainly wasn't being condescending and saying "Ooh! that's a tricky one! But you are doing so well! Yes you are! You are so smart and.... you don't even know how smart you are!" None of that. Keep in mind I just met her. I wasn't about to act like a jerk. However, the constant sarcasm and hostility shown toward me for helping her with her math was starting to wear on me.

Something came over me. I don't know if it was due to my testicles finally descending or my voice finally changing, or a combination of both. But, at that moment I was NOT going to be harassed for HELPING SOMEONE. I'm sure you're thinking that she probably didn't mean it, and she was just frustrated that things came easy for me and she was bad at math and a bit of a whore, so she just acted like that out of frustration. That's what I tried to believe, too.

Hiding my own frustration as best I could, I helped her once more. Her reply was

"Oh, look! The genius gets another one right! Good job, GENIUS. Did they teach you how to do that in Two-Thirty-Four? Is that where you learn stuff like that, Math Two-Thirty-Four?"

"No. I learned that in grades 2, 3, and 4."

Silence. For a split second I thought I had gone too far, a tinge of guilt started to float up from the very back of my brain. The expression on her face showed both deep offense and "Oh, no you di-int!" I wasn't sure what to do

"I was complimenting you!" She was trying to act like she serious. That took care of my "feeling guilty" problem in a hurry.

That wasn't very complimenting, lady.

"Well, you think you're so smart. You answered every question!"

"Good Night" I said.

I mean, what kind of person throws themself at me when I'm drunk?

Blogger just ate my post...

2004-12-06T14:55:00.000-06:00

....so instead, you get what has been stuck in my head all day.

"Scruff.
McGruff.
Chicago, Illinois.
6-0-6-5-2

Help take a bite out of crime"

I couldn't tell you if that is entirely correct, I haven't heard jingle in years.

I'm just a boy with a new haircut

2004-12-02T16:56:00.000-06:00

And that's a pretty nice haircut!

It is impossible to get the most out of life if it isn't a little bit shitty from time to time.

The Ride to Work

I almost died in a fiery blaze of gasoline and tires today, so it was a pretty average day. I taught the crazy lady how to use the cruise control today, for the first time in her life. And then for the entire 3 hours (roundtrip) she would comment about the cruise status every two minutes. She was like an airline pilot telling me about the windspeed and ETA, only since the cruise control was on, it was always 70mph.

"Oh, do you think that car ahead of us is going a little slower or the same as us... [after no response from me] well, I should probably pass them, since I've set the cruise to 70 and they seem to be going slower."

"Uh, oh, I better take cruise controll off now, they're going slow ahead of us. How fast do you think that car ahead of us is going? We seem to be going faster and we're going 70."

Every couple minutes it was something about the cruise. And she still managed to merge onto the highway going 40, and I really thought something was going to slam into us from behind.

I know, I know. "Oh, those wacky PhD's!"

Work

We finished going through all the medical records by noon today, so I was done for the week just after lunchtime. Also, I think the people in the hospital deli think I'm some kind of staff because I keep getting 20 percent off my lunches every day. I dress up quite a bit for work, and thanks to Rene's foolish obsession with making me her "trophy boyfriend" I think I can look sharp once in a while. My parents would have a hard time believing that--fortunately neither of them work in hospital delis. It's a nice little bonus, and my co-worker mysteriously does not receive the same treatment. That's a touchdown for democracy if I've ever seen one.

Other
I guess tomorrow will be the test to see if I like working four 10-hour days. I'll probably be lazy and waste the day. And get an oil change. You know, for my car. I'll also get to participate in these "Business Man's Lunches" that my friends do. Apparently, the thing that makes it a "Business Man's" meal is doing moderate drinking in the middle of the day.

We're making eggnog tonight in the apartment. My roommate was nice enough to get me Tom and Jerry mix, and he realized it could be made into eggnog. If you've never had a Tom & Jerry, I'd recommend one. It's a nice warm drink for the cold months.

That's enough writing about drinks. I'm just a little stressed out. Rene checked herself into the hospital today. After looking back at the things I've written I've noticed that I've had several "close calls" recently with bad things happening to her, but they've always ended up working out. I'm sure this will, too.

Rene has bipolar (and a handful of other things) and she is/was on like 8 medications. Mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, ADHD stimulants; all in this very intricate cocktail. But it made her uneven, she would have great days and then horrible days and the doctor would tweak one med or prescribe another and "see how that goes."

Normally a person can't go to the hospital unless they are going to hurt themselves or someone else. She is so lucky to have such great doctors and she has been treated wonderfully by the medical community (which is due to her own father being a doctor). She managed to get in and she called me around 4:30 today. She says they are going to discontinue her current meds and she will undergo electroconvulsive therapy. Then, they will look into med options. ECT scares both of us, and she's doesn't like being in the hospital because she doesn't get her own room and they wouldn't let her take her teddy bears (they were mine when I was a child). She gets a lot of comfort from them when I can't be there. The hospital is concerned that she'd hide something in them to hurt herself, which she won't. But in order to get in to the hospital you have to leave that as a possiblity, so they think she might.

She'll be in there for roughly a week and I will not hear from her very often. She doesn't want me to visit her because she will probably be crazy when she comes off her meds. It's going to suck, and she's pretty brave since she is doing this only to get better; no one forced her to go. In fact, it would be easier for everyone else to just let her be. The main reason she's did this is so she can be with me. She said she would be perfectly content to be crazy if I wasn't in the picture.

She's worried she'll get fat if they put her on more traditional bipolar meds. I am not worried about that. I don't care. She doesn't even weigh 100 pounds right now... how big could she get? :)

I'm kind of a wreck. This is one of the few times I can remember feeling like there isn't anything I can do. I'm not used to having other people do all the work. Rene's family, friends, therapists, and doctors are usually lining up to tell me how wonderful and magical I am. Now, I have to sit and wait.

Death Cab For Housecoat

2004-11-30T23:26:00.000-06:00

As you read this, keep in mind that I wrote this is to entertain and not to bitch.

I was almost in a good number of car accidents today. I say that without a hint of exaggeration in my voice. After all, who would brag about something like that? The Czech woman is the worst driver I've ever had to ride with. At 8 o'clock this morning, she ran a red light at a busy intersection. She didn't realize it was red. Fortunately, the cars going perpendicular to us had seen her coming. I really felt like she was going to get in a wreck. Then she spent generous amounts of time going both 40 AND 80 on the highway. I only tried to merge onto a highway going that slow once, and it happens toward the end of the Legend of the Dirty Bird.

On the way home it was a little scarier because it was dark. Holy balls, that's what I said.

I wouldn't say my life flashed before my eyes. At least, not in the same way that the octogenarians in the yoga class across the street did. Ugh. They have a big bay window aligned right with my apartment.

Anyway, I go around looking at medical records for my job and then record the important parts into a database. This crazy Czech woman was writing in the records to make little bookmarks for herself. I tried to tell her that maybe the hospital didn't want a researcher making comments in the records, but she didn't seem to mind.

Well, it's my turn to drive tomorrow.

Again, I feel like the day just dissolved. I got home at 7 (saw the autistic kid for only an hour), ate, cleaned the apartment and my car, and now I'm here. Is this what the real world is like? I miss college.

The Epic - Part 1

2004-11-22T21:24:00.000-06:00

The Legend of the Dirty Bird

Friends, gather 'round; for the fire glows dim and my voice grows hoarse and weary. Gather 'round and I shall tell you a tale of how tragedy can result from believing in yourself--A journey that disproves the adage “There's nowhere to go but up.” A story that makes one question the intentions of fate, or the existence of fate itself. Perhaps the most tragic part is that it happened to me, but some would say it could only happen to me.

So, there I was.... at the beginning.

Part 1: The Mystery of the Haunted School Bus

It was the beginning of summer, and after an absolutely miserable spring semester I found that I could start my three months off by realizing that (Mary) the Mercedes was dying. In more ways than one. Many people said that Mary and I should be together forever, but Mary was starting to be not so quick on her toes (isn't that always the case?). After much wrestling with the idea, I finally decided I should get a different car. Everything else in my life was changing; different major in school and a breakup with the girlfriend made quite an impact on me. The paradigm of Housecoat was now different; so I thought "New Housecoat, New Car."

I had this crazy idea that I should buy a Jeep Wrangler. How great would that be? (Very.) It would be good in the snow, and you could take the top off in the summer. I found one in the paper. It was a ways out of town, and I called the guy (who barely formed words when he spoke) and he told me approximately where he lived, and refused to give me a street number. Instead he said to look for the School Bus in the front yard that he was going to scrap. "He's one of those guys" I thought.

So, I departed to see the Jeep, accompanied by my trusty roommate, Justin. After a couple hours of driving around and calling the guy to confirm the directions, we found no Jeep, and no school bus. Perhaps it was my poor interpretation of the directions, or perhaps it was because the guy would interrupt our phone call to scream "SHUT UP! SHUT!!! UP!!!" at something in the background. I thought he was yelling at a child. Justin said he might have been yelling at the t.v. Whatever it was, it was not shutting up enough (apparently).

And then it rained.

We were within sight of the Jefferson County border, having traveled the entire county road on which the guy claimed to live. As I approached a 4-way stop, my car died. It seemed to disagree with the rain. We were stuck, 35 miles away from Madison.

"What now?" I asked.

"Give it a few minutes and try it after a while." Justin replied

...

"I'm so cold."

"Let's use our young, hot flesh to keep each other warm, lover."

Instead of that last part actually happening, the car started and we sputtered back home frustrated that there was no Jeep. A jeep was no longer an option, but you already knew that.

The Phone Call :(

2004-11-18T20:45:00.000-06:00

Me: I hate having these kinds of talks, and I know it's your birthday... the timing is just all wrong.

Rene: Why? Is something wrong?

Me: Well, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about.

Rene:What is it?

Me: It's just... I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I guess things with us have been pretty rough, and we've kept fighting through them and trying to go on...

Rene:What do you mean?

Me: There are so many things that have just made me really sit down and think about things. You know my grandma isn't doing well, and work has been really busy, and I haven't really had time for any hobbies or projects that I wanted to work on. What I'm saying is, look, we've been dating for a really long time, and I think all these things in my life lately have really lent a new perspective to everything-

Rene: Johnny, what are you saying?

Me: I'm getting to that, I just want to say that even though we love each other, things have just been really hard lately and that's made me think about things more than usual and... jesus... this is really tough. I wish we weren't talking about this on your birthday and I wish we didn't have to do this over the phone... I've just been thinking about so many of these things and they've been weighing on me and with everything going on-

Rene: Look, just say it! Just say what you're going to say and get it over with!

Me: I...

Rene: What?

Me: I think... I think I should get to touch your boobies more.

...

Rene: What?

Me: Yeah... you know?

Rene: I thought you were going to break up with me.

Me: Nope.

Rene: I hate you.

Me: What? That was at least a little funny wasn't it?

Rene: Oh my god! You're such a bastard.

Me: It was a joke, get it?

Oh, I'm sure she'll be fine.

Storytime: Lotion

2004-11-16T21:00:00.000-06:00

Shopping is not one of my preferred activities. I'd rank it somewhere between dentist and church. But, I manage. Shopping for other people is something I like even less. Espcially when I have to buy things on behalf of my girlfriend.

"What do you need at the mall?" I asked.
"Lotion," she said "I'm all out."

Sounds like a fair deal to me. In my old age, I realize that it's the little things that score you the big points. I could get the lotion now, and then I wouldn't have to do something I don't like later, like listening.

"No, problem. I'll pick it up for you."

This was a pretty big task for me. For starters, I had to go into the Boston Store. I know that they sell Men's items there, but no men actually shop there. Only their girlfriends or wives buy stuff for them there. If you ask a guy where he got whatever he's wearing, he won't say Boston store and he probably won't know at all. Unless the name of the store is written on the shirt.

And I'm not one of those Name-On-The-Shirt Guys.

I went into the store still on the phone so Rene could direct me to the right place. The place was full of different brands, and each one apparently has some special exotic ingredient that helps you radiate beauty. I would hate to pick up the wrong kind.

"Johnny, this has horsecock in it! I asked for mule! You know I'm allergic to horsecock!"

No you're not... baby.

I was walking around in the store, and my phone was cutting in and out, so I was trying to navigate my way to the right counter AND maintain good cell reception. I probably did not look too much different from the dance that bees do to tell the other bees where the flowers are. This got me some strange looks. Coupled with the fact that a guy was in the store to shop instead of asking how to get out of the store to stop shopping.

It turns out each different brand has it's own counter and a person behind the counter for each brand. I had to find Lancome. My phone call was getting pretty choppy, but I finally found it. I'm pretty sure getting any kind of lotion or "facial care product" is a crock. They ALL are "ultra hydrating exfoliating restorative cream" or "ultra restorative exfoliating hydrating wash." The only difference is the box and a pile of money. The thing is, a guy's equivalent of lotion is soap... or nothing at all. I do use soap, but my soap is cheap, and as far as I know it is made from dead animals or lye or something. If lotion is like ubersoap, you'd think the ingredients would have to be a little more extreme.

"Okay, I'm in front of the counter, which one do you need?"

"It's B-i-e- (phone has too much static to hear)"

"What is that, French?"

"Johnny, B-i-e-n.."

"Okay, B-i-e-n something... okay found it."

"The 3.4 full ounce bottle."

"What?"

"3.4 full ounces. That's the size I need."

"Rene, it's fluid ounces. 3.4 fluid ounces. It measures the volume, instead of the weight. There are no full ounces."

"I didn't know that."

Meanwhile the girl behind the counter was giving me a dirty look. She had already closed out her register. She was intensely scowling at me, trying to will me away from her little area.

"Okay, Rene. I'm set, I gotta go."

I turned to the clerk. "Okay... I need a bottle of that Bien... that stuff right there."

"You mean the [French word- with a french accent!!]" she said snottily. Apparently, I shouldn't call it stuff. Oh, also, she wasn't French. She was the make-up girl at the Boston Store. That's the thing that bothers me about girls who work behind the makeup counter. A lot of times I get the impression they think they are too pretty for college, but they are too dumb to know the truth. I never get a friendly attitude from the few interactions I've had with them. Even at unpretentious places like Shopko. Unless they get the stuff for free, I wonder how they could afford to wear so many of the products. They didn't even have prices on them--never a good sign.

"Yep, that's what I need."

"Well, maybe someone else can ring it up for you. I'm already closed out."

She gave it to a very clean-cut guy at the counter on the other side. He rang it up for me. Then he laughed. I swear to god he laughed when he saw what rang up on the register.

"The total after taxes comes to $64.28."

You've got to be shitting me. I know Rene gets really "good" stuff, whatever "good" means. But the bottle was only a little bigger than my cell phone. What the hell could be put in that bottle that could be worth sixty dollars? My cell phone, I guess. Or folded up money. But that's missing the big picture.

I paid, and the guy was still giggling to himself. He wrapped the box in tissue paper and put it in a bag. I left wondering if the lotion would soothe my crotch from the severe beating it just received in the store.

Later that night I went over to Rene's to give her the lotion. She cheerfully greeted me, and we sat down in the den. She told me she had something for me, too. Given my heroic acts, I was pretty psyched for my surprise. I got a bag of Skittles. I was hoping for something more lotion-esque. She proceeded to have a little lotion party, putting the lotion all over her face the same way a person dying of thirst would respond to a cool, clear mountain stream.

"I missed it," she explained.

I don't even really like Skittles.

The Moosenary Position

2004-11-05T11:15:00.000-06:00

A story from a while ago...

My parents went on a cruise to Scandinavia for their 25th wedding anniversary. They were kind enough to think of me during their trip and they came back with a little present. When they came down to visit me at school they brought it with them. It was in a little wrapped box, and my parents had this expression on their faces like they were really amused with themselves for it. Happily, I tore open the wrapping paper and I was quite surprised with what I found.

Boxer shorts. With moose on them. The box itself had the same print as the boxers, and on the box, you could see two moose standing next to each other in a red heart. My mom was very pleased, and I wasn't sure what to make of it.

"See? The moose are in love." my mom said. She thought she was so funny. Anxious to have a pair of boxers cooler than my roommate's Raisin Bran Crunch shorts, I pulled them out to examine them.

"Mom, all the moose are having sex."

My mom gasped and a look of confusion spread across her face and my dad started laughing. Sure enough, there was a picture of the moose standing next to each other, but there were also pictures of the moose having sex in several positions. Some of them had to be pretty unnatural (for moose anyway). Those moose were having a great time. There were stickers on the box for the size and the price that were covering the other pictures of moose coitus.

"Your dad just wanted to hurry up and pick something and get going." My mom said in defense of buying her son lewd boxers. I was pretty pleased.

This past year, my parents went to Canada and felt the need to perpetuate the Moose gifts. I got a pack of stationery that had a moose pulling a sled and it said "Things I Mush Do". There's no sex in that one... unless you fold the paper just right... and draw on a bunch of cartoonish Moose privates.... which I don't*.

*do

Democracy Bandits

2004-11-02T01:30:00.000-06:00

I hate it when bloggers create some complicated story to use as a heavy-handed metaphor for a simple concept. That said, this is an actual story and not a metaphor. (Though it does bear a resemblance to last week's South Park.)

When I was in 4th grade, our school district was bursting at the seams and we needed a new elementary school. For reasons unknown, they called it Forest Glen Elementary School. I fell in the area the new school would cover, so midway through 4th grade I started going there. One of the first things the administration did was declare that we needed a mascot. And the students could submit ideas, and then vote on them to determine what would represent our school.

I didn't understand why we needed a mascot; after all, elementary schools don't have competitive sports and students don't necessarily come in contact with other elemtary schools. I think the principal just wanted to be able to say something like "Let's give a big Forest Glen Horsecocks welcome to this children's entertainer who we overpaid to put on a lousy show!"

To condense: The administration picked six to vote for and "Bandits" won. By a lot. I voted for them. They were the coolest choice available. The next day we were told that they won and then told that the name would promptly be changed to "Buccaneers." We were shocked. Did they understand what it meant to change the name of OUR ELECTED MASCOT to the (at the time) shittiest NFL team in history? Initially we were pissed at the fact that "Buccaneers" was only the worst thing ever. The screw-up in the process provided our means to contest the decision.

They thought "Bandits" conveyed too much violence for a elemtary school. My friend and I went to the principal's office and told them to change it back, or let us re-vote with Buccaneers in place. We also pointed out that the dictionary said a "Buccaneer" was no saint, either. They said it would stay the way it was and there was nothing we could do.

Bullshit. My friend and I started collecting signatures of people who thought it wasn't fair. Our parents taught us the word "petition", but did not encourage or discourage us. We were getting quite a few signatures. By the time a third of the school had signed, we were told that only people who voted for Bandits could sign it. We didn't know any better, so we went with it. Then our teacher said we couldn't keep leaving class to do go around for signatures, so we did it during recess. Then we were told we couldn't have people sign it on the school grounds, so we did on the bus. A couple times we even took different buses at the end of the day, just so we could get a few more signatures.

We were told that we couldn't do it on the buses, since school rules applied on the buses. We were talking to the principal almost every day that whole week. By the time we were pedaling our 4th grade asses around town after school to get signatures, the principal had enough. She called us into her office and had us sit down. She was in discipline mode. She asked to see our petition. Proudly, we showed her the document signed by two thirds of the school.

She took it away and produced a paper with our parents names and phone numbers on it.

"I want you guys to stop getting signatures for this. You aren't supposed to be doing that. Did your parents tell you to start a petition?"

Honestly, I replied saying that they told me what I was already doing was a petition, but they didn't tell me to do it. She said that if we didn't stop she would have to call our parents and we were in trouble. Do you remember how horrible of a threat that was when you were so young? Anyway, we said she couldn't punish us for doing something outside of school.

She said if we stopped we could play on the middle school football field at recess (adjacent to our school). That was something we had wanted for a long time. After all, they had a REAL field.

"Tackle?" we asked.

"Maybe." she said. "So, I guess I won't be needing these anymore, then?" she said showing us the paper with our parents' numbers on it.

She escorted us out of the office. Needless to say, word had gotten around school, and parents were pissed. The next PTA meeting was hell for the principal. My mom said the principal broke down and said she felt like everyone was against her and she was new to the area, etc.

They agreed to redo the election. This time all the choices were pretty sterile. You know what won? Timber Tails. The Forest Glen Timber Tails. What the hell does that mean? I didn't fucking vote for this!!! This was the worst choice yet! Please God, let us be the Buccaneers again!

We pleaded our case to the principal. Things went worse than we could have possibly imagined.

"This vote is final," she said. "Also, teachers are telling me you are playing football on the Middle School's field. You need to stop that, you aren't allowed to play there." Then she sent us out.

They are still called the Timber Tails to this day. A raccoon with an eye patch and a bandana is the mascot. (Apparently THAT is a Timber Tail).

I have been sitting here and staring for quite a while trying to find a moral or lesson in this.

Jesus Christ Eats Cheese-'n'-Rice

2004-10-28T22:19:00.000-05:00

Not long ago I went to Perkins with my roommate. We were in the area and he was hungry so I lifted my three year boycott on the place. I never really liked it because I always got poor service and lousy food. And it's the most generic and dull choice of restaurants..

Shortly after we arrived, a couple women sat down at the table across from us. They were no ordinary women; to save time and space I'll just say they fit the stereotype of trailer trash/white trash. Whether they were or not, and the definition of trailer trash, is entirely subjective. One looked roughly ten years older than the other.

My roommate and I were eating and discussing the important matters of the day. That meant we complained about girlfriends, quoted essential movies like Brain Candy, and wondered aloud whether a man with a priapism at a funeral^ would make a funny comedy sketch. Discounting the puns, it was pleasant discourse.

The women across the way were becoming louder and louder and they started saying calling attention to themselves with their antics. It was almost like the older one was sort of mentoring the younger one into her way of life.

Their conversation was dominating the dining area, but it became only more distracting when we heard bits and pieces of stuff like "He don't hit me like he used to--just when he's drunk, but he's in jail now." This was way better than whatever my roommate had going on at our table. Both of us would rather have heard their chat, but we felt obligated to maintain our conversation even though it was not nearly as riveting.

Then the women took it up a notch, getting even more riled. One was saying how she wrote a movie about her life and tried shopping it to either Lifetime or Oxygen and they said they already had a bunch of movies about that. Her plan was to wait for the movie to come out and then sue. By that point, we didn't feel pressured to maintain our lame exchange, we decided to tune into these women just in time to hear:

"And I said to him, I said, if you ever talk like that about god again--OR JESUS-- I'm gonna PUNCH YOU IN THE FUCKIN' FACE!!!" [Pounds hand on table for effect] "I am a CHRISTIAN!"

I haven't had to try and stifle a laugh like that since health class in middle school. I am totally eating at Perkins again.

^Officially, Priapism at a Funeral would indeed be funny. At least to the two of us. In addition to all the awkwardness when people go to hug the grieving guy with a priapism, the one liners are golden.

"Yeah, poor guy, Johnny does seem to be taking it a little HARD." [mug to audience]