He was a she, so i didn’t get the job

Sep23

Can you blame me? I had a miserably long Sunday at work, complete with drunken NFL fans getting all up in my mix with their sour breath and wearing their beer-stained jerseys, coupled with a dining-room full of wannabe pirates drinking a rum-soaked English IPA and singing “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” complete with references to homosexual roosters (could I seriously make that up even if I tried?). I needed and deserved a cocktail or two ten once I threw my keys on the kitchen table and kicked off my shoes.

Fresh out of beer and not feeling some wine, I cuddled up on the couch downstairs and spooned with a newly-opened bottle of Bombay, who had the courtesy of inviting her friends tonic and a wedge of lime. The four of us enjoyed each others company while upstairs my son slept innocently in his top bunk and my wife watched reality television in our room, both oblivious (not really) to my transgressions taking place in the room directly beneath them.

As the evening transitioned into late night, my nite-owl (my spelling–I think it adds some funk) instincts kicked in and my buzzed sense of calmed quickly twitched itself into a nagging restlessness.

Earlier in the week I finished my feature article for Rails-to-Trails magazine (The Winter 2011 edition due out newsstands across the country in Novemeber, or visit railstotrails.org for more info!), and also finished-up a woodworking project for a restaurant in Denver, and for the first time since I graduated, I don’t know, Prairie Middle School (lemmie hear you, A-Town!) I didn’t have a single extra-curricular activity going on to help distract me from the nagging voices in my head.

“Completely Unacceptable!” I proclaimed out loud (I was drunk) and stumbled to my computer. I somehow rationalized that the tingle in my fingertips was a sign not that I was tanked, but rather that I needed to type, and decided to send out some query letters and land a new project.

I would have been content after sending out out the first two until I realized a bit late that I had a glaring typo in the first five words of my letter that would most likely prevent me from ever hearing from those publications again in my lifetime. But rather than wave the white flag and retreat off to bed, I decided to send out one more, this time perfect and void of any hint of grammatical error, and shoot for a publication that I would have never dreamed of querying if I were sober.

I awoke the next morning feeling like my skull had been cracked open like an eggshell and I had swallowed two small kittens.

“Oh Shit!” I proclaimed, again out loud (I was hungover), as I shot out of bed to go check my email.

Finding this in my inbox, oh shit was right:

Hmmm...(and I really need to learn some basic photoshop)

Thank you for the writer’s lesson, Mr/Ms editor chick/dude. I will go ahead and look elsewhere.

A Really Expensive Peep Show

Aug10

The good brother that I am, for the past forever, I have been helping my sister rehabilitate a money-pit investment property that she bought during a momentary lapse with the crack-pipe.

She immediately dubbed it, “The Farm,” a term I think helped convince her of what she believed to be the property’s potential. Something called “The Farm’” after all, can’t help but evoke images of cute grazing goats and magnificent galloping stallions, bountiful gardens, fresh air, and John Deere.

I, on the other hand, quickly embraced a much more realistic if not more snarky nickname for the property. Something that highlighted a bit of its, shall we say, opportunities rather than solely its potential. “A-Rusty-and-Cursed-Tin-Can-of-a-Singlewide-in-the-Middle-of-a-Useless-Five-Acre-Lot-with-Bad-Juju-and-Stray-Cats-in-the-Crawl-Space-who-would-Tear-into-your-Arm-for-Dinner-and-Claw-at-your-Eyes-for-Dessert” seemed to roll of the tongue after a few weeks of hard labor. Eventually I would have to shorten it to “The RCTCSMUFALBJSCCSTADCED” for the sake of conversation, but you get the point.

"The RCTCSMUFALBJSCCSTADCED"- A deal at any price!

Let’s fast-forward a couple of years to this summer. Long story short, but rather than return “The RCTCSMUFALBJSCCSTADCED” back to its former glory and cash in on the bustling real estate market, my sister has decided to actually reside in it for a while after her pending exodus from New Mexico.

But there was still an issue of a leaky roof that needed to be addressed as well as some other (obvious) details, and with her still living in another state and me having about eighteen jobs in addition to my role as a loving husband ans doting father, we agreed on the need to find some help to get it done. I began to ask around, when one of my friends mentioned his handyman uncle was unemployed and just needed something to keep him busy and pick up some extra cash in the process.

I bit, and Billy, err, Steve came out to work with me a few time so I could get a feel for where he was at. Though by no means a rocket scientist, I got a good vibe that at least he kind of knew what he was doing so I set him free. Armed with a detailed list of things that needed to get done, a few days later Billy err, Steve gave me a call letting me know that he “had just a small section of the roof to go” and was wondering if I could float him some of the cash I owed him when he was done.

Now, in my defense, he was related to one of my best friends, so I gave it the benefit of the doubt. But sure enough, the next time I made the trek out to “The RCTCSMUFALBJSCCSTADCED,” expecting to find a finished product, the roof wasn’t even half done, the part that was looked like a blind monkey did it, and inside I found this-

Funny, there didn't used to be a HOLE IN THE CEILING!!!

and this-

No, I don't think that was meant to be an outdoor shower, either.

And to top it off, Billy err, Steve seems to be halfway to Mexico to boot.

***sigh***

So there I was a few days later, festering about being nearly a thousand dollars of my own personal savings deep into my sister’s investment, filling up a dumpster full of a porous roof, a collapsed ceiling, and tiny little bits of my shattered spirit. That was until I stumbled across this gold mine:

Sorry about the resolution, but then again, how graphic do you need it to be? Pervert...

And now I sit eagerly awaiting a phone call from National Geographic, confident that I will get a handsome return on my own investment, and then some!

A Threatening Realization

Aug3

Restaurant manager training can run havoc on a girl’s figure, even if that girl happens to be a dude built like a retired linebacker. I knew going in that six weeks of systematically tasting every little bit of deep-fried and butter-bathed goodness on the menu was not going to do much for my waistline, but not until feeling my belt pinch while watching television on a day off halfway through did I realize how bad things might get.

In the spirit of being a good trooper I refused to weigh myself until my training was through; until tonight when I made my triumphant return to the gym to confront the carnage of having had to go UP a belt notch for the sake of my professional development.

+11lbs–SH!!!!!!!!!!!!T

So why am I so sensitive?

The first weekend after moving to Colorado Springs after my promotion to General Manager of the local Hooters (allow me to allow you a few moments to snicker…That never really gets old, does it? Let us continue), two gentlemen were trashed at my bar in the middle of the afternoon. As his companion basically sat comatose with his face nestled comfortably into my bartop, his buddy tried to order another round of shots from my bartender. I stepped in and politely informed the personal hygienically-challenged patron that we would be unable to serve him another drink but would be happy to serve him a 20 piece with hopes that he choke on a chicken wing while the hot sauce melted a hole in his throat- I worded it a bit different, but you get the point.

It may have started innocently enough, but dude turned angry QUICK!

Anyways, needless to say said patron go a bit upset, shot off his stool sending it bouncing backwards off the floor, and started some kind of long tequila-induced spanish-voodoo curse that ended with the only words that I understood:

“I WILL DRAG YOU OUT INTO THAT PARKING LOT AND KICK YOUR FAT FUCKING ASS!!!”

Dude continued to loose his mind, and eventually with the aid of mall security my cooks, I was able to get him out the door with no harm done. Except to my psyche, of course…all I could think about, all I kept hearing in my head, was not the threats of this guy even as he was escorted out in an arm-bar, but the fact he called me F-A-T!

Well, that was the motivation that I needed, and a few months and 50lbs later I was finally back to repectibility (and could run a mile without needing to stop and vomit after 2 minutes). And I suppose I have the tequila-sweating, spanish-voodoo drunk guy to thank for helping me get there. In fact, if anyone knows where I might find him, let him know i still got a 20 piece with his name on them.

Oh, I still got his chicken, alright

Now if you will excuse me, I have to get to bed. I have an early-morning spin class to get to.

Wordless Wednesday

Jan27

Congrats to my sister who is out with the old...

...and in with the new. ***Disclaimer***- Nobody was hurt in this post. Well, kinda. But all is better now so we can look back at it and laugh a bit. The new one's a nice shade of pink, huh?

Images of Royalty

Jan8

Meet Ernie.

Hi everyone! I am Ernie....

Ernie is a pug, which means by default he is not my dog, but my wife’s dog and hers alone. His claim to fame is once having his eyeball pop of out his socket when he got a little too excited. Don’t worry, though. The vet gave him some medication the sucked the eyeball back into its socket and he’s good. He naturally smells funny and is blind as a bat, mind you- but good nonetheless.

Ernie has a habit of being a bit of a prima donna, which allows us to fast-forward to a morning late last week that found me motionless at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the ceiling. You see, it was cold outside, and a bit too early for Ernie to rise and shine. However, I needed to get in the shower and go to work to be able to afford to buy Ernie his kibble, so for expediency’s sake, I agreed to be his personal escort downstairs to the back door.

Kinda sorta- except I was still in my underwear & hadn't had coffee yet

“I fell down the stairs carrying your dog outside,” I told my wife on the phone later that morning.

“Oh My God! Is he OK!?!?” she exclaimed with great concern.

“He’s good,” I replied with a serene tone of calm. “My back hurts, I have a cherry-red, skid-burn-thing on my butt, and my elbow doesn’t work. But Ernie? He naturally smells funny and is blind as a bat, mind you- but good nonetheless.”

Imagine Ernie. It's not in my budget to stage photos, just steal them online (where it is legal to do so, of course)

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, Seriously?!?!

Sep24

Let’s begin anew…

So I am a jeep guy. I refuse to shave on consecutive days, dress in layers, and have yet to pay for a haircut this century (though that is also a part of me being cheap, but I digress).

Yes, it is the exact same rhetoric as last week. Let’s speed up a bit.

Long story short we decided to take up the dealer’s offer on the red wrangler and enjoy it for the weekend with no strings attached just to prove that the blocked fuel pump had been fixed at the thing was once again running like a champ. We picked it up late afternoon on Friday, and were excited to give it a thorough inspection until Monday morning.

Beep! Beep! It’s a…tow truck

Sep17

So I am a jeep guy. I refuse to shave on consecutive days, dress in layers, and have yet to pay for a haircut this century (though that is also a part of me being cheap, but I digress). My dad gave me the fever when he got his first wrangler when I was in the third grade which he just said goodbye to after almost two decades and 300,000 mile, and it has been with me ever since.

Somewhere along the line I lost my focus, and I blame my move to Georgia. I purchased my first jeep when I was in high school, a 1974 cj5 which I promptly almost rolled a few times until it Chevy Big Block ripped its axle in half and I decided to send it out to pasture. In college I saved up and bought my first new jeep, a 1999 wrangler sport, only to sell it a couple of years later when I thought I might be a full-size truck guy instead. Boy was I wrong. All I needed was a confederate flag in the back and my conversion would have been complete. What was I thinking!

Anyway, here I am, back in the CO, and I got the itch back again. The Jeep itch. And my wife has it too.

So after a long search lasting a few months, we decided to flop on this 1992 Wrangler YJ. Isn’t it a beauty?

At least it looks good on the side of the road

Why is the hood up? Oh, that’s because we broke down…3 MILES FROM THE DEALERSHIP!!! Oh, you couldn’t make this stuff up.

God Bless AAA

Driving off the lot I noticed that the Jeep was a bit sluggish, but I convinced myself that after sitting on a lot for a while it just needed to get out and stretch its legs (though it drove fine two days earlier when I test drove it. I can rationalize anything). Just as I turned on to a main artery and started to gear up…

***pa thud thud***

…and I was done.

Not quite how I envisioned driving it down the road

Fortunately we had the coolest tow-truck driver in the history of the world, who recognized my 5 year old was on the verge after being stuck on the side of the road for over two hours. He invited Tyler to push the levers on the tow truck and drag my lifeless wrangler into position for the short ride back to the dealership (WE ONLY MADE IT 3 MILES IF YOU RECALL!) so we could get our money back.

Author’s Note: So today the dealership called, informed us it was a blocked fuel cell which they repaired, and offered to let us keep it for a few days and get it inspected by our own mechanic if we wanted to consider buying it again. I just don’t think that’s a relationship I believe I could salvage.

Trimming Nosehairs

Keeping It Neat And Tidy Since 1978

Tag Archives: Damn It!