When Things Go Too Far.



It’s inevitable I guess, that turn of events that happens from one degree to it’s furthest polar opposite.  I think that is a situation that is currently happening with our kids, and our school systems.

Bullying, drug abuse, sexual abuse, and violence.

It all has to stop. Everyone, I believe, agrees with that score.

For the threat of violence, the polar opposite was to ban any type of weapon, and by weapon I mean plastic knives.

For sexual abuse, the polar opposite seems to be to fire all the teachers in a school (and perhaps that was the right move). It also means accusing 8 year olds of sexual harassment when they tell their teacher they are cute (and perhaps that most definitely was NOT the right move).

For drug abuse, the polar opposite was to ban any drug, even Tylenol (which I think is going a little far).

But for bullying, the polar opposite seems a sticky point.

Case in point: A Virginia school district is considering a ban on cross dressing. They wish to do this for the protection of the students, avoiding distraction, that kind of thing.

The Virginia ACLU is threatening to sue. They, as well as members of the community say that it’s not right to ban cross dressing and that more efforts should be put into curbing bullying.

Well, this has made me think long and hard on who might be right and who might be wrong.

Even kids have rights.  Kids should be allowed to express themselves. But I am a firm believer that kids rights are not the same rights as adults. Why? Because, hey, they aren’t adults. That’s why they aren’t allowed to make a lot of their own decisions. Like drive a car until they reach a certain age, drink until they reach a certain age, or live on their own until a certain age. They also shouldn’t be allowed to do anything that endangers the welfare of others.

I think that this ban should be allowed.

As for the ACLU, well, how are we supposed to put more concentration on eradicating bullying?  Putting peace officers or guards in the schools? Who is going to pay for that? Movies and programs on anti-bullying? Do you really think kids are going to watch and be indoctrinated when their friends and family have a lot more influence on them and.. who is going to pay for these movies and programs? What happens when a kid loses control and gains hold of a peace officers gun, or a guards taser? Could there be another Columbine waiting, just as we wonder the same due to bullying?

I find all this humorous in a sad way.

The simple answer is this. We need to remember that kids are kids. They have rights, up to a certain point. They the right to be treated well by their parents, be educated so they can become responsible citizens (we hope) and the right not to be hurt. They have the right to a home, food, and healthcare (although plenty of kids go without the last). But as for their right to express themselves, there should be RULES.

What is up with these kid’s parents anyway? I wouldn’t let my kid cross dress at school anymore than I would let my daughter dress like a hooker at school. It really does boil down to that.

Look, if a kid wants to cross dress? Fine. If they want to be a cross dresser when they are at home, out of school and away from the school environment? Fine. If, when they reach 18 and graduate, they want to cross dress 24/7, more power to them. It’s their business at that point.

Allowing kids to express themselves in such a manner that brings such attention to themselves and puts them in danger is plain wrong. Allowing them to do so in a school setting is not only wrong, but you aren’t doing these kids any favors.

I can imagine what would happen if I decided to dress up as Batman and go to work every day in an office. Can you? Let me fill you in.

It would go something like this:

Mr. Jones, what do you think you are doing?

What do you mean?

Why are dressed up as Batman at the office today?

Because, well, I love Batman, and I think I look rather fetching in this costume.

Mr. Jones, go home and change. Now.

No way dude! I’m expressing myself!

Mr. Jones, you’re fired. SECURITY!

That’s right, I would be fired if I refused to quit. What if I decided to dress as a knight and carry a sword? I would probably be arrested. As an adult, I know there are rules that I must follow. We need to teach our kids that when they are grown and on their own, there will be rules that they must follow. It doesn’t matter if we agree with them, or if we like them. If we want to survive in the world, then we have to follow rules. Some of these rules are in the form of laws. By allowing kids to ignore rules in their formative years, we are setting them up for thinking they can disregard rules as adults.

Please tell me I’m not the only one to see this.

Again, understand me. If someone wants to cross dress, no matter if it’s a girl or a boy, fine. But do on their own time, away from school (which should be regarded as a training ground for what the world will be like when they grow up and get out of school).

I say let them pass the ban. There is nothing wrong with a little order and discipline and perhaps, just perhaps, they will be one step closer to being prepared for the future.

The Differnce Between Men and Women? Psshhht.

Men usually get a bad rap. I will admit, that sometimes, we deserve it. But there are times when women use this “bad rap” deal to their advantage.

Such was the case tonight.

We were watching TV. A commercial for Fairly Legal, the show on USA staring Sarah Shahi, came on.

My wife says: “I hater her”

My response?: “Why, because she is this big?” (making a tiny circle with my two hands)

Her response?” “Mhm”

I said: “what you need to understand is that there are a lot of guys who would climb on that. But there are plenty who wouldn’t for fear of hurting her, or getting hurt.”

Hey, don’t judge me, I was trying to make my wife feel better. I think she looks great. She looks like a WOMAN. She doesn’t look like an adolescent boy. She has curves. She is beautiful. She is WOMAN (and she frequently roars).

This is where men get in trouble. First, I should have just kept my mouth shut. I should have known better. I mean come ON, I’ve been married for almost 23 years!  I’ve learned a thing or two. Or three. But my only defense in opening my stupid trap is that.. well I was tired. The brain was not functioning. The lights were on, but no one was home. Someone stole a few crayons from my box. You know, I spoke without THINKING.

So of course, being a woman, she had to say SOMETHING.

Now she could have gone off one me. A lot of women might have. I might have had awkward questions like, “Then why do you like that show so much”. Or, “you only say that because you know that I know you think she is hot”. Or any other number of questions or accusations. Not to mention she had to go and write about it on her blog: The Difference Between Men and Women

Yeah, I’m man enough to admit that the actress in this show is attractive. But truthfully, she happens to be painfully thin. Attractive, but hey, so what?

Now before you women who might be reading this climb all over me, let me tell you the rest of the story.

My wife turned to me, and said: “You know, this is the difference between men and women. Men look at that and think about climbing on top of her and women look at that and think how much easier it would be to shop” (Obviously meaning if they were as thin as the actress).

Then not two minutes later, previews for next’s week White Collar came on and the Actor who plays Alcide on True Blood is going to quest staring. The actors name is Joe Manganiello. Apparently, a lot of women think he is hot.

My wife? She sighs in pleasure and says “that is one fine piece of real estate.”

So why do men get the bad rap I ask?  No justice I tell ya. None.

Why the chicken (or Guinea) crossed the road

Forget the various crises in the world. Forget Pia getting voted off Idol.  I have a more pressing concern.

Why, oh why did that Guinea try to cross the road?

I may live (almost) in the city, but people being people, they will keep the oddest pets.  For whatever reason.  Even if it’s not really an appropriate place.  Maybe it’s the fact they are the obsessive-cute type people who see a baby animal and go “OH MY GOD, MUST HAVE NOW”.  Or maybe it’s because they smoke to much weed.  I really don’t know.

What I do know is that often times these people do not cage or contain these odd pets in an appropriate manner.  I don’t know why they do that either, unless it’s to annoy their neighbors.  Which kinda sounds fun, but hey, I’m not willing to shell out food for free ranging animals just to have a chuckle.

One of these types of people live on the route I take my daughter to school every morning.  It’s actually a rare day when we don’t see various types of chickens roaming around in several yards.

But nothing could prepare me for yesterday morning, when we had a run in with a Guinea hen.  Yes, a Guinea hen (pictured above).

So I’m driving down the road, minding my own business, when they car in front of me made a left turn.  As I started to accelerate again, there on the side of the road where two Guineas.  As I approached, suddenly one of them darted out in to the road, it’s head bobbing in time with it’s gait.  As I got closer, the Guinea, realizing there was several thousand pounds of metal hurtling towards it, did an abrupt U-Turn, and I tell you now, he was moving so fast, he had to actually lean into the turn.  His head, obviously, increased it’s bobbing as his speed increased, making me dizzy as all get out.  Yeah, there is just something hypnotic about foul head bobbing.  I think that’s why we starting eating foul.  We were mesmerized by that head bobbing and therefore figured it was stupid, and something the world wouldn’t miss if we ate it.

I’m not sure what that Guinea was thinking.  Perhaps it was depressed and thought about committing vehicular suicide and (ahem) chickened out at the last moment.  Or maybe it was mad at the world, and was trying to take it out on me.  Or maybe he was a brave Guinea and wanted to play chicken on the road.  Or maybe, just maybe, it was just trying to cross the road, and I was to close so it changed it’s mind, preventing me from discovering the answer to the age old question of why did the chicken cross the road.

My daughter and I had a good laugh over the Guinea.  But I will admit, I’m curious as to who ARE these people who keep pets like this when they don’t live on a farm and why in the WORLD don’t they keep them pinned up?

I guess like the question of why did the chicken cross the road, I will never know.  I’m probably going to lose sleep over it now, all thanks to some goofy Guinea, trying to cross the road.

"Or Best Offer" Really? Man have I got a deal for you!

I’m a firm believer in being able to sell something you own.  It really doesn’t matter to me if it’s a fair price, a market style price, or way underpriced.  Since you, as an individual is selling the item, you should be able to ask what you want.  The same is not true for corporations (for the most part).  All of this Governed by what people are willing to pay for an item.  Take for example, the Apple iPad.  If people didn’t believe it was worth what they are charging for it, they wouldn’t be buying it. 

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for necessities, such as Gasoline. Ahem.

So, if you are individual selling, for arguments sake, a book, and you ask $ 50.00 dollars for it because you believe it has sentimental value and is a first edition, it’s possible you might find a buyer willing to pay that price.  Or not.  The same can be said for cars.  If you have a modern car, and want to sell it, you can list it for sale for whatever price you want, and maybe you will sell it for that price.  Or maybe not.

But one thing that absolutely gets under my skin is the term “Or Best Offer”.

Look.  If you want to sell something, list you price and take your chances.  Like say, a car.  Chances are, a halfway smart individual will at least look up the value of the car and see if you’re asking price is reasonable.  Then the decision will be down to; A) if that individual has the money), and B) if the item is good enough condition to be worth that kind of money.

But what is that “Or Best Offer” crap?

I will tell you what it is.  It’s a nuisance. 

I’m a nice guy.  I really am.  But if I see something I might be interested in, and it has a price along with “or best offer”, well then you deserve the aggravation of dealing with me.  If you’re asking $ 4,0000.00 “Or Best Offer”, then the following is likely to happen.  If I think I can re-sell the item and make money, and it sits there for sale for a few weeks, then I’m likely to say, since you’re accepting “or best offer”, my offer is $ 10.00.  Or maybe a $ 1.00.  Depending on what is being sold.  If it’s a car, I might go as high as $ 100.00, if it’s in good shape.  Then I will turn around and sell it for below the market value and make me some money.

Why?  Because chances are, it’s likely the person selling the item is asking to much for it, knows it, and just wants to see how close to their asking price they can get for it.

So just so you know, if you have a nice motorcycle that is worth $ 1,000, and ask $ 1,200 “or best offer”, expect me at your door offering $ 50.  If you say no, don’t worry, I won’t get mad.  I’ll just shrug and walk away.

I don’t know why, but “or best offer” really gets under my skin.

Clandestine Meetings and Babies

Not only does my wife refuse to grow old gracefully, but she pretty much refuses to do anything that resembles normal.  I think she took the idea of being unique to a whole new level.  But maybe she is just weird.  Or is crazy from being married to me for so long.

One of the things that she refused to do normally was be pregnant.  Oh I know, every pregnancy is different.  But well, my wife tried to take this to new heights.

Before I go ahead with that, I guess I really need to start at the beginning.

I used to work for a Secret Government Agency, and my wife worked for an Agency that’s letter’s resemble FBI.  Ok, so FBI it was.  I was overseas, doing secret government work, and she was working on a high profile case.  Trouble was, our cases, so to speak, were connected.  She had documents that I needed information from to seek out my target and save the free world.  I figured it would be easy enough to sneak into her hotel room while she was sleeping.  Trouble is, my wife is not only beautiful, but smart and sneaky.  I was caught red handed, in her hotel room, with a gun to my head.  I, being the witty and charming fellow that I am, managed to talk my way out of a bullet to the head.  I also somehow managed to take advantage of the fact that she slept in the nude.  Did I mention my wife is beautiful?  She is.  It must have been something in the air or water, but in the interest of national security, we decided to pool our resources.  We pooled our resources a number of times that night.  It was sweaty work, but extremely nice.  Because we worked for different agencies, we decided to keep our meeting a secret, thus The Clandestine Meeting of my life.  Several months later, I got notice from her that she was pregnant.  They say it only takes once, but since our Clandestine meeting involved numerous pooling of resources that one night, who knows which pool was to blame.  Well, clearly mine, but that’s how it goes.

Ok, the above might not be true, except for the pregnant part.  My wife DID get pregnant, which came as a shock to us both.  I was happy, she?  Not so much.  At least not at first. By the time she was happy, she had become to realize how blessed she had been with her pregnancy so far.  No morning sickness.  No weird cravings.  Clearly I was also blessed, since I wasn’t sent by an angry hormonal pregnant woman out in the middle of the night to obtain some weird item that she HAD TO HAVE RIGHT NOW.  What she did crave was watermelon, grapes and popsicles.  And by watermelon, I mean whole ones.  That she would eat in one day.  The only time she ever got sick was when one or two things happened.  The first was due to a commercial.  McDonald’s at one time has a western omelet biscuit.  Whenever my wife would see that commercial, she would have to run to the bathroom to lose all her watermelon.  The second was onions.  My wife loves onions.  Always have, but apparently our gestating baby growing in her belly didn’t because any time she had onions?  Well, she would lose all her watermelon.  This once happened in a parking  lot after going out to eat one night.

When the time finally came for our baby to arrive, we were both not ready.  I had been sick and in the hospital for two days and my wife had the flu.  But we were in bed, and she kept sitting up all though the night.  I asked if she was ok, and she said yes, but she had indigestion.  She had indigestion alright.  The kind that spells KID.  I finally asked her if she was in labor and she said I don’t know.  It wasn’t long before she admitted that yes, she thought she was.  Of course, those who have had children will say you know when you are in labor, but again, remember my wife does nothing normal like.  In the morning, we went to the doctor and they clarified that she was indeed in labor.  Then they did the strangest thing.  They sent us HOME.  I was clearly in shock.  My wife was about to have a BABY.  Why should we go home?  They said we had plenty of time, to time the contractions, and when they reached a certain point, to go to the hospital.  So we sat at home.  All day long.  At the end of the day (by that I mean close to 5 PM), we called her doctor’s office back and they were like, “What?  You are still at home?  Why?  Come to the hospital! You’re having a baby for gosh shakes!”.  I won’t repeat my response to that.  So I bundled up my pregnant wife and off we went to the hospital.

Once there, a flurry of activity started.  Before we knew it, she was in a maternity bed with nurses surrounding her.  Since her water hadn’t broken, that had to be done manually, as well as giving her something to get the contractions moving.  Now the thing is, one of the things they tell you when having a baby is to have warm thick socks.  Because your feet are going to get cold because after all, you are going to be half naked with a bunch of strangers looking at your privates.  When they break your water, they curl you in a ball, and jam something up inside you, which let me tell you does NOT seem right, which promptly soaked her warm socks.  So now I had a hormonal and slightly scared pregnant woman with cold feet.  Let me just say that was a scary moment.  My wife has cute little feet, but she hates her toes.  Now those toes were exposed and she was NOT happy.  Plus her feet were cold, at least until she got her epidural, or as my wife calls it, “A Blessing From Heaven”.

BUT first, they gave her something to help take the edge off until they could arrange for the epidural.  She, being who she is, had a strange reaction.  Although not in pain, when they started an IV, she started to cry.  I was, of course, concerned, until she looked at me and said, “I don’t know why I’m crying, it didn’t even hurt”.  I’m thinking she was crying at the sight of my face.

Eventually, she got the epidural, and all was right with the world.  Not that she would have known, since she promptly did what most people with a sleep condition do.  She slept through long periods of her labor.  Oh, before I forget, she had a LOOONG labor.  Not only did it start in the middle of the night, but had lasted all through the day and was now well into dark.  They gave her that drug to speed up her contractions, and of course, you guessed it, she had a reaction to THAT as well.  So they had to slow it down.  Eventually, my wife decided to wake up and get this show on the road and deliver a baby.  The trouble was, she hated the doctor that was on call that night.  I mean REALLY hated him. Her regular baby doctor is a very well known German baby doctor.  In fact, if you have ready any of the Kay Scarpetta books by Patricia Cornwell, then you would have recognized her since one of the characters in the book was based on this doctor.  It just so happenes that she was, that very night, ready to fly to the Caribbean.    But she was at the hospital, heard my wife was in labor and stuck her head in the door with a smile and said “how are you doing?”.  I’m not sure exactly what it was my wife said that caused the good doc to change her plans but before we knew it, she was “scrubbed in” and took charge.  She was giving everyone orders, even me.  I’m not ashamed to admit it but I was jumping to do her bidding as much as everyone else. 

While my wife was doing her part, as in pushing, there was a nurse there who kept rubbing her leg and giving my wife encouragement.  For some reason, having a numb leg rubbed really irritated my wife.  Most husbands have to endure abuse when their lady is giving birth.  I got lucky, because my wife decided to take it all out on the nurse rubbing her leg, instead of blaming her current predicament on me.  I was almost sad by this, because I had planned on telling her that if she hadn’t slept naked and held a gun to my head during our clandestine meeting, she wouldn’t BE in this predicament.  But I never got the chance.  Instead, I got to hear my sweet little wife tell a nice nurse “if you touch my leg again, I’m going to hit you”.

It wasn’t long before the miracle of our daughter graced the world with her presence.   I know I’m her father and all, but I swear, she was most beautiful baby in the world.

So that is how my wife did the very un-normal method of delivery.  Most men have to rush around because they can’t think while their wives take control, go to the hospital, faint at the sight of a baby coming out of their wife, get blamed for the whole thing, then bask in proud fatherhood.  I got the last part down, but the rest?  Well, it was interesting to say the least.

Funny thing though, we never did get hazard pay for our overseas assignments.  But I guess a beautiful wife giving you a beautiful daughter is payment enough.  It certainly was for me.

Rubber Chickens, Clown Noses and Taxes

Hello from Awkward Humor!  I know it’s been awhile since I’ve posted, which I apologize for.  Things have been extremely crazy for me over the last few weeks.  I’m hoping that this week will see things calm down.  I wrote several posts, but decided not to post them, since they didn’t meet my standard.

But I’m here now.  I’m sure you missed me, and who could blame you?

It’s tax time again, the part of the year where we all gripe and moan, and hope to get back tons of money from our Government.  Hey, at least they DO give back what we over paid.  It’s always been a mystery to me why our tax laws are so difficult.  I blame it on the rich who manage to somehow get exemptions passed so they can keep even more of the millions they already have.  Apparently, they think they can take it with them when they die.  I’m not sure how they plan on doing that since a casket is only so big.  Of course, with that much money I guess you can have a custom casket built as big as you want.  Fortunately, that is not my problem.  Or maybe that is unfortunately, since I’m not rich.

But I digress.  I was writing about taxes.

Maneuvering through the various tax paperwork is like maneuvering through a mine field.  It’s something my wife refuses to let me do, because she is smart.  I do, however, count myself lucky that I have her to do our taxes instead of lugging all our papers to someone to do if for us.

Which brings me to the point of this post.  What, exactly, has come of the world when companies who do taxes for you offer it though a carnival atmosphere?

Seriously, have you noticed?

All you have to do is drive down the road.  You will see people standing on street corners, in various stages of dress, dancing, gesturing, even singing, trying to point you to their service.  I’ve seen signs and even  a certain company who gets someone dressed as the Statue of Liberty to try and convince you that you should come and get your taxes done.  I guess they think that everyone drives around with all their financial paperwork in the car, so that when they see a crazy dancing person they will go “hey, that reminds me, it’s time to get my taxes done and I have no problem putting my tax return in the hands of a dancing teenager dressed as the Statue of Liberty.”

Because, hey, that makes perfect sense.

I don’t know about you, but the fact that these companies will even put people on street corners dancing and gesturing, even singing, doesn’t exactly inspire me to confidence.  Of course, maybe these companies give rubber chickens or clown noses as a return instead of cash.

I don’t intend to find out.

Instead, I will keep trusting my lovely wife to do our tax returns, and leave the clowning around to those on street corners.

Hazmat Suits, Lysol, and Tonsils.

It’s the season.  The season of germs, flu, colds, viruses and other nasty bugs.  There is no way to avoid it.  Everywhere you go, someone is sneezing, dripping, or coughing in your face.  If I were a lesser person, I would consider filing restraining orders against all sick people.  But alas, I know it’s something you have to deal with, every SINGLE year.  We can put a man on the moon, but we can’t defeat the common cold or the flu.

Here, in our household, we have to deal with it as well.  I must unfortunately admit that I am getting older, since I now usually manage to get sick at least once a year.  When I was younger, I rarely got sick.  When I was kid, I was always sick, but that’s another story.

My daughter, bless her tiny little heart, gets sick every year about this time.  I blame it on the fact that Doctors no longer remove tonsils.  Every year, she gets some nasty infection, which usually develops into strep throat, enlarged tonsils, and high fevers.  Of course, dealing with the Doctors during all of this is no fun, since you can’t convince them you know your child better than they do.  As is always the case, when my little girl (who is 18 but will always be my little girl) starts saying “my throat hurts”, you can bet money on the fact she has the beginning stages of strep.  Despite the history of this, in her medical records, the Doctors refuse to do anything until it’s too late.  Which means they end up writing her notes excusing her from school for at least a week.  Sometimes more.

We are, at this time, going on day 4 of her being out of school.

She went to the Doctor again today, and she saw her regular Doctor.  As you know, during the cold and flu season, it’s next to impossible to see your regular Doctor within a 2 week period.  I think this is a conspiracy by Doctors who probably get tired of seeing the same faces over and over. Somehow, my wife managed a miracle and got an appointment for the kid this morning.  Of course, after already missing three days (going on 4) of school, and still being very sick (including a fever), what does she say?  “Oh this won’t do.” And promptly prescribes enough antibiotics to cure a third world country of every disease known to mankind.  Why this couldn’t have been done on the FIRST visit is an eternal mystery that ranks up there with why toast almost always lands butter side down on the floor and how a very clean teenage girl can have a bathroom so nasty the homeless would refuse to sleep there.

So in a few days, my daughter will finally start to get well.  In the meantime, my wife is ALSO sick.  I don’t know if she has the same thing, as it’s not presenting the same, but she has the sniffles, stuffy head, cough, and aches.

I now feel like I should be wearing a hazmat suit in my own house people.

I know what’s going to happen.  Despite already being sick ONCE this season, I’m going to end up sick again.  Because I’m surrounded by demonic germs of the sickly.  Which sounds like the name of a rock band.  If you want to use that as the name of your band, feel free.  I’ll expect a 5% royalty check in the mail on everything you sell.

I’m starting to feel a little desperate.  Earlier, I found myself looking for Lysol, so I could gleefully spray the entire house.  And maybe my wife and daughter.  I’ve even considered telling them to open wide and spray the stuff down their throats.

I REALLY don’t want to get sick again.

Maybe I will get lucky and the years of learning every crafty ninja germ deflecting move will work.  But probably not.  Soon, I’ll probably be on the couch, whining and complaining about how bad I feel and calling for my wife every 10 minutes.  Hey, I’m a man, it’s what we do when sick.  This will, of course, prompt her to roll her eyes, mutter under her breath, spend lots of time in rooms where she can’t hear me, and then post a blog about what a pain in her rear end I am.

That’s about the only bonus that will come of this, I’m telling you now.

So off I go, armed with Febreze in one hand and Lysol in the other.  Wish me luck, or you’ll be hearing from my wife.  Oh, and as I side note, cats don’t like spray cans.  Judging from the way they run and scatter when they hear that can hiss, I believe they think you are spraying the Ebola virus at them.  Oh yeah, and if I do get sick again, I will be resuming my campaign to get my wife to dress up like a nurse again and play "Doctor".  Sorta like the nurse below.  I keep telling her it would make me get well faster, which usually prompts her to tell me to shut it and hide in another room.  No doubt only in the attempt to not get sick again herself.  I'm sure that's the story she will stick with anyway.

Mhm-hmm. Dressing like this would make me feel real perky, really fast.

Until next time, when I'm sure I'll be blogging from my sick bed.

New Year, Odd Dreams, and an Alarm Clock

So I started my New Year off with weird dreams and waking up early.  I wish I could blame it all on going on a binge and drinking way to much last night.  Unfortunately, I can’t.  I had one, count ‘em one, glass of really nasty champagne.  Maybe I only had one, because it was really bad.  Like so bad it could have passed for cough syrup.  So bad it could have been used for an engine cleaner, but would probably dissolve it.  So bad that paint thinner asked it how to be as harsh as it.  What do you expect for $ 2.00?  Certainly not having your stomach lining eaten away.  Ah well.

Like I said, I had weird dreams last night.  I can’t really remember them now, which is actually to bad.  Because they were weird as in funny.  Sharing them might give you a closer look into my strange mind than I want, but hey, them’s the breaks.

I can tell you that there were fast cars in there.  Some lions, a pet monkey (due to a post on twitter last night I’m guessing), a homeless tooth fairy, and some clowns.  And a lot of kitchen utensils.  Sounds more like one of my wife’s Narcoleptic dream worlds, but let me tell you this kind of thing isn’t normal for me.  The few times it has happened, I always wake up the next day feeling a little off kilter.  Like a meteor is about to crash into my front yard or something.

As for waking up, not only was it due to my weird dreams, but also thanks to my daughter.  Was it because my loving daughter decided to come in, bounce on the bed like when she was younger and tell me she loved me?  Nope.  Was it because she was up earlier than me, being inconsiderate as only an 18 year old vain girl can be in the bathroom?  Nope.

What was it then?

Her alarm clock.

My daughter takes a little after my wife in some ways.  Mainly, she hates to wake up.  So my daughter is a snoozer.  You know, one of those people who set the alarm, then hit the snooze button a time or two?  Hey, I do that myself.  What I DON’T do, is hit the stupid thing for two hours, like my daughter does.  I think she is getting me back for all the times I went into her room and bounced on HER bed and told her I love her, acting like a big dog, barking and all that.  Which is annoying, I know.  But being annoying to your children is a God given right.  A necessity even.

So, thus begins a New Year and a New Decade.  Weird dreams and an annoying alarm clock.  Three cheers to coffee, yes?

Telemarketing Funny



We have all had to deal with telemarketers.  Irritating to say the least.  Remember the days before the do not call list?  They would always call during dinner.

But there is one guy who applied his comedic abilities when he got a telemarketing call.  If you haven't heard this before, you're in for real treat.  So sit back, have a listen, and prepare to laugh.



The TSA, Pat Down’s and Naked Body Scanner’s – A pervert’s Dream Come True!

So suddenly, I am seeing all types of news reports on disgruntled passengers complaining about the new TSA Security Measures.  That being, the new body scanner and the “opt-out” pat down.  As the stories go, people are complaining that the new scanners are pornographic, radiate you to the point of an increased risk of cancer, or practically (maybe literally) being molested by the opt-out pat down.

Come on people!  Where is your sense of fun, your sense of adventure, your inner pervert?  I, being the stud that I am, feel totally at ease with either method.  After all, I am 44, fairly ugly, and overweight.  I, like a majority of people who are in the same percentile of Americans being overweight and hitting my middle age years, should thank the TSA.

Where else could someone like me get the opportunity to have my naked body admired, and I assure you, anyone who sees it has to feel admiration.  After all, it took many years of hard word to get my body to be this round and have this many wrinkles.  Hard word should pay off right?  Well here is the opportunity for that to happen.

What? You say you really don’t want to be radiated to the point where you glow in the dark?  Point taken.

Well, your other choice is the pat-down.  Where they thoroughly frisk you, including grabbing your genitals, and if you’re a woman, having your breasts squeezed and twisted.  Well let me just say that this makes me want to run out and buy a plane ticket right now.  The destination doesn’t matter.  All I care about is getting felt up.  It’s been years since I’ve experiences a total stranger who was willing to go to second base with me.  Total excitement!  It brings back memories of my school years I tell ya!

 The person giving the pat down will be the same sex as you, and if you are heterosexual, you might object.  Well, use your imagination my friends.  Imagine those same sex hands as being the hottie of your choice.  In my case, that would be Angelina Jolie, Jessica Alba, any Victoria’s Secret model, several other females who I find attractive, or even just a breathing woman.

If you are an out in the open pervert, or even a closet pervert (and you know you fall into one of those two categories) then this should be your dream come true.  And the best part about it?  It’s actually legal!

Think about it, you get to imagine the hottie of your choice feeling you up.  The whole thing brings a tear of joy to my eye.  If I ever get to experience this, I tell you now I plan on submitting eagerly, to the point of saying yes mistress, I am eager for you to touch me.  I plan on smiling and groaning, asking the person to slow down, and sighing with pleasure when it’s done.

Then, with a knowing smile, I will turn to the person, ask if it was as good for them as it was for me, then tell them sorry, it was a onetime thing and by the way, no I won’t give you my phone number.  Then I will simply gather my things, saunter off like I’m the king of the world, and look forward to the next time.

And who says that good things can’t come from awkward situations?