I JUST WANT TO GET OUTTA THE DAMN HOUSE



Keep in mind that I am old enough to remember things that happened thirty-plus years ago. I know, it scares the hell out of me too. I can remember a time when all that was required to leave the house to go somewhere was to get dressed and grab your wallet and car keys and you were, for all intents and purposes, out the door, as they say. While out at Colemen's last night with some people, we were talking about Bill's new I-POD and how cool it was to have all your music in digital form and reside on a device small enough to loose between the couch cushions and expensive enough to skip your car payment this month. Don't get me wrong. Technology is a wonderful thing and, in my very informed opinion, will be the cause of all kinds of human uprising in about 50 years. Yes, I have time-traveled and I know that humans from all walks of life will rise up and ultimately reject all forms of technology reverting to making their own music with two sticks and a deer skin stretched across a hollow log.

Let’s get back to my point. I hate interruptions. When I was old enough to buy beer and had the means to do so, I would first, run out of beer, then go to the front door, reach to the left, pick up my wallet and keys and exit the residence, moving toward the car. The total time between the decision to buy beer and actually being in the car going to get beer was 45 seconds, maximum.

The scenario in today’s technological world plays out much, much differently and requires more thought than 15 years ago. Now, after running out of beer, the first item on the list of things required to get out the door and on your way is booting the computer. You need the computer so you log in to your checking account to make sure you have enough money to even buy beer. After electronically transferring $30 from your savings to checking, you swing around and grab the pirated MP3 CD that you burned the night before only to realize that the CD recording session didn’t finalize. So, you browse you’re My Music folder and re-burn the CD. Hey, you need God Smack for the three-minute trip to Nice-N-Easy. Time check: 20 minutes in. Proceeding with CD in hand, you stop at the kitchen to grab your cell phone, which is supposed to be on the charger overnight. After locating the cell phone in your jacket pocket, you notice two voice mails that you promptly listen to and then delete or re-listen to, then delete. The cell phone is needed in case you need to call someone on the way to tell him or her that you are finally in the car going to buy beer. Now you are ready to find the digital camera that you need in case something unusual happens on this trip that you may want to snap a picture of and add to a blog later. Now your ready! Time check: 42 minutes in. Car keys with FOB, MP3 CD, cell phone, debit card, digital camera and the grocery list that Millisa gave me because she had plenty of time to take an inventory and realize that you were running out to buy beer. Well, back to the computer we go… I need to transfer more funds.

PLEASANTRIES

I figured I should probably tell you a little about myself since you will need a point of reference when reading any of this crap. I created this blogger account in April of 04 and that was about it. My fiancée and I thought it would be cool to use the capability to post back and forth to each other during the workday. You know, email, Instant Messanging, cell phones and real phone lines just aren’t enough to keep in touch these days. It wasn’t until a Christmas party that we hosted a couple weeks ago, for our “group of ten” (more on that as this blog grows, no doubt), that we saw an opportunity to explore this relatively new method of creating useless crap. Several members of “the group of ten” (GO10) had already started to catalog their pitiful lives with their own blogger sites. So, the GO10 stood around my computer screens during the party and read the diaries and quotes from the posts of the others. It was actually very interesting to read what these friends of ours had posted. You know, you spend time with people within the same type of environment every day and don’t realize that they have crap to deal with, just like you. So it is cool to read about their crap so you can worry about them too.

I sleep, eat, crap, work and screw just like everybody else on the planet with little deviation from this pattern of life. Just because we all think we are unique doesn’t mean that we actually are. And money has absolutely no impact on the quality of your pattern. It just makes your pattern look better to others. So why would you need to know about my own personal patterns, you ask? Well, like I said at the top, you need a point of reference… So here it is: I sleep next to my fiancée every night. This is a very nice place to be at the end of the day, and the beginning, for that matter. The mattress sucks but the sleep is, undoubtedly, very good. I eat breakfast at a downtown deli, lunch at a downtown deli and dinner with my fiancée at home. I crap in a bathroom (just like you!). Those bathrooms are at home and the office. I work at the family’s 33-year-old business and love it/hate it. Face it, working sucks! Selling pencils on the beach is my idea of a great job. A hot-plate and a grass hut would suit me just fine, thank you very much! I screw on the same mattress with same fiancée that I mentioned above. I like to screw.

And so begins this blog.

Chowder!

PLEASE, BE A PART OF MY STRESS

Listen. We all encounter stress. Whether at work, in our relationships, financial, all over the place. Why does stress exist? Well, I can't tell you. I can, however, give you my theory. It exists to give the human animal a chance to relax. Nothing feels better than to have the worst day at work, one that makes you want to run everybody off the road on the way home, kick the dog and climb into the oven for the night, and then have your significant other say, "How was your day"? From that point on, hopefully, by design, stress should leave your senses. In Stepford... this would be the norm. In reality, it just doesn't work that way.

Honestly and without offense, in most of the cases of my own stress experiences, I need to be in that oven. It is at that point that I begin my process of relaxation. It isn't deep thought of the day's events or the analysis of what may have caused the stress.

Anyway... I lost my train here.

Chowder!

THE CAT BOX (Whoa!)

Cats are shitting machines! 'Nuff said.

ALL THESE FREAKIN' SOCKS



I have a drawer full of useless, holy, mis-matched socks. The purpose of this drawer and its contents eludes me. I open it every day, push a pile of these socks to one side, in search of the perfect pair of better socks to wear for the day. The pursuit of a worthy pair socks ensues every morning and usually concludes with the capture of a pair of matching, fully wearable socks.

Why the hell do I keep so many useless socks? Will I ever wear them? No. Will I ever find the missing mate? No. Will the wide elastic top that lost it's elasticity five years ago magically re-appear and make this pair of wool, very warm and comfortable, gray socks a permanent resident of this drawer? No.

Emotional attachment will be my undoing, I guess.