Thursday, December 30, 2004
PROLOGUE continued
“’Holy Mary in the manger, that’s a nice ass!’ is all I said to her and the next thing I saw was a fist slamming into my face,” said Steve. “Wait, I should probably back up a bit and start a little earlier in the day, but I don’t want to do that here. Help me up.”
I did and suggested we talk about it in the car on the way back to his apartment. He agreed and, after he refused medical attention, we were on our way to his place.
My first question once we had gotten into the car had bee, “You did fight back? She looked like you she would have broken in half had simply pushed her back.”
His glare wasn’t the nicest look I had received that day. “I only regained consciousness between blows, now do you want to know the story or not?”
You better believe that I had to know. “Yeah, if you’re willing to tell,” I replied, belying my intense desire to have some sort of understanding.
“Ok. I guess it started around ten this morning . . . .”
I did and suggested we talk about it in the car on the way back to his apartment. He agreed and, after he refused medical attention, we were on our way to his place.
My first question once we had gotten into the car had bee, “You did fight back? She looked like you she would have broken in half had simply pushed her back.”
His glare wasn’t the nicest look I had received that day. “I only regained consciousness between blows, now do you want to know the story or not?”
You better believe that I had to know. “Yeah, if you’re willing to tell,” I replied, belying my intense desire to have some sort of understanding.
“Ok. I guess it started around ten this morning . . . .”
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Prologue
The weather service had issued a winter weather advisory and wind chills were already in the negative teens when I left the sanctuary of Saint Elizabeth of the Twisted Cross. My wife had plead with me to stay, but I knew what I must do. Wind and snow wouldn't stop my friend from drinking, so it couldn't stop me from running to the rescue.
It was relatively early in the evening (8:27 pm to be exact) but with the oncoming weather, I had to act quickly if I wanted to get my friend to safety before the drunk could cause any further damage to himself or, for that matter, the bar he was currently patronizing. Not that I was terribly worried about damage to a bar called "Pussy Cats", but my friend couldn't afford to pay his state imposed fines, much less to repair any injury caused by tequila induced riots.
Steven, the aforementioned friend, wasn't always this way. He used to be pretty down to earth, calm even, but the round of layoffs he was facing at work had pushed him to the edge and he was staring down the barrel of another Christmas in the employment office. I guess you could say he had bad luck when it came to jobs, but I know it's because he didn't try very hard. He would do the minimum to not get fired outright. However, I digress.
As I approached "Pussy Cats" from Q Street, I became aware of the ominous blue and red flashes that can only mean one thing: cops. "Great," I thought, "I'm too late. He's already started busting up the joint, and by the number cop cars, he's tried to bust up a few of them, too." Somewhat fortunately, I was wrong. Unfortunately, he had been at the receiving end of ass kicking that would make Michael Spinks cringe. The culprit was, evidently, some chick that made Calista Flockhart look like she need a crane to get out of bed.
I tried desperately to get the story out of Steve. He was, of course, beyond embarrassed, but when he told me what had gone down, I knew I had to share it with you.
It was relatively early in the evening (8:27 pm to be exact) but with the oncoming weather, I had to act quickly if I wanted to get my friend to safety before the drunk could cause any further damage to himself or, for that matter, the bar he was currently patronizing. Not that I was terribly worried about damage to a bar called "Pussy Cats", but my friend couldn't afford to pay his state imposed fines, much less to repair any injury caused by tequila induced riots.
Steven, the aforementioned friend, wasn't always this way. He used to be pretty down to earth, calm even, but the round of layoffs he was facing at work had pushed him to the edge and he was staring down the barrel of another Christmas in the employment office. I guess you could say he had bad luck when it came to jobs, but I know it's because he didn't try very hard. He would do the minimum to not get fired outright. However, I digress.
As I approached "Pussy Cats" from Q Street, I became aware of the ominous blue and red flashes that can only mean one thing: cops. "Great," I thought, "I'm too late. He's already started busting up the joint, and by the number cop cars, he's tried to bust up a few of them, too." Somewhat fortunately, I was wrong. Unfortunately, he had been at the receiving end of ass kicking that would make Michael Spinks cringe. The culprit was, evidently, some chick that made Calista Flockhart look like she need a crane to get out of bed.
I tried desperately to get the story out of Steve. He was, of course, beyond embarrassed, but when he told me what had gone down, I knew I had to share it with you.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Two seconds ago I was standing outside speed smoking my cigarette and somewhere from my mind came the question, "Brad, why do you live in hell?" I had no answer so I decided to determine what was making the question come up.
The answer to this query was easily found: sub-freezing temps, 20mph winds, 50 mph gusts, blowing snow, shoveling snow off the driveway just so it can dump another foot in the next couple of days, no down time, etc.
Finding these causes brought me no closer to a response to the original issue. That's when it occurred to me that the question wasn't posed to me in my own voice, rather it came to me in Melanie's voice. Now I think the real matter is why I'm hearing HER voice in MY head. I think she's psychically stalking me.
Perhaps she's secretly a Scientologist and has reached some level of enlightenment that allows her to transcend time and space and place her thoughts directly into my conscious. Or maybe she isn't even aware of her abilities to project her views and I happened to actually catch that one.
I've even entertained the idea that she has invented some sort of Telepath's Helmet that allows her to force her views on the unsuspecting public (let's hope it doesn't double as a clairovoyance helmet). I picture it to be something similar to what Doc Brown (Back to the Future) wore in 1955, but a little lower tech ( I'm thinking a colandar wrapped in tinfoil with a pair of rabbit ear antennas sticking out the top).
Or maybe I'm going crazy.
The answer to this query was easily found: sub-freezing temps, 20mph winds, 50 mph gusts, blowing snow, shoveling snow off the driveway just so it can dump another foot in the next couple of days, no down time, etc.
Finding these causes brought me no closer to a response to the original issue. That's when it occurred to me that the question wasn't posed to me in my own voice, rather it came to me in Melanie's voice. Now I think the real matter is why I'm hearing HER voice in MY head. I think she's psychically stalking me.
Perhaps she's secretly a Scientologist and has reached some level of enlightenment that allows her to transcend time and space and place her thoughts directly into my conscious. Or maybe she isn't even aware of her abilities to project her views and I happened to actually catch that one.
I've even entertained the idea that she has invented some sort of Telepath's Helmet that allows her to force her views on the unsuspecting public (let's hope it doesn't double as a clairovoyance helmet). I picture it to be something similar to what Doc Brown (Back to the Future) wore in 1955, but a little lower tech ( I'm thinking a colandar wrapped in tinfoil with a pair of rabbit ear antennas sticking out the top).
Or maybe I'm going crazy.
Monday, December 27, 2004
Snow Demons Attack!
Snow last night through this morning into the noon time. The weather service gave our official accumulation as "a shitload".
It still wasn't as much as Anchorage saw in one night last month while I was in DC, which qualified at the "save me jebus" level, but a hefty amount none the less.
I was outsidesmoking watching the snow fall and the snow removal crew caught my eye. The procedure seemed to be: remove snow from road to dump truck with bulldozer sized snowblower, haul snow to someplace else and dump out of dump truck, return and repeat. It works I guess, but they couldn't go more than 20 or so feet per dump truck and that meant drive twenty feet, stop and wait for ten minutes, drive twenty feet, stop and wait for ten minutes. It must have taken them all night just to clear our street. And by clear our street, I mean waste their time since it was snowing like crazy while they were doing it.
It made me appreciate the people out there who are willing to do the jobs I'd starve to death before doing.
It still wasn't as much as Anchorage saw in one night last month while I was in DC, which qualified at the "save me jebus" level, but a hefty amount none the less.
I was outside
It made me appreciate the people out there who are willing to do the jobs I'd starve to death before doing.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
I have failed you
Tom, a friend of mine who lives in DC, took me to a little place in DC that you need to know about and I failed to report back. The place is called (at least on their receipts) RFD Washington. They have EVERY style, type or flavor of beer you could possibly want. From a $2.50 can of Schiltz or PBR to a $16.95 bottle of Liefman’s Goudeband that combines the look and test of a strong red wine with the . . . well, title of ale. Not expensive enough for you? How about a $30.00 bottle of Gouden Carolus Gran Cru?
And I mean they have everything. On the table was a list of beers in small print that took up the great majority of six pages (the paper is a little small, four standard pages I’d guess) that only included one standard (Miller Lite) and ignored the others that I know they have (I know because I saw people drinking them). The Friday before I returned to AK I went and tried to start and just go down the list skipping any I’ve already had. I didn’t make it very far, but I intend to return and give it another shot when I make it back that way next month.
God Bless America, God bless RFD Washington, and God bless beer.
Update: Their website http://www.rfdwashington.com
And I mean they have everything. On the table was a list of beers in small print that took up the great majority of six pages (the paper is a little small, four standard pages I’d guess) that only included one standard (Miller Lite) and ignored the others that I know they have (I know because I saw people drinking them). The Friday before I returned to AK I went and tried to start and just go down the list skipping any I’ve already had. I didn’t make it very far, but I intend to return and give it another shot when I make it back that way next month.
God Bless America, God bless RFD Washington, and God bless beer.
Update: Their website http://www.rfdwashington.com
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Reason #473 I hate cell phones
Dear Filicia,
I don't need to know that you're going to get off the metro at the Bethesda stop and then take a cab to the other person's office and hope to get there before they close at 6. All so you can pick up Chris' perscription. I also don't need to know that if you don't make it, the perscription (presumably not filled) will be taped to the door of the suite and that if you can't get in the building you can get it tomorrow.
If you didn't know when they closed and you could get it tomorrow, why couldn't you wait to call? If they were closed when you called, you could have waited. If they weren't and were closing very shortly, you could have waited. If they weren't and closed at a time you might be able to make it, you could have waited. If you could pick up the perscription tomorrow . . . you could have waited. Now, instead, 50 some odd people know your personal business. Congratualtions, way to think it through.
Much love,
Brad
I don't need to know that you're going to get off the metro at the Bethesda stop and then take a cab to the other person's office and hope to get there before they close at 6. All so you can pick up Chris' perscription. I also don't need to know that if you don't make it, the perscription (presumably not filled) will be taped to the door of the suite and that if you can't get in the building you can get it tomorrow.
If you didn't know when they closed and you could get it tomorrow, why couldn't you wait to call? If they were closed when you called, you could have waited. If they weren't and were closing very shortly, you could have waited. If they weren't and closed at a time you might be able to make it, you could have waited. If you could pick up the perscription tomorrow . . . you could have waited. Now, instead, 50 some odd people know your personal business. Congratualtions, way to think it through.
Much love,
Brad
Monday, December 13, 2004
Ode to Lunch
I had some soda and some tea,
but it wasn't enough for me.
The tea I drank was bad,
but not like the hamburger I had.
but it wasn't enough for me.
The tea I drank was bad,
but not like the hamburger I had.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
I had the wierdest dream last night. I was in a twenty or more story building that was completely flooded with water. Well, not completely flooded. The hallways and rooms outside of the full length atrium were not. But the atrium on the first floor, it's ceiling was the roof of the building, was completely flooded. When I finally decided to open the door to the building to let the water out and try to figure out why there was so much water, water gushed out for about one thenth of a second and that was it. Then, I started to develop a sort of cancerous sore that grew larger every time some body came to do business at around the previously flooded building that was suddenly just off the beach. This is when the superhero chick showded up for no apparent reason, but started making her headquarters in my previously flooded building. Then I started picking at the cancerous sore ever time some one came or left.
I woke up just a few minutes ago, (yes I know, I slept late, kiss my ass) and I have an injury on my chest in that spot. I was digging into my chest in my sleep. I can't trust myself anymore.
I woke up just a few minutes ago, (yes I know, I slept late, kiss my ass) and I have an injury on my chest in that spot. I was digging into my chest in my sleep. I can't trust myself anymore.
Friday, December 10, 2004
J.C. . . . another drunken post
So . . . WOW!!! I just met the biggest attitude in the world. If any body I know calls anyone a bitch, I'll be able to say, "No. that's not a bitch, let me tell you about this chick in Bethesda . . . "
I mean, holy crap, she wouldn't even talk to anybody while she sat there by herself waiting for her friend to get off work. No body. Not just not me, but nobody.
On another front, it has taken Marci (as of right now) 24 hours to drive home from whatever bar she had her "three" beers at.
Furthermore, last night, I saw the worst production of Anne Frank I think there ever was. No offense to the performers, but, christ, do we really need to know that the young child Anne was bisexual? No. No we don't. That sort of takes away from the point of her plight. Oh, and does being hyperactive help the play? Nope. As for as I'm concerned, Anne Frank needed a pimp slap. But that's just based on the performance I saw.
One final point before I try not to die in my sleep: Bush says they're trying to get armor, but the companies suppling the armor for the vehicles say they were turned down when they offered to up production. Another lie from Bush? You bet your ass. Somebody really should start keeping track of his deceptions.
I mean, holy crap, she wouldn't even talk to anybody while she sat there by herself waiting for her friend to get off work. No body. Not just not me, but nobody.
On another front, it has taken Marci (as of right now) 24 hours to drive home from whatever bar she had her "three" beers at.
Furthermore, last night, I saw the worst production of Anne Frank I think there ever was. No offense to the performers, but, christ, do we really need to know that the young child Anne was bisexual? No. No we don't. That sort of takes away from the point of her plight. Oh, and does being hyperactive help the play? Nope. As for as I'm concerned, Anne Frank needed a pimp slap. But that's just based on the performance I saw.
One final point before I try not to die in my sleep: Bush says they're trying to get armor, but the companies suppling the armor for the vehicles say they were turned down when they offered to up production. Another lie from Bush? You bet your ass. Somebody really should start keeping track of his deceptions.
Corrections
I was wrong on two things.
1) The longest escalator in the world is NOT at my metro stop. It is, in fact, at the Woodley Park stop. I swear to god that thing has to be a quarter of a mile long.
2) Last night would not have been my anniversary post. I was about a little more than a week early.
Also, after sleeping on it, I might have been a little hasty to tell people to piss off last night. I am still not happy, but the reaction last night was just a function of the crappy week I've had.
1) The longest escalator in the world is NOT at my metro stop. It is, in fact, at the Woodley Park stop. I swear to god that thing has to be a quarter of a mile long.
2) Last night would not have been my anniversary post. I was about a little more than a week early.
Also, after sleeping on it, I might have been a little hasty to tell people to piss off last night. I am still not happy, but the reaction last night was just a function of the crappy week I've had.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Anniversary Post
Foul mood. That's right. I'm pissed the fuck off. I have had a really foul week and I'm not taking any more shit. I have decided that I'm not going to let people build me just to let me down . . . .baby 'cause worst of all . .. you never call, baby, when you say you will, and I love you still . . . I need you! (echo) More than any one darlin' still you let me down . . . . There are some people in my life who have some apologies to make. If you don't know who you are, fuck off. If you do: let's hear it or never be heard again.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Como se dice "tttthhhhpppppttt"
I'm so god foresaken tired. Who knew sitting in front of the TV all day and night could be so absolutely exhausting and yet still leave a person in the midst of what amounts to a never ending cycle of . . . I can't even think of the word . . . insomnia? I sure the hell didn't. And why didn't you who did know tell me? Hmmm??
As it stands now, I'm so fried I can't think of anything funny to say. That sucks for me, my friends. As a buddy of mine told me just recently, "you better be glad you're funny, 'cause you ain't cute". I had to agree, but at the same time that was a hell of a blow. Would have been worse had it not come from a guy in the same figurative boat.
It got me thinking though. I used to be a hell of a lot sillier. I remember playing "marco polo" in Wal-Mart, playing with the toys in the toy stores, lighting cigarette lighters with my toes for the amusment of others, etc. And this was only four or five years ago. I can't even remember the last time some one really and truly laughed hard at something I said or did. I've become the audience instead of the performer.
Why is it that as our bodies grow up, no matter how hard we try to stay "toys-r-us kids", or Silly Gland shrinks and shrinks? Maybe it's just mine, but I'm here to tell you that that mother better swell the fuck right back up before I become something horrible. Like, like an ACCOUNTANT!
Heaven help me.
As it stands now, I'm so fried I can't think of anything funny to say. That sucks for me, my friends. As a buddy of mine told me just recently, "you better be glad you're funny, 'cause you ain't cute". I had to agree, but at the same time that was a hell of a blow. Would have been worse had it not come from a guy in the same figurative boat.
It got me thinking though. I used to be a hell of a lot sillier. I remember playing "marco polo" in Wal-Mart, playing with the toys in the toy stores, lighting cigarette lighters with my toes for the amusment of others, etc. And this was only four or five years ago. I can't even remember the last time some one really and truly laughed hard at something I said or did. I've become the audience instead of the performer.
Why is it that as our bodies grow up, no matter how hard we try to stay "toys-r-us kids", or Silly Gland shrinks and shrinks? Maybe it's just mine, but I'm here to tell you that that mother better swell the fuck right back up before I become something horrible. Like, like an ACCOUNTANT!
Heaven help me.
Monday, December 06, 2004
Obligatory Post
Since I don't really know what to post about (the past couple of days being quite uneventful) I thought I'd tell another story:
I was riding to a bar with a couple of friends of mine. I had positioned myself in the backseat for one reason or another. Probably because there were three girls, one who was driving, and I offered up "shotgun" for one of the other two. Regardless, we were on our way to another night of heavy drinking.
We had made it about half way there when those damn red and blue flashing lights filled the car. The police were pulling us over for some reason or another.
After several, SEVERAL, minutes another police car pulled up with a couple of officers in it. They asked Vickie, our driver, to step out of the car. She did as she was told.
The three officers and their two cars kept us from drinking for, ahem, AN HOUR AND A HALF! After the "trouble" was over Vickie returned to the car unarrested and unticketed. Apparently, it took two cars and three cops to give a car with three women and a guy a warning for . . . . a broken tail light.
God bless LaGrange PD.
Update: It might have been two girls: Melanie and Marci. The details are a little hazy. My apologies.
I was riding to a bar with a couple of friends of mine. I had positioned myself in the backseat for one reason or another. Probably because there were three girls, one who was driving, and I offered up "shotgun" for one of the other two. Regardless, we were on our way to another night of heavy drinking.
We had made it about half way there when those damn red and blue flashing lights filled the car. The police were pulling us over for some reason or another.
After several, SEVERAL, minutes another police car pulled up with a couple of officers in it. They asked Vickie, our driver, to step out of the car. She did as she was told.
The three officers and their two cars kept us from drinking for, ahem, AN HOUR AND A HALF! After the "trouble" was over Vickie returned to the car unarrested and unticketed. Apparently, it took two cars and three cops to give a car with three women and a guy a warning for . . . . a broken tail light.
God bless LaGrange PD.
Update: It might have been two girls: Melanie and Marci. The details are a little hazy. My apologies.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
I'm sorry to those I called/messaged. I'm trashed out of my mind. It is taking all concentration available to get this post written. I was going to go back out and see the sights of the town, but I REALLY don't think I'm going to make it to tomorrow (aka later today.) I might die tonight. If I do, I want to leave my beer glasses to Marci, my wine glasses to Mel, and my wife can take the rest of my shit. I love you all.
Good bye cruel world.
Good bye cruel world.
Is there anybody out there?
So I went to the National Air and Space Museum. It took me three hours to hurry through it. It would have been better with some one else here. That's all I'm going to say about that.
I've had 8 beers and now I'm going out to get REALLY drunk.
I'm so bored.
I've had 8 beers and now I'm going out to get REALLY drunk.
I'm so bored.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Oops
SomethingAwful.com just wrote an update on scientology. I might have to take them off my list. I can't have a link to any one who writes about scientology or even uses the word "scientology". As a matter of fact if I hear or read the word scientology one more time I'll boycott anybody two links deep from the offending site.
Under the same title, I have to break up with a girl tomorrow. We met last weekend and got along well. Before we went our seperate ways we exchanged numbers. It occured to me yesterday that when she called a couple of days after that and asked me out, she meant on a date. Now I have to break this poor philly's heart and tell her I'm spoken for.
Scientology.
Under the same title, I have to break up with a girl tomorrow. We met last weekend and got along well. Before we went our seperate ways we exchanged numbers. It occured to me yesterday that when she called a couple of days after that and asked me out, she meant on a date. Now I have to break this poor philly's heart and tell her I'm spoken for.
Scientology.
