Tuesday, April 14, 2009
People ride your ass like a G.I. in Thailand when you go the speed limit…pissed as they mouth the words, “Move it you dumb-f*&K.
Why would I ever drive the speed limit you ask? Is it because I have two young boys in the car 75% of the time? No this is not the answer, but it should be. The reason I am driving Mrs. Daisy everyday is because of the American economic recession.
“Recession – the general slowdown in economic activity in a country over a sustained period of time, or a business cycle contraction. Production as measured by Gross Domestic Product (GDP), employment, investment spending, capacity utilization, household incomes and business profits all fall during recessions.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recession
You know what else falls during a recession? The city’s profits from sales taxes. To mitigate the monetary loss from decreased sales taxes the cities in the metro Denver area have tripled the number of speed traps.
The fuzz’s “Put the heat on” campaign has resulted in $500.00 of revenue to the city out of my F-ing checking account. 2 tickets in 2 months.
I have had 3 tickets since I began driving in 1991, nearly 18 years ago. I had 1 ticket from 16 yrs old until 30. Maybe I was just lucky. At the tender age of 34 I now have 3.
Again maybe I was lucky, but I think not. My take is that cops used to be happier. They used to get raises every year, they used to make gains on their property like everyone else, and they used to not have their sergeant on their asses 24/7 asking them why they haven’t written more tickets!
I have been pulled over for speeding during periods of economic prosperity. During those time-periods I was left off with a warning. Now comes my warning….If you speed, and you get pulled over, you are getting a ticket. If you are a woman you better have a hell of a lot more in your bag of tricks than a nice smile and some cleavage. They don’t care…they want your $$$.
P.S. It is tax day tomorrow, I sent another $500.00 to the government, after paying thousands of dollars already this year. Hopefully that will but some more radar guns. YIPPEE!!!!!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
My 5 year old son and I often play the mimicker. The name of the game is obvious. One person speaks, the other mimics. I know, I know it is juvenile behavior that I should refrain from teaching my children, but I can’t help myself.
Tonight my son, in a pathetic attempt to divert my attention from making him go to bed, started in on the mimic-er. I said, “Common, let’s go, get moving.” He said, “Common, let’s go, get moving.” I said, “Oh the mimicker!” He said, “Oh the mimicker!” We then bantered back and forth till I outwitted him, reversed the mimic-er (because I have a way grander intellect than any snot-nosed offspring-o mine) and off to bed he went.
This game led me to think about our life of imitating. We begin very early in life imitating others. In our early years we imitate our parents in a variety of ways. We imitate their speech, the way they eat, the way they walk, their routines, everything they do, we imitate it. We mimic them. Most people call this learning, but really it is imitation.
The action of copying people carries over into adulthood. We copy those we think are successful, those who are good at sports, those who are enlightened, etc. Hell…I even copied the Mimic-er game from friends who did it in college.
I have spent much of my life trying to become a better person through the art of mimicry. I watch those I think are successful at work and act like them to try to ascend the corporate latter, I observe successfully wealthy people, and try to invest like them, I see good parents and attempt to mold myself to be like them, and it goes on and on. This is an evolving part of becoming a better you.
Then all at once, you find yourself mimicking a child, and you soon realize that they are the ones who have it all right. They don’t give two squirrel’s nuts about wealth, climbing the corporate ladder, molding oneself to reach a higher level, etc. They don’t care about these things because they are already there. They reside on this higher plane, this ascended level we strive for, the one they tell you about in church. All children have the Art of Ascension for Dummies memorized. We all have it as kids, and the world slowly tugs the book from our grasp and buries it deep in the ground next to Jimmy Hoffa.
Prior to the mimicker game this evening, my son asked me to play “patty-cake” with my feet. I was able to make it through 1 whole game of “patty-cake patty-cake baker’s man” with my crusty Barney Rubble feet. My wife participated and found it quite amusing because this exercise was excruciating to my flabby stomach that wished that I’d mimic some ripped ultimate fighter on a more frequent basis.
F-it! I’d much rather play some patty cake with my feet and drink a beer than mimic some douche-bag with ripped abs, although I’m still slightly jealous. Stop mimicking me you douche-bags!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Maybe your friend caught you in a little fib about where you really were on a given night. You told your buddy you couldn’t hang with him because you had to watch your kids. Really you didn’t have the kids, you just didn’t have the energy to hang with him and carry all his baggage around with you from Bar to Bar. Then he walks in and sees you with several mutual friends drinking...caught with your pants down!
Regardless of the situation, you just don’t want to be caught with your trousers (and under-roos I might add) around your ankles.
Getting to the brass tax and essence of the phrase “getting caught with your pants down,” Have you ever actually been caught with yo knickers round yo ankles, or even better yet…with no knickers at all?
For example, how would you feel if someone lurched through the door with a camera and snapped a picture of you while peacefully leaving a nice poop in the toilii? You wouldn’t like it too much is the unequivocal answer.
What would you do? Would you yell and scream, would you sit there calmly, would you attack the paparazzi? You probably have never pondered this situation, because it is odd and obscure at the same time, but I’ll tell you one thing, when a person is on the toilet, and you barge in on them camera in hand, the wrath of a 1000 demons crosses the threshold in an instant.
Have you ever been caught with your warm-ups on the locker-room floor? Let’s hear it!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
This week I went to the funeral of my half-brother and half-sister’s great aunt. I took the day off work for this. She was a lively, friendly and caring person, and I am glad I went, however, at this sad event I encountered a place I like to call Inappropria.
After the funeral, my extended family held a luncheon in honor of “Aunt Margaret" and her fiery-red hair. It was your typical post-funeral eat-in. People gravitating to sit at the table in their “safe place,” awkwardly avoiding those they don’t know.
At this luncheon, they served up a little booze, a little wine, and a little beer. To avoid the place I call Inappropria, you should only have “a little” bit of the alcohol.
My half-brother and half sister’s second cousin (I know this is complicated), “Buzz” proceeded to hit the hard stuff. After approximately 3 scotch and waters, Buzz crossed over from his “safe place” and began conversing with my mother, Janet.
Buzz began to tell my mother how beautiful she was at her wedding. I have seen pictures of my mother at her 1st wedding to my half-brother and half-sister’s father, Ronnie, and indeed she was beautiful. Buss went on to describe how great an experience this wedding was at the tender age of 6. All of this conversation was held in Appropriate-Land. No issues here in Appropriate-Land, just pleasant conversation.
Then, all of the sudden, Buzz went there. Buzz saddled up his horse and leapt over the fence into Inappropria. Buzz spewed the following line into the universe, “Janet, when I saw you that day of your wedding, I gotta tell you, I thought to myself, I don’t know what Ronnie is gonna do, but I know what I’d do!”
Did you seriously just say you wanted to have sex with my mother at a funeral luncheon?
My mother’s reply was, “Oh you…” My reply was, “WOW!” My 25 year old nephew’s reply was also, “WOW!” We were both taken aback by this comment, and if this comment would have been made any other place, besides a funeral luncheon, I would have told good old Buzz that he was inappropriate, and that he just dragged my family and I into a dirty and weird back-alley we didn’t wanna go.
What was so funny and ironic about this character you ask? Buzz was the guy who says all the Catholic responses half-a-second earlier and louder than everybody else in Church, just so you all know he knows them better than you. If you have ever been to a Catholic service, you know this guy.
That was my trip into the strange land of Inappropria. There are certain times to be in Inappropria (at the bar with your close buddies, in your own head, maybe in the bedroom from time to time, etc.) but not at a funeral luncheon, in that situation.
Maybe I shouldn’t judge Buzz, I’ve taken people to Inappropria plenty O’ times I guess, I just wish he'd have waited until I went for a beer to make the comment.
Uh oh, my son just got on top of the couch and said, “I’m captain underpants!” I gotta run before someone gets hurt up in this piece.
Has anyone gone to Inappropria with you lately?