ya know, it’s kinda sad…

…it truly is.

i commute so much, and do so little outside of work (due to the who financial situation i’m in lately and all) that i barely even get time to read these days. i blame kramer and ME for getting me started on the whole reading thing again when i was unemployed a couple of years ago, and i’ve been trying to hit it again ever since. i even re-read a seven novel series (the first pass through there were only four, and it took less than a month – this time there are seven and it took almost a year).

but thanks to that commute, you know what i do read a lot of?

bumper stickers.

i’ve been meaning to re-do mine lately.

for the longest i just had the cut and pasted waterloo records sticker i re-did to say “white trash” (which some of you may remember from the masthead of this site – and others may remember being embarrassed to ride in my car because of it). but now i just have an astrowhore.org sticker (one of two, which are actually designed to look like waterloo stickers), a “what would ozzy do?” sticker (which was cooler when i bought it, since that was before him becoming the lovable dad on mtv), two mudflap girls, and an oakley “o”.

i’m thinking of going all the way down to just the “o”. or perhaps less than that.

i think i need all new stuff.

the main reason i have it all, truth be told, is not pimping this site, ozzy love, oakley love, or mudflap love (i don’t know what that last one meant, but it fit the theme). no, the reason is pretty simple – green malibus are common, and it helps me find it in parking lots.

seriously.

but some bumper stickers say a lot about their drivers, i believe – although perhaps the people are just like me, trying to find their car amongst the mall driven masses. i originally started this bit to slam some of the more ridiculous ones –

“buzzed driving **is** drunk driving”

not to brag, but i’ve done both, and no, it’s not. the two are pretty far from similar, actually. but it does bespeak of a car owner you probably don’t want to party with, huh?

“my child is an honor student at…”

who the fuck cares. and the comeback?

“my kid beat up your honor student”

great. now they know who to press charges against. so, your kid’s a bully, and his is a geek. maybe one day his kid can hire your kid as security, or an enforcer if he goes the organized crime route. i want mine to be the entrepreneurial one –

“my kid sold the test answers to your honor student”

where’s that one? and why do we only have to be proud of the smarter kids? why can’t parents of special kids have some bragging rights?

“my kids more retarded than your kid”

2021 note – back in 2007 this word was still allowed in public and shit…

or does that go to far? how’s about…

“my kid can’t even spell ‘honor roll’…but he can play football. see your kid at ut, loser…”

much more realistic.

but enough about the children. i believe the children are the future – and that scares the shit out of me. let’s move on.

i suppose anybody’s bumper stickers COULD be there the same reason as mine – parking lot identification. but the one i saw the other day?

“got bagpipes?”

this was paired with a sticker indicating that he likes to ride a unicycle. wow – you ride a one wheeled bike AND play bagpipes? you must be beating off the pussy with a stick. let’s face it – this is just like anybody with stickers referring to star wars, star trek, or any other sci-fi reference…you basically are admitting that at some point, you jerked off to a woman in a comic book.

possibly more than once.

and for the sadder of you, that’s as far as the sex life has progressed.

i wonder how many readers i offended with that one…

…just claim it’s to find your car at the mall. i’ll stop. for now…

so, it came up almost two weeks ago…

“Are you sure your life has really been gray and overcast?” – the redhead.

in a word, yes. actually, i suppose that would be three words – “gray and overcast”. in a \\single\\ word i guess it would be “passionateless” – if that is, indeed, a word. but that does describe my feeling towards life in general lately, and i don’t know why.

**\\passionateless\\**

i don’t know if it’s work life or home life or my life in general, but that does seem to about sum it up. not so much nothing to live for as nothing to look forward to. not on the immediate horizon at least. if i bank major coin at work? who cares – it’s not like i can buy anything with it – i just get to get caught up (hopefully). if i get up early one morning or stay out late one night? who cares – i just make up for the sleep the next day by passing out – flavor flav still wakes my ass up before dawn, anyway – there’s no way to improve that (yes, josh, a year and a half after you sent me the link, i finally got a flavor flav alarm clock – not in the cool color you sent the pic of, but by the time i got one even finding one was difficult). there’s no end in sight. there is no horizon. it’s not looking up, it’s not looking down – it’s just looking forward…

…what happened to me?

i used to have more pep in my step – more piss and vinegar, as the expression goes. now just vinegar? when did it all start to fade? is it age? career? domestication? the series? the war? did the terrorists win on this one?

(at this point i’d like to interject that this was written when i was not remotely close to being on speaking terms with sobriety – although it was not booze, for the record…)

all i know is i need me back. i also need epoxy, to fix the phat farm bling that completes my ali g costume. but more importantly, i need me back. or perhaps it was never here in that sense – recently, have i had less pep? less passion? or is this how i’ve always been? am i imagining the day when i used to have the creative where with all (is that supposed to be three words?) to do an entry a day, every day, and the majority of them were actually worth reading? what will it take to retrieve that? is it findable?

can anyone find the milk carton with my soul on the side of it and call the toll free number?

(god almighty that was cheesy as all fuck, wasn’t it? who comes up with this shit? oh, wait…never mind. complaint withdrawn…)

therapy. i probably just need many…many…**fucking** years of therapy.

(yeah – that probably sums it. i think sober i’ll enjoy reading this almost as much as y’all…from the re-read and edit phase (yes, most of the time i do try to correct the typos before you guys read this) it seems almost depressing. now i want carne guisada…don’t know why i mentioned that.)

“two seans and a shane walk into bar…

…why?

WHERE ELSE WOULD THEY BE?!?!?”

so goes an irish joke shane used to tell when he talked about me, him, and another sean we worked with going drinking together (which only happened once or twice). it could have been worse – there was a third sean there, who is lead singer of a punk band, and with the third in tow i just know any barkeep worth his shit would just dial “9-1? and have his finger hovering over the “1? waiting for the inevitable.

but never mind that now…

after not seeing him for quite some time, a now long-haired shane called me out of the blue and wanted us to go “have a few drinks and shoot some pool” – all of which sounded harmless. pool and booze on a saturday? hell, there’s my old routine creeping back in – this should end decompression weekend nicely (as long as the traditional rules of billiards are in play – go with the ME rules and it’s fun only if the table is all people you know; with strangers are involved it could get messy).

but again, never mind that now…

so, we meet up, shoot some pool, and have a few drinks. all was well. decompression was complete. and then SOMEONE insisted we go to another bar.

this, as they say, is where the plot thickens…as does by brain, due to consuming liquor from all three NAFTA nations while playing pool, and things get fuzzy. but here’s how i think things went down, from what alex has relayed to me (since she actually stayed relatively sober) –

we left the pool place, went to the square, and saw that a bar (nephew’s) was having a dukes of hazard night. all the waitresses were dressed like sluttier versions of daisy duke (which was nice) – before any liquor was consumed on site, alex decided it was necessary (and paid) for all of us to ride the mechanical bull (for which i still carry a bruise the size of a softball on my inner thigh from the saddle horn from when i slipped off half way and proceeded to ride in sideways (i.e. parallel to the floor) for an extra eight seconds or so – which got me an ovation) and then drinks were had. from there we ended up outside admiring (and one of us marking, in the pitbull and hydrant sense of the word – not me) the general lee, which was parked on the well lit town square (which made the marking all the more dangerous).

from there we headed off down an alley (the marking was spotted) and into the backdoor of another bar (more countrified), more booze, almost violence, back to the alley, loud shouting, almost a scene, off to harold’s tattoo joint, more scene, more mouthing off, and then somehow i decided it was time to leave and that i, in this state, was still cool to drive…

…which apparently was partially true, although only truthfully partial. if that makes sense…

(before i go any further, understand that i do NOT condone, support, or recommend driving while intoxicated. it’s not fun or cool, can cost lives and money, and basically should be avoided. sober, i can say that – however…)

which one of these does not match?

a. driving while intoxicated
b. going double the speed limit in an urban area
c. no insurance
d. verbal warning

well, i ended up going four for four, because i took off like a shot out of that parking space, and was hauling ass within two blocks (and pulled over within two more). the odd thing? i was NEVER worried about the d.w.i. – i was worried about he insurance thing, since that carries a $300 fine…

(in hindsight much, MUCH less than the d.w.i.)

but thanks to good ol’ fashioned motherfuckin’ charm (which you all know not to underestimate) i went 0 for 3 and got off with a verbal warning even though i had no insurance card at all. then it was off to whataburger and home.

i think that covers it…decompression complete.

bob was a sick little bastard…
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well, it seems my vacation will be an empty boat…
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…and yet i STILL feel fine.

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okay, this is one of the most painful things i’ve ever had to say on this site…

…ME was right.

**OUCH!!!**

did anyone else feel that? i’ve done hundreds of entries, for tens of thousands of hits, and that was just painful…but she was. let’s play a game – for it, you need to be able to read english (which if you’ve made it this far, you should be okay) and a stop watch and/or a watch or clock with a second hand. ready? okay – read the following and time how long it takes:

do those feel okay?

rounding UP we could call it a second, right? see, we’ve discussed how much it was a pain in the ass it was to go get my eyes examined, right? a buddy of mine and i were discussing it, and he said that he told them to shove the “fitting” part of it in their ass, because he had been wearing contacts since the ’80s, knew what he was doing, etc, etc, and it worked. i can be a forceful guy. i figured i could do it, too.

ME said i didn’t have a prayer.

well, i got a call that my contacts were in. i walked in all ready to throw down if they tried to use part of my contact allowance for a “fitting fee”. they just handed me two boxes of trial disposables and sent me on my way. said to call in if i liked them and they would order me up a couple of boxes.

no fitting. i won.

i thought.

i went back in at the end of those five pairs and said, “okay – hook me up”. they didn’t have any. they gave me five more free pairs, and said it would be this week. they didn’t look at my eyes and see how they sat. they didn’t ask if the disposables were cool. they just gave me five more pairs, said they’d call me, and sent me on my way.

no fitting. i had REALLY won.

in two ways – one, because i wasn’t out the $42.50, and two because ME was wrong.

or so i thought.

they called saturday to tell me my lenses were in. i went in to pick them up, and they said, “okay, that will be $37.50?.

“what?”, i exclaimed. “i have a contact allowance on my plan of $105, and the lenses are only $100 – if anything you guys **owe** me five bucks”.

“no”, the attendant calmly explained, “your lens allowance is $105, and your contacts are $100 – but your contact fitting ran $42.50, leaving a balance due of $37.50?

“WHAT fitting?”, i asked. “you just handed me the the trial lenses and said, ‘have a good one’. that’s not a fitting! i’ve been in weddings – i’ve been fitted for tuxedos. i KNOW what a fitting is, and ‘have a good one, bro’ is NOT a fitting”.

i think he’d heard this argument before. because unblinkingly he responded, “do you remember at the end of your exam when the doctor gave you some lenses and had you put them in?”

“yeah…”, i replied.

“…and then he asked you, ‘do those feel okay?’, right?”

“yeah…”, i replied.

“well, there you go…” he stated flatly. “a fitting”.

let’s do some math real quick, shall we?

$42.50 for one second. that’s $2550.00 a minute. that’s $15,300.00 an hour (or $318,240,000.00 a year).

i am in the wrong business.

and i find it hard to believe that a minute with an eye doctor with REALLY bad hair is worth ten times as much as an hour of pure adult fun with a curvy houston “pro” with 32G natural boobs (don’t ask me how i know that figure (meant in more ways then one), but trust me, i do – although i never had to pay, but never mind that now…).

so, ME, you were right…

**OUCH!!!**

now let’s never speak of it again…

(2022 note – we wish her a speedy recovery from her covid coma induced muscle atrophy issues!)