Shorts

          Seeing as it’s been a month since my last entry I figured I would submit a few smaller occurrences contained in one post. Most of these are not page worthy in my opinion, but I may be wrong. I have been before. You be the judge. I like to call them quick quips, and may revisit that as a title at a later date so pay attention. There may be a test later.

          I bet you thought that this was going to be another rant about what people are wearing these days. Wrong.

          Let’s jump right in shall we?

          I saw an advert for a television show about this family that had eighteen kids. Oh…My…God…Eighteen kids? Eighteen? Are you kidding me? What does this guy do for a living that they can afford eighteen children?

          Immediate questions that come to mind come streaming to my brain.

          How big is the house? Does each child have their own room or do they stack them to save space?

          How tired of this crap is his wife really?

          Do they have cable T.V.? If not, that may explain the eighteen kids.

          Whatever the reason, stop already. Thanks.

I was at a fast food establishment and noticed a small pickup truck in the parking lot. You know the kind. The trucks produced with the false intent to do the same job as a real truck but with better gas economy. I call them mini trucks. The ones that come with a 4 cylinder motor and claim to haul a half ton load.

Anyway, this truck had a decal on the back window in six inch tall letters that said “No Fat Chicks”. So I waited to see what the owner of the truck looked like. You would too, don’t lie.

As it turns out he was a rather large gentleman. He appeared to weigh about three hundred pounds if he was an ounce. I am underestimating to be polite of course. I watched him shoehorn himself into this vehicle which seemed carnival-like the longer I looked.

Two questions came to mind. Recalling the decal on the rear window I’m puzzled.

Is he worried about the gross vehicle overload from another person in the cab of the truck because he is fat?

Or

Is he worried that there may not be enough room for another person in the cab of the truck because he’s so huge?

I’m sorry Bobby, but it’s spelled “chamomile” pronounced camo-meal.

It does not mean a dehydrated food survival packet that you take with you hunting. But you may be on to something there.

I was watching a hockey game where the defenceman blocked a shot headed for the goal. He took the shot on the side of the knee area where there isn’t much padding. Needless to say he went down.

The announcer stated aloud that “he went down slowly and deliberately”. Seriously? He dropped like a sack of wet cement. Nothing slow or deliberate about it. Are we watching the same game? It’s not like he had time to ask his teammates “can you help me down”.

Until next time.

Complete Brain Fart

          This particular day was a day just like any other. Who the hell am I trying to kid here? It was nothing like any other day at all. Not even in the slightest. It was 5:00 am, -19 degrees Celsius with a wind chill factor that made it feel like -27 degrees, and I’m out, attempting to start my truck in an effort to get myself to work. For my all “Merikin” friends, that’s cold eh! And yes I did bring in my brass monkey the night before.

          I had no reason to believe that my truck would not start as it had been faithfully maintained ever since it fell into my ownership. O.k. that’s not entirely true either. I’m about a month overdue for an oil change but I have a plan, trust me. My point here is that it has never let me down before. Also the fact that I’m a total idiot for completely forgetting one rather important issue in this whole scenario that I’ll get to that in a minute. Back to the build-up.

          Here I am, bundled up like a papoose, fumbling with my keys, attempting to get into my vehicle before my fingers freeze solid, all while juggling the needed work supply type stuff that I carry with me. It’s a small duffle bag. Not important to you what it is but let’s just say that I need it for my job. Oh yes, and my lunch bag. I can never forget my lunch bag. I may forget to bring my teeth but I will never, ever forget my lunch bag. My wife, bless her sole, makes my lunch for me. I will, and have gummed down my lunch because I didn’t have my teeth. Spoiled? Me? No way. Loved? Most definitely. No the lunch bag does not fit in the duffle bag…duh. Tried it already.

          So back to the truck. I shiveringly (just made that word up. Feel free to use it) insert my key in the ignition and turn it. Everything powers up, phew. A good sign, until I hear that dreaded “click” of a starter not turning over. The silliness of it all is that I think (and we all do) if I try turning the key a few more times in a row, at different pause intervals, it will change the result and maybe trick it somehow into starting. There are fewer sounds that are more disheartening in the wee hours of a freezing cold morning. I can’t seem to think of any right now but I’m sure there are some. This is where the deflation gasps of air escape in realization that an alternative mode is needed to transport myself to work. A cab  and 30 bucks later.

          Now we fast forward to the next morning. After a 14 hour shift I’m not dealing with a dead battery, or starter, or relay, or solenoid. So the next morning it is. Not nearly as cold, nor as early. Still a pain in the ass though.

          I gather a few diagnostic items, and even fabricate a couple of jumper wires to bypass the ignition switch and the starter relay. Out to the truck I go and delve whole heartedly into this situation determined to get to the bottom of it all. I narrow down the issue to what could only be two things. But in order to prove or disprove either one, I need a battery boost. I now begin the inevitable scan of the parking lot in an attempt to flag down someone that would be willing to help me out. After all, I have cables in my truck. Then it hits me.

Like a slap in the face I start looking around, as if I was sure I was being filmed, to see if there is anyone who has noticed just how stupid of an episode this has become. How could I have forgotten the most important factor in solving this dilemma?

I promptly packed up my tools, embarrassingly tucked my tail between my legs, went back inside, and called the service number on the CAA roadside assistance membership that I forgot that I had all along. Major brain fart. Smack myself in the forehead kind of realization.

          Just to make a long story a bit longer, the service truck shows up and boosts my truck to get it running. Then he goes further and performs a complete battery and electrical diagnostic, which takes about 10 minutes, that determines there is a power drain on my battery. Further investigation reveals that it seems to be a failed adapter module for the aftermarket CD / DVD player that I had installed. Needless to say that it took all of about twenty minutes to reinstall the original CD player. Problem solved.

          Kudos to the gentleman that showed up to go above and beyond just giving me a boost. If he hadn’t, the problem would have persisted. Rest assured that your employer has already been made aware of your job well done.

As for me? The CAA membership just paid for itself even though I’m an idiot.

Thank You

          I would like to thank everyone for taking the time to read my very own verbal spewings. I really do appreciate you taking time from your busy day to consider my insignificant observations.

          After all it is only one opinion within a vast sea of opinionated stupidity that this world has become. Just look at the Kardashians for Christ sake. What the fuck have they done for the world? Sorry, I will never speak of them again. I promise.

          As I was saying, I would like to not just thank you all, but offer an opportunity to chime in on this blog. I have opened the comments section so that you can post as anonymous if you feel so inclined.

          I would very much like that you did so…please

          All that I ask is that you post 2 things in the comment section please.

          1: First name only

          2: Country you live in

          This means nothing to anyone but me. I would just like people who read my blog that would not normally chime in with a comment. I would very much like to hear from you and know where you are.

          Thank you for being there for me.

Pets

As you well know already, and even if you don’t, I have a dog. I have posted about him previously. Unlike most dog owners I do not talk baby talk to my dog, never have, and never will. And if you do, please stop. You sound like an idiot and I’m sure that your dog thinks so as well. What you need to realize is the fact that your dog is not a dumb animal. Get that through your head right away and your relationship with them will blossom exponentially.

Like your children, your dog is a product of its upbringing. If your children are stupid idiots that pee on the carpet then that’s your fault for not teaching them better. It’s not society’s issue. Why would you unleash an unprepared individual upon the world without proper training to run amok and let others endure your lack of commitment? You see where this dog metaphor is going right?

          Like I stated earlier, people, just like animals, are a product of their upbringing plain and simple. Yes all animals, including humans have a varied array of ingrained instincts. Yet humans as a species seem to retain the least of these so called ingrained instincts.  Dogs do just fine. It seems to me that it’s the weaker minded people who can’t handle the fact that the dog needs to indulge in these said instincts. Like running in the woods from time to time.

Hint: Your dog needs to get out and run every so often whether you feel like it or not. Just like your child needs to get to soccer, hockey, football, or whatever practice or game, your dog needs to run. Plain and simple. So pry your fat ass off of the couch, put down the cheesies and take your dog out for a run. Lord knows you could use the exercise as well.

Admitting that your dog is smarter than you is a huge step. Mine is. He’s a remarkably intelligent being. It’s not a giant leap in the evolutionary chart by any means so you shouldn’t feel threatened in any way whatsoever. There is always going to be something out there that’s smarter than you. Let it go. It’s not your dog’s fault for being smart. It certainly isn’t yours either so just consider it a blessing that you have a smart dog.  

Blame your parents for all of this crap. Just as you feel that you raised a stupid dog, blame them for the same reason that they raised a stupid person who should never own a dog. Your parents taught you how to cope with life, now you, in turn, pass these lessons on to your pets, and children. If you don’t have the patience for something like a dog why do you feel that you would be good with children?

I love to brag about my dog, as all good dog owners do. My dog is special to me, no-one else. Its’ not that he’s better than your dog, or calmer than your dog, or friendlier than your dog, or more playful than your dog. Let me correct myself here. I do have to say that my dog is friendlier than just about every other dog out there. It seems to be his mission in life to say hello and play with every other, not just dog, but rabbit, cat, goose, duck, cow, snake, mouse, goat, human, and crow that he encounters. And not in that order.

I am by no means an expert dog trainer, nor do I attempt in any way to proclaim dog training superiority in any way whatsoever. It’s just that I have owned a number of dogs over the course of my, what seems to be, rather long existence, that I reflect on this experience. There seems to be too many inpatient people these days with regards to animal ownership. Pets need to be regarded differently. They are not toys but members of the family. Treat them as such. And if you find yourself incapable, By all means possible, refrain from procreation.  

Save the world in your own weird way.

 Please.

Giving

Such a response to the last entry that I thought maybe I should put another out there for you all eh? (Canadian thing eh!) My friends get it.

I received a phone call from my wife the other day, which is not unusual in itself, but the subject of this one was. It wasn’t the standard “how are things? What are you guys up to?” kind of conversation. And buy “guys” she means myself and our dog. I spend a lot of time with our dog. More than most people including my wife come to think about it. Not intentionally from her but intentionally from most people. Good thing she doesn’t read my blog lol. Just in case…love you sweetheart.

She began telling me of a co-worker who’s mother-in-law had suffered a stroke recently (wow that’s a lot of hyphens in a row) and was wondering if we could help out. My wife being the person she is, that I would never change in any way whatsoever by the way, agreed to help immediately without getting any further information. Oh yeah, just like that. Whatever was needed we would surely do our best to provide or at the very least help with. You notice that “her” response was “we” right? That includes me by proxy. Which mostly I don’t mind. But in this case I felt privileged to be included. That’s the perspective potion of our program this evening. Thank God she’s not a vegetarian.

As it turns out my wife’s co-workers mother-in law loves dogs (that sounds so unintentionally hillbilly). And as it turns out, we have a wonderful dog. Go figure. Hence the reason for the phone call.

I failed to mention that the aforementioned person of topic resides in an assisted care facility. A rather sweet elder woman from a long forgotten era where the simplest of things can bring the greatest enjoyment to an open mind.

Remember the part about us having a dog? As it turns out, what she wanted to experience was to be able to watch a truly happy dog playing in the park that she could view out of the third floor vantage point that she frequented. My wife’s co-worker, having met our dog on numerous occasions, considered us, or should I say, considered our dog right away.

The only question for me that remained was…when? “Of course” were the first two words out of my mouth. Considering the nature of the request this was one of those times where today, even, right now was not out of the question. I can play with my dog anywhere and pretty much do, but if it will bring joy to someone just to be able to watch that, count me in. I’m sure my dog would agree.

So we loaded up, so to speak, and ventured to the designated park slash vantage point. I brought all of the favorite toys too. Not just the ball to throw for him to fetch, noooo. I brought the ball flinger, the kick-fetch ball, the football, and the ever so popular and most exciting, which is always saved for last…the frisby. That’s right…we have a frisby dog. To be honest, he’s getting much better at it.

The point is that I don’t think I have seen such pleasure from a facial expression in a very long time. The simple act of playing with my dog within deliberate view of someone who truly enjoyed watching it blew me away. I feel very fortunate to have been able to do this. I told my wife to let them know if they ever wanted me to do it again, please do not hesitate. Actually, please do call again.

It was my pleasure and thank you for allowing me to do this.

Merry Christmas everyone.

O.M.G

Everyone at some point or time in their life has had a “Holy Shit” moment of one kind or another. Possibly many. I mean the kind of experience that truly is worthy of a “Holy Shit” and not just an afterthought. The type of experience when you unknowingly expel the words aloud. Not just a passing thought in your head kind of “holy shit” type of experience either. It’s so much of a shock and surprise that the “HOLY SHIT” words are blurted so quickly that you slap your palm across your mouth and nervously scan the proximity for offended earshot recipients and/or other like-minded mouth palm slappers. Your findings are your own. What happens in….yeah, yeah, stays in the blah blah blah, you know the rest.

Most of the time, but not always, it’s not the event that becomes so memorable but the people that you experience within said event that make it so.

Not to detract from the original occurrence, but to expand upon it. No matter how trained or untrained your eye may be, the original event is still the true” Holy Shit” here. After all it was the cause of the entire, for lack of a better word, scene, incident, blessing, necessity, horror, misfortune, success, fluke, or haphazard that caused it all to begin with. I’ll stop now before this gets out of hand. Feel free to add your own antonym, synonym, or even an expletive that you may deem fitting.

No really. Add your own. Do it. I dare you. Either post them in the comment section or voice them aloud for all within earshot to hear. Then try to explain to the earshot recipients why you are doing so using only one sentence, no matter how long it becomes. Then post that.

Getting back to the point, we’ve all had these kind of, whelming experiences that tend to cause us to react in an unexpected, involuntary, and reactionary fashion. They are a shock and surprise to say the least but are far from being over-whelming. See what I did there? Smooth right?

Well I had one of these kinds of things, phenomenon, circumstance, episodes, matters, goings-on, milestones, scenes happen to me lately. And if I didn’t spend so much time building up, explaining, clarifying, rendering, illustrating, explicating, manifesting, and resolving things I could have spent a bit more time actually telling you about it.

I will soon. I promise. I really did a “HOLY SHIT” out loud. Honest.

Hmmmm Too

 There are a ton of items I’m itching to tell you about at this very moment. Don’t worry, I’m not going to list them all in this entry. That would just be plain weird. I don’t have to point out to you that you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting something that makes you ponder any given situation.  

Now stop right there with the outrage. I’m not insinuating that you actually go out and swing a dead cat. It really is just an expression meant, in jest, to exclaim the closeness or proximity of said given situation. I, in no way condone the swinging of dead cats. I just don’t swing that way, anymore. The tails come off too easily anyhow. I have yet to have one last more than four full rotations before the tail comes off. I didn’t usually watch where the rest of the cat went, but I think I was just too surprised that there was a piece of fur left in my hand after so little effort. I’ve heard that they always land on their feet.

Tails can be saved, if you choose, like raccoon tails of old hanging from rear view mirrors. Now, swinging a dead raccoon is something that I’ve never tried. I would guess that the tails come off the same as they would from a dead cat, or at least within a close proximity or rotational count. You could actually do a “hmmmm” right here if you feel the need.

Let’s carry on shall we? I was listening to the radio while driving about town one day. Yup, that’s what it’s called, for those who didn’t know. It’s actually called “driving about town”, really. Just ask, they’ll tell you.

Anyhooo, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see this. Had I been one red light sooner or later, I would have missed it completely. And holy crap, I’m glad to have not missed this. Maybe glad is a bit extreme, but you decide and let me know. The scene goes as thus.

I was sitting in my truck at a red light waiting patiently, as I always do. Well, patiently might be a bit generous because I tend to fidget. So while fidgeting I observed one of those new micro vehicles, a Fiat I believe, puke green in colour, making a left hand turn through the intersection in front of me. He passed right through my line of vision, from right to left, on his way through his turn. I actually had the time to do a double take, so I did. Duh, you would too.

The driver was 350 pounds if he was an ounce. He looked as though he had been shoehorned into the tiny car on a dare. Luckily he had the window rolled down because he seemed to ooze over the door sill. It looked as if he had the door tucked under his armpit and was carrying the thing. This was no small man. If he did not have his arm bent in the traditional “cool look” pose, I swear that his knuckles would have been dragging on the ground. I think the whole left side of his head must have been catching a bunch of wind as well. Got the visual? Good.

Knowing all of the advantages and cost savings of having a fuel efficient vehicle with the unpredictable rise and, well, rise again price of gas these days, I pose this question.

Why would you make yourself that uncomfortable on purpose just to save a few bucks at the gas pump? Hmmmm.

And you thought this was going to be about cats right?