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Monthly Archives: December 2019

Working that shit 9 to 5

Lizzie is a working girl.

Correction, Lizzie WAS a working girl. (And if you are unsure of the meaning of the term “Working girl”, take a second and google it. Otherwise, a lot of this makes no sense.)

I was sitting in one of my favorite Starbucks near my house.

It’s one of the larger Starbucks. About a dozen small tables, and about another dozen barstool with a long shelf spots.

But the busiest section is a 15’ long chain of tables. Holds about 20 people and is always full.

I am at the big table and the crowd is perfect. 

A few odd personalities to write about, but everyone being quiet and doing their own thing.

And then Lizzie sat down. 

“My name is Lizzie.” She looked straight ahead as she spoke smiling. (Typically, when someone says anything beyond “Are you in line?” Or “Are you using that chair?”, there is usually a pitch for money not far behind.)

Lizzie was one a very pretty young lady. Emphasis on the word WAS. Life and it appears to be drugs have aged her fast. There is a tweaker vibe that surrounds her like one of those weighted blankets. Heavy, constricting.

No one said anything. 

“I used to do drugs and escort, but I don’t do any of that anymore. I am sober and trying to get my life together.”

And, no one said anything. (Basically the same protocol as a bear coming into camp but without the falling to the ground to play dead. We all just sat there, playing dead and avoiding eye contact.) 

She went on to tell all of us everything she is up to in her efforts to stay sober.

It suddenly occurred to me that Lizzie is full of shit and tweaking as we speak.

Finally, she wound down and got to the point. 

“Could you gentlemen spare a few dollars to help someone trying to do better?” (When I begin guessing, I am shockingly correct most of the time.)

As far as lines go, its a strong one. I haven’t seen this pitch before. (You could fill an old school set of encyclopedias with the amount of cheap pitch’s for money that are out there.)

I ponied up a couple of dollars, just in case karma is paying attention on a Saturday.

The guy next to me had been scowling the whole time and his scowl only deepened.

Finally, he sighed and reached into his wallet, pulling out a few bills. 

One of them that I could see was a twenty dollar bill. (Now I feel bad for giving just a few dollars.)

He held them up for Lizzie to see.

“My van is right outside.” (Now I don’t feel bad for giving just a few dollars.)

“Yeah, ok.” Lizzie smiled and pretty much bolted for the door, followed by her “John”.

Huh, go figure. 

The guy who had been sitting next to “John” reached into his jacket and pulled out a buzzing cell phone. 

“Hey Lonnie, what’s up?” Even quiet speech carries indoors.

“Naw, just me, Kennie is in his van screwing Lizzie again.” (Switching gears, “John” is now Kennie.)

Lonnie must have asked about Kennie.

“Nope, they always get high after, he’s useless for the rest of the day.”

More conversation I can’t hear.

“I’m leaving here, I’ll meet you there.”

With that, he was up and out the door. Maybe not as quickly as Lizzie abandoned her sobriety and rejoined the working class, but fast enough.

I heard on the news that the economy is booming and people are going back to work.

In more ways than one.

 

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Posted by on December 29, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The Empire of the Fussy Shitter.

Some kids are fussy eaters. They have a whole list of shit they won’t eat, most of which, they have never tried.

Others are fussy dressers. Colors and styles have to match…etc. Otherwise they aren’t going anywhere.

And, rarely, you run into a fussy shitter. The name is descriptive enough, don’t you think?

I am posted up at Starbucks at one of the larger tables with some ambitious nursing students.

They are working on nursing degrees and a career while I am working on a snotty little blog that no one reads. 

The door opens and a couple comes in with a child. The parents are in their early 30’s? And the little boy is about 5. 

Dad and the somewhat frantic boy beeline for the bathroom while mom stops nearby and makes a call on her cellphone.

“Hi mom, its Tanya.” (The name Tanya went thru a wildly popular period than it ever should have. Seriously. And they are always trouble. Its like the name summons some ancient goddess of cheesy drama or something.)

“Rog is in the bathroom with Tyler. Its bad today, this is the fourth place we have been to so far.” She looks back at the bathroom with the look of hope tinged with fear. Whatever is going on there, its got her fairly beaten up mentally. 

“No, we have been to 4 different bathrooms so far and there has been something wrong with each one. We are still an hour from home.” She listens to the phone.

“We tried that mom, he shit his pants. And we will not put pullups on him. The other kids might find out and make fun.”

Good lord.

I don’t know that I have run into the parents of a fussy shitter before. 

That is a whole new brand of oddity. 

On the one hand, you do what you have to when your kids are little. There are parents who never raise their voices or tell them no. It is a whole thing that wildly over indulges and leads to the creation of millennials. 

On the other hand, beat your kid, lady. 

5 is way too early to be knuckling under to whatever the kid dictates. 

You are setting yourself up for a lot of future shitty happenings. (Pun kind of intended.)

I went to high school with someone who went home at lunch to use the bathroom. She lived nearby and was pretty hot, so no one gave her any trouble.

I found out years later from a guy who dated her for awhile, she had some sexual issues revolving around defecation. (The home town version of 2 girls, one cup. Google that one at your own risk.)

And here it is, happening right in front of me. 

I realize how harsh it sounds, especially given the ridiculously over-compensating that parents and opinionated shitheads without kids nonsense out there.

But if they would simply sit his fussy ass on the toilet, telling him to shit or sleep there, they would be on the road. 

It’s not a quick fix.

It’s a habit they allowed to form and it will take awhile to break, but it can be done. 

One of my kids was a fussy eater. Had a whole list of shit they would not eat, all of it never tried before. 

So I made a rule. 

You can decide you don’t like something, but you have to try it. Not a nibble, a loaded spoonful.

You can only force yourself to dry heave so many times before it wears on you. 

They eventually expanded their menu nicely and it stopped being a problem. 

A few minutes later, Dad and Tyler came out, mission accomplished.

Lucky number 5. 

As they left, I was tempted to share my wisdom with them.

And then I realized that they were on their own journey.

Sigh.

Being enlightened can be a burden at times.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on December 22, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Welcome to the Freakshow

When did the airport become Walmart?

There are a number of videos on Youtube that show people making poor clothing and life choices in Walmart. 

And it is a flat out freakshow. 

But when did the freakshow take their weird act to the airport?

Here is where we’re at so far. 

It started slow. 

In line at the TSA checkpoint, I saw a guy that looked like a basketball in a polo shirt. (Let that visual sink in for a second.)

Nothing seemed out of place until he bent over to untie his shoes. (TSA checkpoint, remember?)

And then I saw it.

A whale tail.

You heard me right.

M-ER F-ING Whale tail.

This is something I can never unsee. 

Like a 1 second Vietnam War, this may affect me for the rest of my life.

I staggered along thru the checkpoint in a stupor, even the excessive pat down barely registered. (Someone fondling my testes usually gets my attention.)

While putting my shoes on at the bench after my #MeToo moment, while trying desperately not to see the whale tail again, the attractive business woman sitting next to me farted. 

Not a lady-like toot followed by an embarrassed “Oh my! Excuse me!”, but a full barreled flatulent ground zero moment followed by locking eyes with me and glaring like I was the one at fault.

She made a beeline for the bathroom right after she got her shoes on. (Possibly shit herself. If it was me, I would want to check after a blast like that too.)

There is a horizontal escalator that moves you along faster to the far off gates.

It was here that I wondered if you could get crabs in the butt crack?

I only ask because the guy in the skinny jeans ahead of me is raking his fingernails up and down his as with the fervor of a man who’s ass might be on fire. 

The scent of patchouli oil drifts back to my nostrils. (This does not help my already poor opinion of bohemian types. A smelly ass hippy with an itchy taint is still a smelly ass hippy. Plus, Ear gauges, need I say more?)

I get to my gate and figure all is well, just bide my time and I will soon be on the plane.

Life, it seems, has other plans. 

Airport security shows up and yanks some guy to his feet at a nearby gate. 

It seems a young mother has lodged a complaint. (As they frog-march him away, it occurs to me that if you are going to wear pajamas like regular pants, either sew up the bathroom slit in the front or wear underwear. I would be ok with airport security walking him down a few flights of steps so he could “Accidentally” fall down the steps and learn a deeper meaning of “Common courtesy”.)

And finally, I am on the plane.

But we are not done.

As I was boarding, Whale-tail is arguing with an attendant about the full size suitcase he claims is a carry on. 

I made the mistake of booking an aisle seat. 

This means that I spend all of boarding leaning to the right so that EVERY guy walking by doesn’t rub his ass on my shoulder. 

Look, I know how whiny and pitiful all of this sounds and I would be the first one to shout PUSSY at anyone else with the same bitch-list.

But, this is my world, and you are just a squirrel, trying to get a blog-nut.

The fact that the stewardess on the loudspeaker giving the safety speech has a decent harelip doesn’t even phase me. 

But the guy across the aisle picking his nose so deeply that it looks like he is up to the second knuckle is starting to freak me out.

A young mother with a cute little daughter sit down next to me.

With mom watching, the little girl rummages under the seat in front of her and digs out a piece of gum someone put there.

Immediately puts it in her mouth and begins chewing.

Mom says nothing. 

Gonna be a long flight.

 
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Posted by on December 15, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Anatomy of a pickup

The setting is almost as important as the seduction itself.

Your moves lose momentum in a shitty setting. 

For example, you spend an evening putting your moves on a desirable member of the opposite sex. (Or same, we are progressive here.)

Pick the perfect setting:

In a sports bar, with a group of friends to relax with, bumping soundtrack in the background to lighten the mood and a game on the giant screen to give that illusion of an important event.

That is a strong play.

Here is the opposite.

Her grandma died, you are a distant friend of the family, and decide that her grief stricken behavior gives you the green light.

If you hesitated longer than a second about which one was perfect, you really need to pay attention. (If it was the funeral you are either brutally ignorant or playing a darker game than most.)

While the previous two examples were just a test, it gives you a perspective to appreciate the awkwardness of the following.

Its a taphouse/grill/sportsbar setting.

Both parties have had a few drinks. 

It is a festive setting.

All the signs are there.

  1. She is doing the hair flip WITH the giggle. Everything he says is hysterical. (I can hear the conversation, it is NOT hysterical.)
  2. She is emphasizing sentences with a touch to his arm, he is responding with leaning in to touch her left shoulder and speak into her right ear. It is not that loud.
  3. He has his wallet out and keeping the alcohol flowing. She discretely told her cock-blocking wing woman to take the night off. (She didn’t say that, but its more fun than saying she mouthed the word “GO” to her friend.)

The scene is set for a romantic evening. 

If it goes on too long, they both run the risk of getting too drunk.

For him, that means that she may drift past horny and enter an emotional state where she just cries and talks about her ex.

For her, that means he exits perpetual hard on state and enters what is known as “whiskey dick”. It means that the alcohol robs him of his erection at gunpoint, demanding a ransom of sleep and will not return it until then. (Alcohol seems friendly, but it is NOT a friend.)

However, it doesn’t look like that will be a problem.

Even over the noise of the crowd, I clearly heard “Would you like to go?” along with her immediate head bob.

There is no game of “Go talk” or “Check out my friend’s party” or even the completely ridiculous, but shockingly successful “You should hear the new speakers in my car”. (That is pulling out of a pretty successful playbook right there.)

So they go. 

I wish them well.

He risked a lot of embarrassment if she shut him down loudly and publicly.

She risked a crapload more just because the biggest danger to her is, well, him.

You always hope they are having a fun and lively sexual romp for the evening and might even be the beginning of something for them.

Or she might have smelled chloroform for the first time and he is feeding her into the trunk at this moment. (He better hope her dad isn’t Liam Neesen. Because he doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what you want. If you’re looking for ransom, I can tell you he doesn’t have money… but what he does have is a very particular set of skills. Over 10 years and that movie still rocks.)

So lets hope we see them having grand slam in the morning and talking about their second date.

(But just in case, I know somebody who claims they know Neesen’s publicist, thats a start..)

 
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Posted by on December 8, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Judgement Day

Don’t judge.

In my own judgmental way, I try not to. 

It’s like that phrase, “Don’t hate.”

This is always said by people who judge and hate so much that, as a person, it defines them. 

These are the same people who also claim they can’t stand “Drama”.

This is because they exist in a hip deep pile of drama and drag that shit along with them.

And if you just thought “That’s not me”.

Yes it is, quit being a pussy and at least be honest with yourself, even if you can’t with everyone else.

And if you still can’t agree that this is how you live, what you need is what alcoholics call a “Moment of clarity”.

Here is the bonus for you.

Addicts need to hit rock bottom before they find their clarity. 

Emotional rock bottom is less messy on the outside and easier to hit. 

Inside you are a mess, but on the outside? You didn’t shit yourself, got yourself in a bar fight you really should have known better and (most of?) your relatives are still talking to you. (So you still get an invite to Thanksgiving.)

But how do you recognize if you are a broken train wreck.

Here is a HUGE indicator.

If someone has ever told you “That’s rude.” in response to something you just said, and your response is, “Truth hurts”.

Then you’re a bitch.

And that is not directed at any particular gender. (Guys have the capability to be much bigger bitches than the ladies.)

But there is hope. 

The silver lining in all of this is that salvation is just a short distance away.

Stop being a bitch. 

Simple phrase, complex concept, especially if you have been existing in a bubble of negativity for a decade or more. (Most have and its a pretty wretched place to be without realizing it.)

I can hear your denial from here.

And your accusations.

What about you?

Are you familiar with the phrase “Water off a duck’s back”?

It takes not caring to another level.

Take this test. 

Have you ever had someone tell you that you are an asshole?

How did that make you feel?

If you answered the question at all, you have no choice but to stop being a bitch.

It’s the difference between viewing it as judgement or observation/identification.

Like asking a frog his opinion of the water.

So here is the recipe for Shakubuku. (Buddhist term for the path of a happier nature.)

Shut the fuck up. 

That simple.

And while you are shutting up, start listening.

Not to words, those spew out of most people’s mouths at a rate consistent with the flow of a large sewage pipe.

But what do they mean?

This isn’t Avatar, but you need to make the bond. 

Phrasing, body posture, eyes respiration, all the basic skills of an FBI profiler go into truly listening to other people.

And only then, do you realize the truth.

Most of them don’t have anything to say.

The Caffeinated Humor Books – CLICK HERE

The PODCAST – CLICK HERE

 
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Posted by on December 1, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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