Calmest of waters
Bluest of skies
A spot of land
To split them
To watch the day go by.
I hear somewhere that Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest….
That somewhere is not here.
Sunday is the day where I do all the crap I can’t do when I’m working.
So there’s no rest for the…..
HEY!! WHERE DO YOUR SHOES GO WHEN YOU AREN’T WEARING THEM?…..
That’s right, not here….get to steppin’ you gonna have to get a job eventually teenager that thinks there’s a promising future in laying around the house all weekend!
Sorry….where was I?
Oh, yeah…crap I can’t do during the week….
Sunday is my doing the laundry day. I have been doing this grand task every week since before we got married.
Why, you must be asking is the man doing all the laundry?…..
Because it bring me FREAKING PEACE.
That’s how our family tumbles and dries ’round here.
I usually have around 5 loads to do. That is, as long as I remember to look under the bed, sofas, behind doors, on the ceiling fans, etc.
If you do laundry regularly, then you know the drill.
Sunday is also weekly grocery shopping day.
My wife and I experience this together.
Mainly because, if she goes by herself…I end up placing a missing persons report, due to the fact that there are TOO MANY LABLES TO READ throughout the store. She has multiple food allergies and wants everything….she just can’t have everything.
If I go by myself…..
I will get back so fast that I end up going back MULTIPLE times in order to get what we need.
It just works out better of we do it together.
We get to our local chain grocery store and begin the slow one wheel is always clunky ride down the aisles with the cart.
About 45 minutes later we are at the checkout…..ready to deplete our bank account significantly.
Cashier – Paper or plastic?
Me– Plastic….I’m allergic to paper.
My wife – No your not. Plastic, please.
Grocery Bagger Guy– How would you like this sacked.
Cashier– He always asks that.
My wife– I want it sacked perfectly. Meats with meat. Cleaning stuff with cleaning stuff and so on.
Grocery Bagger Guy– Yes maam.
Me– I want it bagged alphabetically….and repeated back to me as it is done….with a European accent.
Grocery Bagger Guy– Ummm what…..sir
Me– You asked me how we wanted it bagged. I want it bagged alphabetically and repeated back with a European accent.
Grocery Bagger Guy– …….I’ve never been to Europe……
Sunday…..if ya can’t rest….at least make it worth it.
Having a successful marriage means making time to spend time together.
It’s hard when both of us work full time jobs and have other interests that fill up the time on the clock quickly.
With only 24 hours in each day, it is imperative to show that even though those things are important…..
They are not as important as we are to each other.
We have been showing our importance for each other for over 7 years.
Last night we had our Valentines date night.
Yeah…it was a week late but the calender doesn’t tell me what day in Feb. we have to celebrate it.
We strut to the strum of our guitars in good2begone land.
Our date started with a drive to our local historic 100 year old theater to see a live show.
An intimate acoustic evening with Justin Furstenfeld of Blue October.
When we planned to do this. I wanted it with all the bells and whistles that could possibly go along with it.
When we bought tickets online, we also got to purchase meet and greet tickets.
Which meant, before the show, we got to meet and greet the artist.
I’m not a starstruck paparazzi stalker kind of guy….
When you get the real chance to meet an artist that is inspires and moves you,
That doesn’t involve hiding in the bushes or breaking into the DMV records department,
It’s a win win!
We arrived at 4:30 to wait for the shindig to commence…..
In a line with about 100 other fans who wanted the same experience.
(Picture courtesy of new friend Mac Cochran, who has a group site on Facebook called “For the love of Blue October”, check him out on there. He and his family are headed to the next show in Denton, Tx.)
We were all escorted into the theater around 6, and down to the orchestra section in front of the stage.
Justin came on stage, sat in the chair, spoke to all of us for a few and then played a song that will be on the band’s new album that will come out in April.
He then invited all of us all upstairs to personally meet him, talk with him and get a picture and autographed poster from the show.
I got the poster, a tshirt, and a book of his lyrics and writings….signed…BOOYAH.
The name of the book….and his home recording studio- “Crazy Making”…..no wonder I’m a fan.
Like I said, I’m not a celebrity stalker. When I had the chance to speak with him, I told him I hadn’t seen a live show since getting sober. His show would be my first.
He shook my hand, said thanks, and asked how long I’ve been sober.
I said over 9 years. He smiled and said,
“I’ve got 4. It’s amazing isn’t it? Man, I hope you enjoy the show. It’s all about my journey. Thanks for coming and supporting me!”
After my wife talked with him and basically told him to write
“I LOVE YOU” on her signed poster we took a picture with him.
Here is her signed poster, along with a tshirt and Cd from the opening act, Tori Vasquez.
Who, by the way, is incredible. She played for about half an hour. Just her voice and an electric guitar. Definitely worth supporting!
We then, took our seats and waited for the show.
Justin came on around 9 and played for around 2 hours running through a sampling of the songs he had written over the band’s 20 year career.
The emotion and passion he puts into his craft is hypnotizing and emotional.
About halfway through the show, the mic went out.
Without missing a beat, he pushed the stand aside and finished the show without it.
Our date night finished around midnight…..Over 7 hours after it started.
A 7 hour date.
With the same woman I started it with.
I’m pretty sure this might turn into something special.
The newest member of our work crew is a Hispanic guy. He speaks English and Spanish, has a great work ethic and is an all around good guy.
At least, I think so.
I mean, he is a lot like me.
I was once the newest member of our crew. I speak about as much a Spanish as he speaks English, I exude the same work habits…
I’m an all around good guy.
At least I think so…
Those poignant thoughts do not eminate from at least one of my other coworkers.
Namely…the trailer park boys.
I’ve posted about them before, so I won’t rehash old white trash, I will instead add to their legend of misinformation.
The one I refer to is “Bubbles”.
He came up to me this week and started a conversation with me about why he doesn’t like….the new guy.
“Why do you try to talk like ‘ol Juan Pablo over there?” He began.
“You know his name is not Juan Pablo…”
“I could call him anything with an ‘o’ at the end of it and he would answer. That’s the basis of there language….that they stole from us. Just add a vowel add a crazy accent to your voice and call it a word.”
I looked at him with a concerned look and answered.
“What the hell are you talking about. I grew up in a border town and pretty much grew up around the language of Spanish. It’s very easy to sound like an idiot if you don’t understand it. I’m pretty sure if you told him that you would sound like a complete idiota.”
He smiled and said,
“See. You just proved my point. Idiot….idiota. I could give you more examples if you want me too.”
I shook my head and said,
He cleared his throat and confidently stated,
“Take the word ‘man’ in english….add an ‘o’ it becomes ‘mano’.
Here’s another….’talk’…..add an “o’. ..what do you get?….TACO.
How about one more?….”
I quickly stopped him by putting my hand in his face and replied, in my best Spanglish, before I walked away,
“Bubbles….just stop and taco to the hand. You…are a racist…..o.”
Nothing says romantic like spending the entire Valentine’s Day holiday in bed…..with kleenex stuffed up my nose, cold medicine on one side and cough drops on the other, with enough blankets on top of me to melt Antarctica…..said NO ONE EVER!
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it
Good thing, my wife and I planned ahead.
We won’t be celebrating this day until next Saturday.
There is a concert that will be playing here in middle of nowheresville.
One that we are both excited about.
That, in itself, is quite a feat.
Because, we never see eye to eye when it comes to the pleasures of the ears.
Rather than rehash an old topic on a new post….
Read the old post called Audio Estrogen.
Good, let’s continue.
The concert we are going to is Justin Furstenfeld (try saying that name 10 times fast).
Yeah I couldn’t do not either.
He is the lead singer of a band called Blue October.
He is on a solo tour called- “An Open Book”.
We will not only be enjoying the show. We also are gonna delve into the meet and greet before hand.
He will be playing an aucoustic set, where he explains the meaning of the songs he writes.
Kind of like the storyteller series.
Here is a sample of what we are to expect- “Fear”
He is an intense songwriter who shares his triumphs and struggles in life through music.
A lot of his music centers around recovery.
The band’s first album- “Consent To Treatment” is one of my all time favorites.
I can relate to what he is relating to…in a relative sort of way.
Now that I have been out of bed long enough to write this, I can hear the kleenex calling me back from whence I came.
I hope yall’s Valentine’s Day has been rosier than mine.
I am completely befuddled by politics here in the US of A.
Every 4 years we hold elections and apparently have the joyous task of putting our input on to which inmate will run our asylum.
I follow both sides of barbed wire fence, in order to attempt to be properly informed of who and why and what the f#!k did they just say??
Which brings me to this-
2 prominent females have stated things that are…..well…not very lady like.
One has stated that there is special place in HELL for women that don’t vote for Hillary Clinton.
The other has basically stated that any woman that votes for Bernie Sanders basically does so because the boys are.
I would like to know what the female take is on these statements.
Because I think the women who made these statements were high on liquid paper or something and don’t believe that either of them have a handle on the general female population of our country.
Please feel free to comment below.
Your voice matters and deserves to be heard.
I approve of this message.
It’s hard to even be creative without sleep.
Without proper sleep I would write things like-
“Let’s eat Grandma.”
Where as if I had sleep I would write-
“Let’s eat, Grandma.”
Without sleep, punctuation is a disaster.
Sleep usually doesn’t happen unless certain things fall into line.
1- Make sure to go to sleep at least 6-8 hours before work the following day.
For that to happen, one thing has to fall in line- a job.
I got that covered.
2- Have a roomy comfortable place in order to get said sleep.
We have a big bed. I’m not sure if it’s a king or a queen…but it’s big.
Why do we even have royalty sized beds in America?
3- In order to get the required sleep in the comfortable place, you need to feel safe enough to get the sleep.
Excluding the virtual arsenal of weaponry my wife has stashed around the house….
You know….. guns, nunchucks, throwing stars, poison darts, the usual stuff, we have dogs.
The big dog of the bunch is Mischa, she is a wolf. Not a quarter wolf three quarter chihuahua…not half this half that….
A wolf. A 70 pound wolf.
When we let her in at night, she patrols the house, searching each room to make sure everyone and everything is where it is supposed to be. When she is satisfied, she typically lays on the floor by our bed, facing the door and sleeps.
The “I wanna be the big dog of the house but Mischa won’t let me” dog is Gracie. She is 1/2 red healer 1/2 pit bull. Shes around 50 pounds. We say she is a red bull…..
If anyone tries to get in our house they will wish the had wings.
Needless to say….I feel safe.
As long as these 3 things fall into line I’m a creative monster with limitless potential for grandeous storification.
All three things have been placed into blender and shoved down my gullet like bad meatloaf.
Here is the picture to prove it-
See that little space on the left side of the bed with the covers pulled back next to my ferocious wolf….
That’s the place I am allowed to reside in while attempting sleep.
Do you see that space above the big bad wolf where the pillows are….that’s where Gracie sleeps. She was not in the picture because she heard the fridge open when I got up and figured she must be getting something to eat.
NO SOUP FOR YOU!
My usual 6-8 hours has been reduced to 2-4, I’m royally cranky, and my safeguards are drooling all over my kingdom.
If this is what it’s like to be king, you can have the crown.
I am the speaker of truth in our household.
Oh no….its true…its true.
If you want a flowery, politically correct, I care about your feelings answer then the person to go to is….not me.
I ain’t got time for feelings.
Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I get asked questions all the time.
My answers are direct and to the point.
Not too long ago, my teenage stepdaughter had a question that needed a decisive answer.
Naturally, she came to me…….
“Why can’t boys look me in the eyes when they talk to me?” She inquired.
I looked up from the book I was reading, which was entitled-
“Magic Tricks For Dummies”
I was completely entranced with the how to make a quarter dissappear and make it reappear behind someone’s ear trick when she approached me.
I wasn’t quite sure what she said.
I placed the book aside and said,
A bit frustrated that I didn’t hear her the first time, she hastily repeated the question, although in different form.
She accented her verbage by pointing to space at the center of her chest.
“CLEAVLAGE! Why do boys stare at my cleavlage instead of my eyes when they talk?”
My honesty sometimes gets the best of me…..
“Well honey….boys…wait a sec….did you say cleavlage?”
“Yes, of course I did. They always stare right here.” She said as she reaffirmed her previous pointing motion.
“Well honey, that’s not cleavlage. Cleavlage is a city in Ohio.”
Like I said…..
Direct and to the point.
The answers come to me……like magic.
That’s me…..trying my hardest to do the impossible…..fit in.
I used to think I did, but alas, I dont.
One seemingly inocuous event led to the revelation that being on the outs is my destiny.
Looking back….it was in the works for quite some time.
Over the last few years I have become a bit of an anti social prick.
Here is a short list that aptly describes my anti socialness.
It is an excerpt from our family wireless bill that reflect the amount of social activity that surges through our smartphones. On a month to month basis a typical bill reflects this-
Text messages– 852
Minutes used– 875
Text messages– 2331
Staggering isn’t it.
I’m willing to bet that every one of my texts and phone minutes are used to contact my wife and my Mom, who lives in Another state.
In my defense, I rarely take my phone anywhere with me….besides work.
Someone might contact me and I would have to reply……DUH.
To further knock my square peg into the round hole, let me also state that I do not insta-tweet-zuckerberg-snap.
Which is short for social media.
Is WordPress considered social media?
If it is, then I guess I’m not a total “troll living under the bridge yelling at the goats that try to get to the greener side“.
Even then, the last time I posted was July, 22 of last year.
Which leads me to the inocuous event that led to my revelation that I don’t fit in.
It was about a week before my last post.
Which happened to be my birthday.
I did what I always do…..
I went to the hospital at around 3:37 a.m. and walked up to the reception desk to announce my arrival.
I was greeted with a smirk and a,
“We know who you are and why you’re here. Just wait over there. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
“Sweet.” I replied and took a seat.
When my name was called I went back to the waiting room and was greeted by a doctor that I hadn’t met before.
She looked at me and said,
“Well, Mr. Good2begone, what seems to be the problem?”
“No problem. I’m here because it’s my birthday. I celebrate it the same every year.”
She sat down, placed her handy clipboard across her lap, and looked at me with a ‘oh no here it comes’ kind of look and waited for me to complete my request.
“Birthdays are nothing more than a celebration of continued breathing for another consecutive 365 days. To confirm that I am in fact still breathing, I would like to get naked and have you hold me upside down by my feet and swat me on the ass until I cry. Therefore confirming that I am still breathing and as alive as the day I came into this life.”
I got this-
Before I could finish disrobing, which I had begun before I finished my last statement, she was calling security and having me escorted out of the facility.
I don’t see what the big deal was. It was my birthday. So what if I’m 46.
Why couldn’t I do what I wanted….everybody else does what they want on theirs.
Anyhoo, since then I have been on the outs.
I’m still good2begone and the writing will go on.