Okay, I really can't hold this in any longer. And before I get started I want everyone reading this to understand something. These are my OPINIONS...these are my FEELINGS. I don't claim that I am correct in my thinking or that I'm an expert. Please, feel free to comment and even debate anything I say. But don't get your feelings hurt over it or proceed to call me a dumb ass. I already KNOW i'm a dumb ass...and even dumbasses have opinions:
Last night I sat down in front of the television. I grabbed a drink and a snack and I fully planned to listen to the President's 9/11 Address. I was hoping for some sort of insight into where the government was looking five years after the attack on the World Trade Center. I felt that it was Bush's big chance to call for unity...his big chance to honor the heroes of the tragedy. Anyone who has been reading my blog knows that I'm not a big fan of George but I've really been trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
So I sat down with my iced tea and pretzels. I was about 10 minutes late for the beginning of the speech so I had no idea what to expect. But when I turned on the TV I immediately felt annoyed. The first words I heard coming from my speakers were
"Whatever mistakes have been made in Iraq, the worst mistake would be to think that if we pulled out, the terrorists would leave us alone."
I have to admit, I was angry. I felt like Bush was using an opportunity to pay tribute to the 9/11 folks and he was wasting it grandstanding for Iraq. He was STILL attempting to justify his foreign policy. I was disappointed.
Now, I don't claim to be a Democrat or a Republican. I've always tried to follow the best man for the job. But I have to say (not without a slight cringe) that the Democrats got it right on their outrage of last night's speech.
"The president should be ashamed of using a national day of mourning to commandeer the airwaves to give a speech that was designed not to unite the country and commemorate the fallen but to seek support for a war in Iraq that he has admitted had nothing to do with 9/11," Sen. Edward M. Kennedy
"America did not ask for this war, and every American wishes it were over. So do I," Bush said. "But the war is not over, and it will not be over until either we or the extremists emerge victorious."
Again...inserting opinion here...argue if you like: I believe the idea that we can wage war on terrorism is a foolish one. Plus, if he was such a humanitarian and felt he needed to invade Iraq because Saddam was a bad guy, then why are we not cleaning up other places like North Korea, Phillipines, China, etc. There are other motives at work. There always are.
And the ONE thing i'm sure of above anything else in this article...The War in Iraq is a fruitless battle. Its Viet Nam time four. Its not an issue of defending our country. Its not an issue of defending freedom. Its not even an issue of helping the citizens of Iraq. THEY don't want us there.
Its senseless to me. Completely. I can only hope that history will be able to make some sense of this and not turn the horror of 9/11 into the prequel to the most ignorant move our government has ever made.
Guest column for blog: From a co - worker who's showing a horse next week in New York.
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It sucks that I can't fit into any blue jods (riding pants). I don't care if I haven't shown since '99. It sucks! I practically cut my body in half trying to button those GD things. And the spare set? They don't even HAVE a button. Probably busted off 8 years ago and I was too lazy to sew it back on.
Yet, hubby can fit into his high school leather motorcycle pants. AND THEY ARE LOOSE.
What to do: South Beach diet? Yeah: a crash course in abstaining from caffeine, alcohol and food for what - three days before the show? T'ah! Ain't gonna happen. Be realistic. My hips, my ass, my thighs, my gut: it all grew. I still look ok, but I don't have the body I had in high school. I weighed 130 lbs and had a six pack tummy. I had toned biceps. Now, my lower arm jiggles when I point gesture directionals.
What did Richard call it from Ally McBeal? The waddle.
Okay, let me get serious for a second here cause I would really love to discuss something with you. And, this is a discussion, not a debate so please feel free to voice your opinion (if you can do it without being an ass...you'll know what i'm talking about in a second).
This is not a Anti-Bush e-mail...i don't need to bash him anymore. And honestly, with everything going on right now, I have respect for the man just for the position he's in (whether he's doing a good job or not).
But...
Yesterday, President Bush veto'd a bill for expanded funding into stem-cell research. Now, I have to claim some ignorance so pipe in on this. Everything I've read about stem-cell research sounds like a great idea. What is a stem cell? Basically its a cell that is basically like a blank sheet of paper. It has the potential to become ANY type of cell in the body. They can be used to regenerate "broken" or corrupt cells to help cure terrible things like cancer and parkinsons.
Here's the part that has folks up in arms...they are taken from a live fetus. So, of course, there is a bit of a moral dilemma. The big fear is that the government or agencies behind stem-cell research would start "farming" fetuses. And its a very good point.
So that has my brain thinking because, to be honest, i'm all for research that leads to a better quality of life for everyone. Anyone who is sitting on the other side of the monitor either has dealt with illness or is very close to someone who has fought a deadly illness of some sort. If this sort of research could lead to a cure of cancer, leukemia, heart disease, etc...isn't it up to us to proceed? Again, i'm asking, i'm not arguing...i'd love an opinion on this.
So as my brain tumbles down this path I decided to do a little further research. In 1995, there were a 1,210,883 reported LEGAL abortions. In 2004 there were TWICE that many. Whether you're Pro-Life or Pro-Choice, this is happening in our country. So why not take advantage of this? Why not use these fetuses instead of letting them be a total loss? Is there a reason that they don't...maybe they are...i don't know.
I would really like to understand this a little more. I'd love to get your feelings on the issue. Can we do this without arguing? Please post.
Did you ever wake up in the morning and just KNOW that the day lying ahead of you is going to completely suck? And i'm talking eyes not even open yet, barely even concious, yet the cloud of sucky doom is already floating over your head. Been there? I'm not a morning person to begin with. My desire to interact with people on a normal basis falls somewhere between a lowly mountain sherpa and bigfoot. Tack on the early-morning element and my conversational skills are about as developed as a Russian immigrant attending a West-Virginia hog auction. But that wasn't the case this morning. Thankfully, I was not plagued by shiny happy morning people (i hate you all). No, this morning it was all me.
As I mentioned, I peeled my eyeballs open with a foreboding feeling of sucky doom. It was there and I could not deny it (kinda like gaydar with alot less style). Deciding to ignore that nagging urge to pull the covers over my head and sleep till wednesday, I crawled out of bed...
...and directly onto the dog sleeping faithfully on the floor. However, a sleeping dog is a lot less faithful than one that's awake. And when I stepped out of bed and onto his tail, he first yelped out (This startled me into toe-tapping, Lord-Of-The-Dance frenzy), and then lunged for my foot. In his defense, he had no clue who was dancing on his tail...he just wanted it to stop. In my defense...he sucks. When Gus lunged, I lost balance, dove OVER him onto the floor, and became tangled up in the huge labrador retriever laying on the floor. At first, Gus thought he was in trouble, which immediately caused him to pee on me. Yes...that's right.
Pee.
Then, realizing he not going to doggy heaven, he realized it was play time and decided to wrestle. Now, I had no clue how long Gus had been training with Tito Ortiz, or how much he was being charged for lessons, but BOY were they paying off! He proceeded to pin me to the floor and pummel me with his big stupid paws. Finally realizing that i was about to get my ass kicked, I issued a series of blistering kidney punches and a WWE-style pile driver and the dog decided it was time to eat. Nothing hurts this dog...stop looking so shocked.
So with my highly-trained attack dog at bay I decided to jump in the shower.
You would think that, having just gone toe-to-toe with the dog, the blood would be flowing. So not true. It would seem that my motor skills and peripheral vision don't seem to kick in until about 20 minutes after the rest of my body wakes up.
I stumbled into the half open bathroom door. Said "excuse me" as I rubbed my head. Knocked the tooth paste into the trash can. Used the wrong tooth brush (eww...don't tell). Managed to get the shower going without blowing up the north side of my house. And somehow managed to get dressed. White polo shirt (remember this detail), khaki pants, black shoes...etc. Damn I'm hot!
The following incidents occurred between the time I stepped out of the bathroom and got into my car to go to work:
- Halfway down the steps, all three dogs realize they want to go out and stampede, old-west style, down the steps, causing me to do that sorta ski-slide down about four steps. Checked underpants...no damage.
- All three dogs go out on the porch, realize it's raining and decide that the living room might be a better place to relieve themselves. Seeing the look on their faces, I abruptly slam the door shut and giggle with demonic glee.
- Open up the refrigerator to get out a yogurt. Door railing pops off and entire contents of door shelf rain down out of the fridge and onto the floor. Contemplate leaving items there and pretend "I didn't see it." Figured it wasn't worth a black eye and returned the items to the fridge.
- Grab one of our surplus of plastic wal-mart bags to carry my sodas and yogurt to work. Bag has hole, yogurt goes through hole. Yogurt explodes on the floor. Thought about the black eye...cleaned up yogurt.
- Grab my new hole-less sack of goodies, a 20oz green tea, a peanut butter sandwich, and my keys and head for the door. In an attempt to open said door, the green tea leaps from my fingers. In hindsight...i should've put the top on the tea but that would make too much sense. The tea tumbles down the front of my white polo shirt and onto the floor. I stand there staring at the mess.
This is the point where i can't move. I can FEEL my skull vibrating from my brain boiling over. I'm standing in the doorway with a wet shirt, a wet sandwich, a wet floor, and the ungodly urge to kill the world. There is a patch of brown dampness on my shirt a little larger than the size of a basketball and for a split second I think "hhhmmmm...maybe no one will notice."
All I can say is that if the day goes any worse i'll be in intensive care by nightfall.
One can only hope.
We recently went through the arduous task of putting our house up for sale. Anyone who has gone through this knows that it's a stressful and trying time. There's the painting and the spackling and the steam cleaning and the "oh maybe we should change these curtains, I don't think they accent the carpet well enough."
Now, folks, I have to come clean about something. I'm not a handyman by an intents or purposes. I'm not that guy who gets a wild hair up his ass and rips out all the old plumbing to replace it with bullet-proof teflon coated 400 guage piping. I don't like doing that stuff. I don't WANT to do that stuff. And if it comes down to it, I do what any mild-mannered, ill-equipped retard like myself will do. And that's one of two things:
1. Buy two cases of beer and invite my friends to "help" me. This is a cheap alternative if you don't want it absolutely perfect. The key to this is don't let your friends drink too much beer until AFTER the task is complete. Fine example? I invited my friends to help put up a privacy fence. By the end of the day we miraculously had a fence (slightly crooked I might add), along with three sun-induced hang-overs, a mild chain saw wound, and a few fencepost holes where there should've been none.
2. Pay a professional to do it. Look up "Fleece" in the dictionary. I ain't talking about Old Navy clothing, either.
And GOD forbid if you even GLANCE at HGTV. Those people are evil and should be banished from the planet. Mark my words, people, if you're even THINKING about selling your place DO NOT TURN ON HGTV. The moment you do is the moment your life will turn into a living hell even worse than the hell you were in before you clicked the remote. Trust me, you turn on HGTV and suddenly you're spewing remodeling catch phrases like "crown molding", "built-ins", "accent walls", and "faux finish". And it doesn't stop there...you're out at Bed, Bath, and Beyond looking for the perfect shower curtain to match with the new adhesive tile you managed to slap down on the bathroom floor without sealing one of the kids beneath it. The show implants subliminal messages into your head. Before you know it you wake up naked at Home Depot wondering through the fixtures aisle debating on whether you should buy the powder coat faucet or just stick with chrome finish. Listen to me now and listen to me well. If you don't want to end up second guessing and remodeling your entire home, stay away from HGTV!
When we first decided to put the house up for sale I thought, hey, a couple coats of paint, some duct tape, a few strategically placed Def Leppard posters and i'm ready to go. That list slowly steam rolled in to a task sheet from hell. Paint, new kitchen ceiling, more paint, refinish the dining room floor, new carpet, new light fixtures, steam cleaning, new plumbing fixtures, more paint, replace doors, replace door hinges, paint doors, bleach...that's right..BLEACH the basement floor, pressure wash the outside of the house...WAIT A DAMN MINUTE.
WASH the house? So you're telling me I should give my house a bath? My first thought was "Could I just wait til it rained again? But no...no no. That would be too easy. I argued with my wife over this one. Which was foolish to begin with but I went down the path anyway. Houses were supposed to have a little dirt on them. It's not like I was driving my place through mud holes. There were no dead animal carcasses splattered on the garage door. What was the deal? But, like a faithful minion, I borrowed my friend Rich's pressure washer (hey, I still have that thing, by the way...and its great for cleaning socks and particularly grimy undergarments), purchased some industrial size house wash (I shit you not...house wash. I was so out of the loop on this one) and headed out to bathe my house.
I read the directions on the bottle: Spray even coat of house wash on the area you want to clean. Wait 5 to 10 minutes. Rinse with pressure washer. Note (and this was the important thing cause I could definately see myself trying this had they not warned me): Do not spray house wash or pressure washer in eyes. The funny thing is...they had that warning for a reason. Somewhere, some jackass picked up a bottle of house wash and his 400 psi pressure washer, stared at them for about 30 seconds and said "hmmmm....i wonder."
So I sprayed a small portion of my porch with the spray wash and immediately hit my stop watch so that in five minutes I could rinse off the soap and smuggly PROVE to my wife that it would make little or no difference. Boy was she gonna feel stupid. In three minutes I will rinse this swatch off and you won't be able to tell the difference (other than that fact that it will be wet). Yes, sir, in two minutes my work for the day will be done and I can go take a nap...right after I pretend that the pressure washer is a flame thrower and blow the petals off ALL the flowers in our front yard (you know you did it too!). That's right, in 10 seconds I would be...oh shit! IT'S TIME!
I braced myself in front of the applied area, planted my feet firmly on the ground, aimed the pressure washer with glee and blasted away.
Well I'll be damned....
It was amazing! The spot I had just washed was bright....shiny...CLEEEAN! Suddenly, I was a born-again pressure washer. I began to coat the entire porch, mouth still agape in the suprise that a small amount of industrial toxins and a jet propelled dose of water could do such wonders. I had no idea how much house wash I actually ingested but I didn't care. I was on a mission. Before I knew it, the entire porch was saturated in house wash. It was running down the walls, dripping from the light fixtures, puddling in the corners. Soon, my porch would be shiny as new. Surely, this would raise the asking price by at least $75...maybe even $100. WHO CARES...I was doing manly things with manly power tools and I was LOVING it!
My anticipation was at full throttle when the stop watch hit five minutes. I couldn't WAIT to blast away the years of dirt and grime. I couldn't wait for my house to glow like new. I couldn't wait to go on a Rambo-esque pressure washing spree. I imagined myself in slow motion, sweeping the bushes with my 50 cal pressure washer, trying to flush out Charlie in a clean sweep (pun intended).
So once again I took aim. Savoring the moment, feeling the trigger beneath my finger and knowing that I had the power.
"Ya feel lucky?" I sneered, "well, DO ya, punk?"
I raised the barrel of my weapon, my eyes narrowed to slits. Women were rushing their children off the street. Tumbleweeds hopped down the sidewalk. Somewhere, a coyote howled. This was the moment where heroes were made. And in that split second, my trigger finger twitched and I heard myself cackling maniacally. I howled with laughter as the torrent of water pummelled the front of my house. As the dirt literally flew off the house I cheered triumphantly. I gritted my teeth in an evil grimace as all the paint began to peel off the wood.
Wait...WHAT? Is that supposed to happen?
Shit.
It took me a second to register that i was not only blasting the dirt off my house...but the paint as well. I stood in the aftermath that i had wrought. Old wet chips of paint lay around me like the pelt of an exploded beaver. Water dripped from the porch, dropping all around me with antagonizing ploinks, each one louder than the next.
*Ploink* You're a Moron
*Ploink* You should've paid someone to do this
*Ploink* I wonder what's on HGTV.
The real key to this is to pretend like you tried it. The correct way to handle this would've been to nod, hike up my pants, and start pondering which exterior paint I would need to finish the job. Yes, that would've been the correct way.
I, however, usually veer from the correct way of doing things (Hence, the porch with the paint completely blasted from its wood supports).
NO...no no no...I took one look at the porch carnage, took a deep breath...
...and screamed profanity at the top of my lungs.
Again, mothers were rushing their children off the street. Birds were dropping dead from their trees. Somewhere, a priest was crying.
I don't remember how long the screaming of profanity went on. Hell, I could've still been screaming on my way to the paint aisle in Wal Mart...not that they would notice. All I know is that my porch looks really great now with its fresh coat of paint.
Rich, come get your pressure washer before I shoot my eye out with it.
