10 November 2010
27 October 2010
20 October 2010
i mess with texas
As many of you know I am not a big fan of Texas. For many reasons. Many, many reasons. Including but not limited to:
1) Bush 2) His son Shrub 3) My trailer trash ex-step-family
Now, having said that, I realize not all Texans are jerks or bigots or trailer trash or the village idiot or loud with BIG hair and any number of other Texas stereotypes. I have friends that live in Texas. I used to live in Texas. I have even spent precious vacation time and dollars in Texas.
But for the most part, if the state of Texas decided to secede from the good ol' U.S. of A. it wouldn't hurt my feelings in the least. If they seriously tried to do this, I might even consider donating $$ to their cause.
For years and years Texas has had a no litter campaign with signs up and down their roads that tell drivers, "Don't Mess With Texas." I'm not sure how successful a campaign it is, but many Texans take it to another level and it means so much more to them than trying to deter their fellow yahoos from chucking their empty beer cans out their pickup windows as they weave up and down the long, lonely, Texas roads.
After the trailer trash ex-step-family incident, I was inspired to create a bumper sticker and some magnets on the Zazzle website for Heather and myself.
My bumper sticker is proudly displayed just beneath my license plate. I've passed many Texans while driving but hadn't noticed any reactions one way or the other, which is fine. It's more for my benefit than theirs. No reactions that is until this past Monday as I was leaving work.
At an intersection leaving campus I was stopped at a red light when a Chevy Suburban pulled up behind me and parked itself practically in my back seat. In the rear view mirror I could see it was some college aged kid and chalked it up to "not being an experienced enough driver to know to stop further back." The light changed to green and I pulled out into the intersection. At this point the kid behind me whips out from behind me and pulls alongside me and flips me the bird. I quickly mentally go through the drive from my parking lot to that particular intersection and can't come up with anything that could have provoked such a display. In fact, I hadn't seen this particular car at all before the driver decided to kiss the ass of my car with his.
I gave the universal "WTF did I do?!" arm gesture as he roared past me, his bird still flying high and proud. Then I noticed the kid's license plate.
Texas.
I laughed out loud.
As I got to the next intersection the light changed to red and I saw the Texas Birdman in the left hand turn lane. He had his passenger window down so I pulled up alongside of him, gave him my biggest smile and said, "And you, Bubba, are a prime example of why I do what I do."
1) Bush 2) His son Shrub 3) My trailer trash ex-step-family
Now, having said that, I realize not all Texans are jerks or bigots or trailer trash or the village idiot or loud with BIG hair and any number of other Texas stereotypes. I have friends that live in Texas. I used to live in Texas. I have even spent precious vacation time and dollars in Texas.
But for the most part, if the state of Texas decided to secede from the good ol' U.S. of A. it wouldn't hurt my feelings in the least. If they seriously tried to do this, I might even consider donating $$ to their cause.
For years and years Texas has had a no litter campaign with signs up and down their roads that tell drivers, "Don't Mess With Texas." I'm not sure how successful a campaign it is, but many Texans take it to another level and it means so much more to them than trying to deter their fellow yahoos from chucking their empty beer cans out their pickup windows as they weave up and down the long, lonely, Texas roads.
After the trailer trash ex-step-family incident, I was inspired to create a bumper sticker and some magnets on the Zazzle website for Heather and myself.
My bumper sticker is proudly displayed just beneath my license plate. I've passed many Texans while driving but hadn't noticed any reactions one way or the other, which is fine. It's more for my benefit than theirs. No reactions that is until this past Monday as I was leaving work.
At an intersection leaving campus I was stopped at a red light when a Chevy Suburban pulled up behind me and parked itself practically in my back seat. In the rear view mirror I could see it was some college aged kid and chalked it up to "not being an experienced enough driver to know to stop further back." The light changed to green and I pulled out into the intersection. At this point the kid behind me whips out from behind me and pulls alongside me and flips me the bird. I quickly mentally go through the drive from my parking lot to that particular intersection and can't come up with anything that could have provoked such a display. In fact, I hadn't seen this particular car at all before the driver decided to kiss the ass of my car with his.
I gave the universal "WTF did I do?!" arm gesture as he roared past me, his bird still flying high and proud. Then I noticed the kid's license plate.
Texas.
I laughed out loud.
As I got to the next intersection the light changed to red and I saw the Texas Birdman in the left hand turn lane. He had his passenger window down so I pulled up alongside of him, gave him my biggest smile and said, "And you, Bubba, are a prime example of why I do what I do."
06 October 2010
01 October 2010
small world
Isn't it amazing how the internet makes the world so much smaller?
A bit of history on moi.
Born in Ruidoso, NM which is ~20 miles from where I
Lived in Mescalero, NM which is ~40 miles from where I
Shopped, hung out, and cruised frequently in Alamogordo, NM which is~580 miles from where I
Ended up in Longmont, CO
So...
Today I was reading "The Meanest Mom" blog about the reason they were "stuck" in Philadelphia. (Have a box of tissues handy if you decide to read yesterday's post.)
Reading the comments, a woman commented that she was, "feeling very stuck in Alamogordo, New Mexico..." Because she was from my "home" area and I'm the curious type, I clicked on her link and was taken to Darcey's blog. (She creates some really cool cookies!)
Scrolling through her blog I found a link for "additional pictures" which took me to her Facebook page with photos of her creations; I especially like the sad faced Gingerbread Man with the missing foot.
Remember I'm curious? I clicked on her profile link to see more about her and saw that her hometown is Longmont, CO.
Through the power of the internet, I discovered a woman who grew up in the town where I now live who is living in the town where I used to play. Pretty cool huh?
Chin up Darcey, Alamogordo, NM is not the worst place to be, and the reason you're there may be to make people like me smile on how we may think the world is huge and vast and there are no connections, when in fact there are. I don't know you personally, but I want you to know you made me smile.
A bit of history on moi.
Born in Ruidoso, NM which is ~20 miles from where I
Lived in Mescalero, NM which is ~40 miles from where I
Shopped, hung out, and cruised frequently in Alamogordo, NM which is~580 miles from where I
Ended up in Longmont, CO
So...
Today I was reading "The Meanest Mom" blog about the reason they were "stuck" in Philadelphia. (Have a box of tissues handy if you decide to read yesterday's post.)
Reading the comments, a woman commented that she was, "feeling very stuck in Alamogordo, New Mexico..." Because she was from my "home" area and I'm the curious type, I clicked on her link and was taken to Darcey's blog. (She creates some really cool cookies!)
Scrolling through her blog I found a link for "additional pictures" which took me to her Facebook page with photos of her creations; I especially like the sad faced Gingerbread Man with the missing foot.
Remember I'm curious? I clicked on her profile link to see more about her and saw that her hometown is Longmont, CO.
Through the power of the internet, I discovered a woman who grew up in the town where I now live who is living in the town where I used to play. Pretty cool huh?
Chin up Darcey, Alamogordo, NM is not the worst place to be, and the reason you're there may be to make people like me smile on how we may think the world is huge and vast and there are no connections, when in fact there are. I don't know you personally, but I want you to know you made me smile.
23 July 2010
there goes the neighborhood
Today is my birthday. Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birrrrthdaaaay to meeeee! Happy birthday to me!
And in honor of my birthday we will be hosting a little thingy at my house on the 31st. Due to a total lack of caring about (or understanding of) Christian rock festivals it didn't occur to me that on the very same day, "Heaven Fest" will be taking place.
Across the street from my neighborhood.
Right across the street.
View Directions to Peregrine Cir, Longmont, CO 80504 in a larger map
It leads one to think the City of Longmont is in dire need of money, so they rented out Union Reservoir for a one day Christian Music Festival.
Thank you City of Longmont. I'm so looking forward to this. I just hope I get to see eleven long-haired friends of Jesus in a chartreuse micro-bus. (let's see if anyone can tell me where that line came from withOUT using google.)
Now mind you, it's not that it's a Christian Music Festival that I'm so peeved about. If it was a rap festival or hip hop or classical, I still wouldn't be jumping cartwheels over it. Granted I've never been able to perform a decent cartwheel in my life, so maybe that metaphor doesn't quite work.
Anyway... my point is, having "Thousands and Thousands of people from all over Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico, Utah, Nebraska and Kansas" descending on my neighborhood does not tickle me pink.
According to the City of Longmont they will have law enforcement out to direct people away from our neighborhood and the streets to our neighborhood will be blocked off.
This makes me wonder... Am I going to be held hostage in my neighborhood?! Will my guests be able to get in?!
In trying to gather as much defensive information as I could I visited the "Heaven Fest" website. Wow. It's almost as if the people attending the festival need constant monitoring.
It's a music festival. Outside. In July. When it's hot. Next to a large body of water.
What do you suppose the folks attending would be wearing? Swimsuits perhaps?
Do you know they have a dress code for the festival?
From the "Heaven Fest" website, and I quote,
"DRESS CODE
And in honor of my birthday we will be hosting a little thingy at my house on the 31st. Due to a total lack of caring about (or understanding of) Christian rock festivals it didn't occur to me that on the very same day, "Heaven Fest" will be taking place.
Across the street from my neighborhood.
Right across the street.
View Directions to Peregrine Cir, Longmont, CO 80504 in a larger map
It leads one to think the City of Longmont is in dire need of money, so they rented out Union Reservoir for a one day Christian Music Festival.
Thank you City of Longmont. I'm so looking forward to this. I just hope I get to see eleven long-haired friends of Jesus in a chartreuse micro-bus. (let's see if anyone can tell me where that line came from withOUT using google.)
Now mind you, it's not that it's a Christian Music Festival that I'm so peeved about. If it was a rap festival or hip hop or classical, I still wouldn't be jumping cartwheels over it. Granted I've never been able to perform a decent cartwheel in my life, so maybe that metaphor doesn't quite work.
Anyway... my point is, having "Thousands and Thousands of people from all over Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico, Utah, Nebraska and Kansas" descending on my neighborhood does not tickle me pink.
According to the City of Longmont they will have law enforcement out to direct people away from our neighborhood and the streets to our neighborhood will be blocked off.
This makes me wonder... Am I going to be held hostage in my neighborhood?! Will my guests be able to get in?!
In trying to gather as much defensive information as I could I visited the "Heaven Fest" website. Wow. It's almost as if the people attending the festival need constant monitoring.
It's a music festival. Outside. In July. When it's hot. Next to a large body of water.
What do you suppose the folks attending would be wearing? Swimsuits perhaps?
Do you know they have a dress code for the festival?
From the "Heaven Fest" website, and I quote,
"DRESS CODE
MODESTY is the key word. While the style and fashion these days seems to be "less is best," we do not want to be guilty of causing another person to stumble. Girls: Bathing suits are NOT permitted except in the swimming area, and must not be a bikini. Tank tops are fine but bellies must be covered (even though the fashion now is to show it off). Shorts and/or skirts need to be long enough and shirts big enough. SHIRTS and shoes MUST be worn by all at all times."
Heather asked me, "Does it have a dress code for guys, or is it aimed only at women?" Good question Heather. I'm thinking it's aimed at women. Men only have to show up in shirts and shoes. No pants/shorts/swim trunks necessary. Just let it alllll hang out boys.
Do you see why I don't go to these things? I would be asked to leave shortly after entering the venue.
I've got my fingers crossed that the music won't make it to my house. Just in case I'm going to stock up on copious amounts of alcoholic beverages. Maybe Heather, Ted, my friends, and I will sit outside in our swimsuits – the "less is best" style of course.
Enjoy your weekend!
06 July 2010
chicken man
Heather and I took a trip to Arizona this past weekend. While it was considered a "long" weekend it wasn't long enough for us to drive there and back, so we flew.
She and I travel well together. Mainly because we can find humor in just about anything. Including air travel. Which over the past few years has become increasingly less fun; although at times it can be downright funNY.
Since the airlines advise you to be at the airport the week before your flight is scheduled to depart (OK maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration) we usually have plenty of time to people watch while waiting for our flight. (As an aside, why is it that if you are running late your flight is on time but if you arrive at the airport the requisite week prior, your flight is delayed?)
We arrive at the airport and check our bags and head through security to our gate. While waiting. And waiting. And waiting. We check out all the people coming and going.
I must say there are a lot of interesting people coming and going through DIA. I'm no fashionista but purple suede ankle boots, why-bother shorts, and purple t-shirt are not what I would consider appropriate travel clothes.
Of course you have the folks dressed to the nines. My guess is they read the same article I did that said if you dress up, you're more likely to be offered an upgrade. Believe me, as a former travel agent and frequent traveler, "because you're wearing a suit upgrades" don't happen all that much anymore. If at all.
So as Heather and I are sitting there a man walks by and she and I simultaneously jerk our heads to look at each other with the "Um... did you just see THAT?" look on our faces. Walking by was – CHICKEN MAN!
OK, so that probably wasn't his real name.
Imagine, if you will, a super dork guy. (Please bear in mind that this is not a put-down or meant as an insult; it is merely a description. You may not have said these same thoughts aloud, but you have thought them. You can't deny it.) You know the kind I mean. Pasty white skin, knobby knees, tennis shoes with dress socks, and the just got out of bed hairstyle. This was our man. And our man was sporting a green t-shirt with a rooster graphic on the front.
I look at Heather and Heather looks back at me, and I ask, "Did you see the man with theco rooster on his shirt?!"
"Yes. Sadly, I did."
Now mind you, Heather and I have minds that tend to veer to the far left and/or right of center. Nothing is as simple as it appears.
A t-shirt graphic of a mere rooster can conjure many, many images and thoughts and perceptions in our slightly warped minds. This is the sort of shirt I would expect to see on a twenty something tough guy or tough guy wannabe. Or maybe some Aussie rugby god. Or even a hot European race car driver.
Not Milton Waddams.
So after a couple of glances back and forth at each other and some "we didn't get enough sleep" simples, we kinda put Chicken Man out of our minds. Until it's time to board. And we realize that Chicken Man is at our gate.
Heather likes window seats. I like aisle seats. The gate agent has announced that the flight is full, so we know the seat between us is unlikely to be unoccupied for the flight.
I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this.
We get on the plane and take our seats; Heather next to the window and me next to the aisle. The middle seat is ominously empty and we comment to each other that if Chicken Man shows up to take that seat we will seriously have some problems trying to keep from collapsing into a ball of hysterics. But we don't seriously think out of all the empty seats and out of all the other passengers, that the odds will be so stacked that we will get Chicken Man for our seat partner.
Oh, but we are sooooo very, very wrong. It's karma baby.
I hear a small voice say "Excuse me, that's my seat there in the middle." I look up and there before my eyes is Chicken Man's rooster. I smile and attempt to think very serious thoughts. VERY, VERY serious thoughts. As I get up, Chicken Man asks if Heather and I would like to sit together (so he can have the aisle seat) but to his chagrin, we demure.
As Chicken Man gets settled, Heather looks at me over his shoulders and pulls her hoodie up over her head. She has formally checked out for the duration of the flight. I pull out my book, pop in my headphones and am myself formally checked out for the flight.
So we thought.
Shortly after take off, I see out of the corner of my eye that Chicken Man is rummaging through his back pack on the floor, and then he sits back up. I don't want to risk looking directly at him for fear of embarrassing myself in some idiotic fashion (you know, like snorting,) but I can see out of the corner of my eye and sense quite a few raised-arms-over-head gyrations (applying deodorant?); vigorous rocking of head from side to side (water in the ear?), leaning head waaay back (trying to clear sinuses?) motions, among others.
Then all motion stops and Chicken Man gets very, very still.
So I sneak a peek.
As does Heather.
Chicken Man has adorned himself with a lovely burgandy eye mask and bright (as in glow in the dark neon) purple ear plugs.
Thank you Chicken Man for not attempting conversation. I don't think I could have looked you in the eye and articulated anything remotely intelligent without first asking, "So, what's with the cock on your t-shirt?"
She and I travel well together. Mainly because we can find humor in just about anything. Including air travel. Which over the past few years has become increasingly less fun; although at times it can be downright funNY.
Since the airlines advise you to be at the airport the week before your flight is scheduled to depart (OK maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration) we usually have plenty of time to people watch while waiting for our flight. (As an aside, why is it that if you are running late your flight is on time but if you arrive at the airport the requisite week prior, your flight is delayed?)
We arrive at the airport and check our bags and head through security to our gate. While waiting. And waiting. And waiting. We check out all the people coming and going.
I must say there are a lot of interesting people coming and going through DIA. I'm no fashionista but purple suede ankle boots, why-bother shorts, and purple t-shirt are not what I would consider appropriate travel clothes.
unless of course you're Miley Cyrus and like looking like a hoochie mama
So as Heather and I are sitting there a man walks by and she and I simultaneously jerk our heads to look at each other with the "Um... did you just see THAT?" look on our faces. Walking by was – CHICKEN MAN!
OK, so that probably wasn't his real name.
Imagine, if you will, a super dork guy. (Please bear in mind that this is not a put-down or meant as an insult; it is merely a description. You may not have said these same thoughts aloud, but you have thought them. You can't deny it.) You know the kind I mean. Pasty white skin, knobby knees, tennis shoes with dress socks, and the just got out of bed hairstyle. This was our man. And our man was sporting a green t-shirt with a rooster graphic on the front.
this is said graphic - kinda "manly" eh?
I look at Heather and Heather looks back at me, and I ask, "Did you see the man with the
"Yes. Sadly, I did."
Now mind you, Heather and I have minds that tend to veer to the far left and/or right of center. Nothing is as simple as it appears.
A t-shirt graphic of a mere rooster can conjure many, many images and thoughts and perceptions in our slightly warped minds. This is the sort of shirt I would expect to see on a twenty something tough guy or tough guy wannabe. Or maybe some Aussie rugby god. Or even a hot European race car driver.
Daniel Conn of the ARL
Not Milton Waddams.
So after a couple of glances back and forth at each other and some "we didn't get enough sleep" simples, we kinda put Chicken Man out of our minds. Until it's time to board. And we realize that Chicken Man is at our gate.
Heather likes window seats. I like aisle seats. The gate agent has announced that the flight is full, so we know the seat between us is unlikely to be unoccupied for the flight.
I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this.
We get on the plane and take our seats; Heather next to the window and me next to the aisle. The middle seat is ominously empty and we comment to each other that if Chicken Man shows up to take that seat we will seriously have some problems trying to keep from collapsing into a ball of hysterics. But we don't seriously think out of all the empty seats and out of all the other passengers, that the odds will be so stacked that we will get Chicken Man for our seat partner.
Oh, but we are sooooo very, very wrong. It's karma baby.
I hear a small voice say "Excuse me, that's my seat there in the middle." I look up and there before my eyes is Chicken Man's rooster. I smile and attempt to think very serious thoughts. VERY, VERY serious thoughts. As I get up, Chicken Man asks if Heather and I would like to sit together (so he can have the aisle seat) but to his chagrin, we demure.
As Chicken Man gets settled, Heather looks at me over his shoulders and pulls her hoodie up over her head. She has formally checked out for the duration of the flight. I pull out my book, pop in my headphones and am myself formally checked out for the flight.
So we thought.
Shortly after take off, I see out of the corner of my eye that Chicken Man is rummaging through his back pack on the floor, and then he sits back up. I don't want to risk looking directly at him for fear of embarrassing myself in some idiotic fashion (you know, like snorting,) but I can see out of the corner of my eye and sense quite a few raised-arms-over-head gyrations (applying deodorant?); vigorous rocking of head from side to side (water in the ear?), leaning head waaay back (trying to clear sinuses?) motions, among others.
Then all motion stops and Chicken Man gets very, very still.
So I sneak a peek.
As does Heather.
Chicken Man has adorned himself with a lovely burgandy eye mask and bright (as in glow in the dark neon) purple ear plugs.
Thank you Chicken Man for not attempting conversation. I don't think I could have looked you in the eye and articulated anything remotely intelligent without first asking, "So, what's with the cock on your t-shirt?"
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