Parking Lot Pain

Originally  I was going to talk about my OCD and the things that make me want to cry myself to sleep at night. Until I had to stop at the store on the way home for a package of hamburger for dinner.

Seriously, why do people stalk me in a parking lot? They creep up behind me like they are a shark getting ready to have their snack for the day. This is before I ever get parked to go in. I think they are secretly hoping that they will get a better spot than me because I am too stupid to take the one closest to the door.

Once inside, it is time to deal with the aisle stalkers. You all know who I am talking about, and I am sure some of you are guilty of this as well. You follow really close to someone in the store. They might lead you to the bargain of the day or better yet give you an idea for dinner. If you are really good you can grab the last one on the shelf that I am reaching for.

I am not one to fight over the last item. I haven't done that since I accidentally knocked a woman down for the last purple Care Bear on the day after Thanksgiving sale. If you need that bottle of store brand mustard, please take it. I will spend an extra dime on the name brand.

I never realized until today how serious the ground beef shortage was in my community. Although there are cows all along the highway and I pass them each morning looking so sad in the fields with their snow covered faces, there is always a crowd at the meat counter. Everyone is picking over the meat. I am not sure if they are looking at the cut or the price. It's ground cow folks, grab a package and move out of my way please.

Once I have managed to get through the herd I try and make my way to the front of the store. Of course this is where I see the same lady with the bad shoes who tried to run over me in the lot. She has a cart full of items and seems to be the only one in line. I wait patiently behind her while she fumbles for each item, one at a time to place on the belt. Then she has to pay with a check.

By this time I am hurting, a combination of these events have caused me great ass pain. Once the old bat has finished, it is my turn. I get through the line quickly only to fall in behind her as she struggles to push the cart out of the store. Finally, once outside I can get around her and head towards to the car. Of course this is when I am followed again by a massive Buick who is wanting to know where I parked.

BOO!

One of my favorite things to do is scare people. I find it hilarious when I see the look of terror on someones face and I am the one who caused it.

I usually like to do this at work. I know it isn't very professional, but it makes it that much funnier when someone screams in an office. Of course bosses are the best. There is no greater thrill than putting on a Halloween mask and crawling into their office while they eat lunch at their desk and just laying in the doorway until they look down. Of course when she got strangled on her Pringles I had to run.

There is also the trick of crawling under the desk and waiting for them to pull their chair out. A low growl can cause great concern to some people.

Hiding in the wall safe and waiting for someone to come in also gives me a thrill, especially when they open the door and I am just sitting on the floor and simply say hi!

Catching your partner in the shower and pulling the shower curtain back while screaming bloody murder while holding a butcher knife is a thrill you all need to try. You better piss before you plan this or else you could also end up wet.

It is not funny though when you are getting out of the shower naked and wet and you pull the curtain back to find your other half standing there in a Michael Meyers mask. I still have a soft spot on my head from this night. Thank you Robby for using one of my worst fears against me.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Vermin of the world unite!

A few months back some of you may have read about an incident with me and a raccoon on Facebook. For those of you that missed that post I will try to get past the trauma of that night and tell it again.

My best friend Sheila has possum trauma. She has several stories about that ugly little critter wreaking havoc throughout her life. From a chance encounter as a child when one ran into her house and across her body to another falling out of a tree and landing on the hood of her car as she drove down a road screaming in terror.

I find so much humor in these stories that I often re-victimize her by making her share them when we meet new people. I have seen first hand the look of terror on her face when we top a hill late a night and one of her sworn enemies is sitting in the middle of the road waiting for another chance to attack her life. It truly is one of the funniest sounds a person can make when she sees one.

Karma, as we all know is a total bitch. She will take her time and track you down and give it to you good. This is exactly what happened to me.

I was taking out the trash one evening and had my flip flops and pajama pants on. As I approached the trash bin section of my apartment complex a raccoon jumped out at me and hissed. I swear this was the largest beast I had ever seen in the wild! I screamed like a frightened school girl threw the bag of trash straight up in the air and it landed in front of me.

I tried to run but the bag had burst open and the garbage inside spilled onto the damp ground. At this point, I slipped in the garbage that I had been carrying and busted my ass. I didn't have the courage to look for the monster so I struggled to get up in fear that it was already on top of me eating the late night snack that I had so thoughtfully provided. I ran to the house covered in filth and grass.

Robby, my life partner, just nodded at me when i slammed the front door shut. He knew at that moment taking the garbage out was now his job.


Sent from my iPad

Bright lights of the city

When I moved to St. Louis a few years ago, I thought for sure that it would be the best thing for me. I had grown quite tired of rural life and everyone knowing my business or making it up if they didn't. 

Once we were settled I found a great job at a big investment firm downtown. While working there I met some very amazing people. A few are still considered friends of mine today and I miss them terribly. 

It's not everyday you get to work with someone that can go toe to toe against you as an undefeated FRIENDS trivia champion. Thank you Stephanie!  I had a nice apartment and some family ties there that made the transition smooth for me. 

Family couldn't help with the white knuckles and stiff hand cramps I had from going from a town with a four way to 5 lanes of traffic. I know for sure I caused a few traffic jams on more than one occasion. I was sure my vehicle would be shown on the 6 pm news as the cause each day.

Finally I learned my way around and got more comfortable with the traffic and hustle and bustle. I had certain convenience stores I stopped at each morning and the routine was working out great for me. 

Then, one morning I had my newest shirt and tie on looking fine as hell and stopped to get a coffee and something for breakfast. When I walked in there was only one other person in the store. I saw him standing off to the side of the counter chowing down on his $.89 hot dog, but I honestly thought he had paid. This is when I learned how mean some city people can be. 

He yelled at me for cutting in line and when I apologized for my error and stepped back so he could go first, he spit his hot dog on me. Mortified, I stood there with a look on my face that had to tell the cashier that I was going to shit my pants because he told the guy to leave the store. He handed me a napkin and told me how sorry he was. I just paid for my stuff and left. I went to work with what looked like adult spit up on me and had to explain to everyone what the stain was. 

I never went back to that store after the hot dog wielding maniac had his spasm. I found another route to work just in case he was following me with a polish sausage.

The Gripes of Wrath

A lot of things gripe my ass and so, I would like to discuss that here. Please keep in mind that this is just a few of the things that make me wish upon the person doing them that they will get a yeast infection or a swollen labia or even sack sweat. 

First, social networks are great. Twitter let's me know what my favorite celebrities are doing and when they are near me. Facebook keeps me informed when my neighbor takes a shit and when he is out of toilet paper. 

Please for the love of all that is gay stop posting your Childs every move. The occasional update is fine but I have deleted friends for posting about little Bobby every time he moves. 

"Bobby looked at the tv today like he understood what it was!" there was a picture to prove this. Bobby had to be at least 4 years old. My first thought was, she was happy that Bobby was learning and he was slow. Instead of posting this, I hit delete. 

Second, don't park in the handicap spot if you are sending the 12 year old in for your hemorrhoid cream. You aren't getting out of the car and you are creating a moment on a couch for this child later in life. 

Third, if you do go inside the store, please don't block the one item I need with your cart while you and Edna catch up on the latest gossip of Bertha having to have her gout treated. 

Fourth, if you find yourself in front of the judge because you have a heavy foot or thought it would be cool to carry your stash with you while you drove across state, please, dress nice. A tight shirt that reveals your tramp stamp and flip flops is NOT proper court attire. 

Finally, Walmart really needs to hire more checkers. Or at least start taking some of those years of service pins off their current ones. The extra weight seems to be slowing them down more and more these days. Once I make it through the life sucking line, please don't stop me to make sure I paid for my case of water on the bottom. If I am going to steal something, I can assure you it will not be something I am going to piss away. 

Boys will be boys?

Trying to be "Normal" when I was younger was very taxing on me. I was expected to like cars, dirt bikes, fishing, hunting, camping and anything else that would eventually have me running for the sink to clean my hands.

God bless my parents they tried anything and everything to get me interested in the same stuff the other boys were doing at the time. I didn't like fishing, the smell was horrible and the worms were just nasty. The thought of killing the worm by shoving a metal hook in it's ass was almost more than I could take.

Then there was the pellet gun. While some of my cousins thought it was cool to hunt a squirrel with it, I enjoyed the patterns I could make on a soup can.

The dirt bike that I had to have turned out to be a huge disaster. I tried to rev the engine while it was in gear and then had to try and run along beside it to keep up. It fell and so did I. There I was, a 70 lb. wimp trying my hardest to pick that damn thing up and throw it across the yard. I was done with that.

Sports took on a life of their own. Wrestling didn't work. While I was quick, I was too weak to do it. Earlier in the year I  had already hung from the pull up bar until the coach had to remove me, so why I thought I could do this was beyond me.

After a few matches I was known as the fall guy. As soon as the whistle was blown I fell over on my back and waited to be pinned so I wouldn't get a bruise or sweaty. Ironically today I don't mind getting sweaty and being pinned.

While playing Dodge ball I made sure I was first out. I ran to middle of the floor and stood there waiting. I learned that if you looked around with confusion you would be picked off like the weakest antelope.

The only thing I liked about flag football was the pretty colors that were hanging from the belts. This was mostly because of the one Oaf who would get to excited and tackle me while he drooled and panted.

I couldn't get the damn bat to connect with the softball. Basketball made me feel short and running track seemed completely pointless to me. There was no clearance rack at the end of the course so why hurry?

Many times I have considered having an attorney file suit against the public education system for forcing me to participate in these games. Clearly the only thing I would have been good at was making the pom-poms for the cheerleaders or helping to decorate the gym for the next dance. That of course is a whole other story.

Closets, Gym class, and handbags

Coming to terms with my sexuality was not a pretty thing when I was younger. A lot of people to this day still believe that it is a choice and not something you are born into. My question to these people is simply this.

At what point in life did you decide you were straight? This usually puts a look on their face as if they are trying to get the answer to a long division problem in their head.

For me, I always felt odd. All of the other boys in my class were sneaking peaks at the little girls and I found myself waiting for the time when gym class would start and we all got changed.

I was awful at gym class. I was always the kid that was left standing last when teams were being picked by the captains. The groans were quite embarrassing when the coach finally told me what team to be on. Then we would have to change again. This was when I figured out that I was not the same as most of the other boys.

In rural Missouri, you don't tell people that you like their jockstrap. It never ends well. So, I tried to fit in. I talked about girls and flirted with them like I knew what I was doing. The whole time I was doing this I was taking mental notes of their outfits, shoes, handbags and hair styles all with envy.

Once I made it out of school and had lost my virginity, to a girl, while I pictured her brother and I skinny dipping together, I decided it was time to tell the family.

I started with my Grandma. She simply smiled and told me that she loved me and wanted me to be happy. I waited a couple more years and met a guy who took me to my first gay bar. I was so nervous that night.

I had so many images in my head, people chained to the walls, leather chaps with big guys smoking cigars, you name it, I thought it. Turns out, it was none of that. It was actually just a regular looking place. The main difference was that everyone was dressed very well and nobody had on tan pants and black shoes!

Once I realized I was in fact not the only person in the world who was gay, I had the courage to tell my parents. So, I went home and worked up the nerve to write them a letter and leave it on the front door.

Dad never read it, he already knew some how, and Mom fell apart for about a minute. Then she realized that there was always a reason she had taught me to crochet, sew, clean, cook, knit and shop. She was grooming a housewife without realizing it. I however would have thought that all of the fights my sister and I had over Barbie would have confirmed it.

Mom often says now that when I constantly gave Tina's Marie Osmond makeup head make overs that she knew. Even though she had bought me a Donny Osmond doll at the same time. I'm not sure what he was supposed to do or if it was her way of saying "Here, take this man doll dressed in purple bell bottom pants and go find yourself."

20 years have passed since the letter and I am still gay. I don't wear black shoes with tan pants and I still look at handbags with envy. I also miss my Donny Osmond doll.

Creatures of habit

Watching people and their actions have always fascinated me as long as I can remember. I give credit for this to Grandma of course as stated in my earlier blog when she would take me to Walmart to people watch.

Over the years I have noticed that just about everyone has a habit that they are probably not aware of. Some people use a phrase such as "what not", or "and that" entirely too much in their conversation. It gets really hard to listen to these people because I tend to try to filter out all the habits while they are talking. I usually end up with a glazed over look on my face because I have started thinking about what I want to eat next.

Others have little things they do in public that they shouldn't. I doubt they realize they do these things, because if they did, they would be sure to stop. You all know who you are. If you don't, it's okay, keep doing these things, they fill my life with humor.

Ass picking is one of my favorites. These people have no shame and I admire that. They climb out of their cars and immediately pull their shorts from their crack. They don't even think twice about doing it.

Others, for whatever reason leave the material shoved up in there for the duration of their shopping trip. This does amuse me, but looks uncomfortable as hell.

Most men have a habit of pulling at their scrotum sack when they think nobody is watching. Some will do it when you are standing right in front of them. Then there are the few that get creative and move from foot to foot in an attempt to release the sack from the side of their leg. This occurs more in the warmer months. Other men just go for and try to appear that they are digging for change in their pocket. I call this searching the coin purse.

Watching people eat gives me a thrill as well. There are a lot of eye drinkers out there. With each drink they take their eyebrows raise as far up their face as possible then retreat to the standard position as they lower the beverage. Hillary Clinton is an eyebrow drinker.

So, to all of you ass picking, sack pulling, eyebrow drinking, catch phrase saying people out there, God bless you! Without you I wouldn't be sitting here pursing my lips together while I type.

How to survive a trailer park

Around the time I turned 11 Mom and Dad thought we should move to Eureka, MO. They rented a trailer in an area that was prone to flooding. The rent was very reasonable though. Shortly after that Aunt Jan and Uncle Jerry moved down as well.

This was great news for me, my smurf partner in crime, Kim would be right there with me. Later of course we would be referred to as Bonnie and Clyde by the family. Having Kim there meant a whole new experience for both of us. Together we were going to rule the Trailer Park and for sure find a real live smurf in the woods.

Of course we had to start each day by torturing my big sister Tina. The best part was when we could spy on her while she was watching a particularly stunning young man who lived just a few trailers down. He was hot, he wore cuffs on his jeans and carried a comb in his back pocket.

After we tired of this we decided to spend the day at the play ground at the top of the slide. It had a large round platform that would double as a watch tower. This is where we could be sure to see enemies coming long before they noticed us.

Unfortunately while we were watching for enemies, we failed to notice the large stray dog that was mean until we decided to come down. The hair raised on it's back and the teeth showing while he growled at us meant business. So, we had no choice but to stay put.

It must have been hours before that dog finally gave up on having us as a snack. We were starving at this point, but couldn't risk trying to make it home. We decided we could live off the land.

We climbed down because this was serious. If we used the slide it would have been fun. Once on the ground we made our way to the woods near the creek. We collected berries, creek water, seeds, and leaves. Then we found the wild onions. We were set.

On our way out of the woods Kim scratched her leg on a log but we knew we had to make it back to safety. There wasn't time for a medical emergency right now.

Finally we were safe in the tower again. We ate the onions and decided the rest of the stuff we had collected would make a good medical potion for her extremely damaged leg. We mixed it all together and applied it to the wound. This would ensure that she would not have to have her limb amputated.

After a few hours passed we thought it was safe to go home. We came down from the tower and started running as fast as we could. Cujo didn't follow. We were safe until morning.

We both woke up covered in a rash. Turns out, the wild onions were crow's poison and eating it was not a very good idea. Kim's leg however did need to be cleaned and treated with the proper medications from a store.

Evil Kenevil vs. Baby Alive

Christmas time in my house was always exciting. I was such a believer in the fat man with a beard. This lasted until the year my cousin, Kim, and I decided we could unwrap all my presents carefully and see what I got. Once we mastered that, the magic somehow disappeared. 

One of the most special memories I have was the year we lived by the railroad tracks. I think I was about 4 years old at the time.  Mom and Dad had decorated the house and were so excited! I didn't know it until years later, but they had gotten a line of credit at Western Auto that year and that is where they were going to do their shopping. 

It was so exciting. There were packages of all sizes, shapes and colors under the tree that had the large bulbs on it. The kind that were actually hot to the touch. 

My sister, Tina, and I ripped and tore into the beauty like wild beast. We had no shame in our greed on this day. I remember my dad watching, all smiles at the two kids he and Mom had made so happy. It also didn't hurt that Dad was a big kid himself and secretly couldn't wait to play with the toys. 

Then, disaster struck. I opened a present that Dad was sure would be my favorite. An actual Evil Kenevil on a motorcycle that had a zip strip that would launch it across the room! I loved it, until I saw Tina holding the most precious gift the whole world had seen. 

Tina had gotten a Baby Alive from Santa! That fat bastard knew that I secretly wanted such a great gift. Why had he given it to her of all people? Could she really understand just how wonderful it was to have a  doll that would eat, drink, pee and poop? I doubted that she even gave it a second thought! 

The only thing I could do over this situation was cry. Looking back on it now, I am quite sure that this was the day that mom and dad exchanged the look that said, "Our son is probably gay." 

Grandma and the summer of coats and such

When I was younger I would spend a lot of time with my grandma and grandpa over the summer vacations. Most of this time was wonderful memories but there were some moments would be considered child endangerment today.

Each morning there was housework to do. Dusting, running the vacuum and making beds was a must before anyone left the house. Then it was a trip to town where grandma would drive to the post office and IGA. I would run into the post office and check their mail. The box had a lettered combination on it. I can't remember what it was. After that we went to the store.

Grandma would buy the stuff she needed for the day and always buy grandpa his smokes, camel non filter. She however smoked kool mild 100's. I would get 2 packs of candy cigarettes. Mine said cool on them and had a little penguin. I thought I was the shit.

Each time grandma had a kool I had a cool. This might be why I have bad teeth. Then it was orange soda and vanilla ice cream every evening before bed.

Occasionally we would drive to the bigger town of Mexico, MO and go to walmart. This is where I learned about fashion from grandma. We would sit on the bench outside of walmart and she would point out who's purse or shoes didn't match what they were wearing. This was of course long before there was a website dedicated to this.

Then it was time to hit the yard sales. Mid august in Missouri is hot, very humid and sticky. This however seemed to be the perfect time for grandma to find winter coats for the grandchildren for the coming winter.

Every zipper, every button, snap, clasp and belt had to be in working condition. I was the model for this on several occasions. I would stand there in the sun with a hood over my head zipped to the chin begging for her to just put it back. Her response was always the same.

"babe, you will need this coat come winter. We are almost done." I also knew that I would need a new pair of gloves each winter but those were always a Christmas present and it was a surprise. Although I knew I would never get brown. She hated brown. I don't care for it either.

How I learned to hold my head up

My earliest memory is kindergarten. At least the one that is clearest in my head. I was a terribly skinny little thing with overgrown feet a large nose, that I still own the rights to today, and low self esteem.

The first day of school was so terrifying for me. Mom and Dad had done their best to get me ready. They even bought me my very first book bag that was blue and red. I loved that bag. I think this is where my obsession for what we call a Murse today came from.

I must place a disclaimer here...this is from my memory, the way I remember it. If you remember it another way tough shit.

Mom took us to school that day, my sister Tina wasn't scared. She was in first grade now, so she wasn't scared of anything! I however was ready to cry the moment we got into the car to go. I couldn't understand why I of all people had to leave my mom. It wasn't fair.

When we got to the school mom took me in and I started to cry my face off. I just knew I was never going to see her agin. This was the end of our relationship as I knew it. Mom tried her best to assure me that I would have fun and that everything would be fine. I on the other hand was just starting to figure out for the first time that parents are not always honest with their children. The woman I trusted more than anything was going to abandon me.

Turns out, she didn't. I managed to survive, thanks to my cousin Anthony who was also in my class. He loved the first day of school. I was afraid I wouldn't make any friends and he kissed a girl before the bell rang to start the day.

As the weeks went by I did learn that school was okay and that there wasn't a monster around every corner waiting to rip my face off. I was still so shy, I always walked with my head down. Even when the teacher told me not too. I wanted to avoid eye contact as much as possible. I was even too afraid to ask to go to the bathroom so I would wait for lunch and then ask after I had eaten my food and consumed my tiny little red box of milk.

As it happened one day, I had to go tinkle. I asked for permission to use the restroom and sat out down the hall to do so. That's when I walked head first into the door frame and busted my head open.

I remember thinking that I could hide it, nobody would know. Then I saw the blood. Turns out I had to have stitches. After that I decided it was best to hold my head up when I was walking someplace.