Cinnamon toast changed my life.

Laden with a backpack containing a denim folder and my fourth grade books, my house was a welcome sight as I rounded the corner. It was a beautiful fall day in the San Fernando valley. The temperature was in the eighties and I barely noticed the noise from the Ventura Freeway as I approached the front door. My only thought was to make it to the bathroom before my bladder exploded. I tossed my backpack down on the couch as I passed through the living room. Making the right turn down the hall, I was elated to see the only bathroom in the house wasn't occupied by any of my three brothers. We were the only ones home at this hour in the afternoon. My older brother, four years my senior, was left in charge.

After finishing my business, I made a bee line to the kitchen. Having taken care of my first need, it was time to put some cinnamon toast in my belly to quiet the grumbling noises that now dominated my thoughts. I opened the cabinet and grabbed my favorite orange plastic cup. I liked it because it was tall and held just the right amount of milk. I turned around placed the cup on the counter while I grabbed the bread. I opened the package, took out the two slices, and popped them in the toaster. It was about this time D, the oldest, appeared in the kitchen doorway with my younger twin brothers standing behind him. He had an agitated look on his face.

"Mom said no snacks until you're done with your homework." was the first thing out of his mouth.

"But D," I protested, "I already popped the bread in the toaster."

He came back with, "Mom said 'no snacks' and she left me in charge."

"But DeeEEEEeee," I whined stretching his name out in the shrill way kids sometimes do, "The toast is gonna get stale."

He reached over and lifted the handle of the toaster and the bread popped back up. "Sorry, but mom said."

"I promise I'll do my homework as soon as I have my toast." I pleaded as I popped the toast back down.

"NO! Mom said I'm in charge and you can't have your toast until you're done with your homework." and he popped the bread back up and took it out of the machine.

D was being reasonable and following the orders I knew to be true. But it didn't make any difference. I snapped like a twig. My fuse had always been short. I went from typical happy-go-lucky fourth grader to complete demon in a millisecond.

"Gimme my toast butt head!" I yelled.

D turned and handed the bread to the twins and told them to run. The kidnergardeners took great delight in being introduced into the fray. Taking a piece each they giggled as they obliged my older brother's order. They all ran in unison from the kitchen. The twins in front and D running interference in the rear. I immediately gave chase. We ran around in circles through the kitchen and the hall and the dining room. The twins knew instinctively to do this as any other direction would've lead to a dead end. My rage grew to rival that of any incredible hulk transformation I ever saw on the live action TV series. D saw it building as he ran encouraging my little brothers to mock me. During our second to last pass around the kitchen D told the little ones to run to the bathroom. It was the only room inside the house with a lock on the door. They laughed as they ran down the hall to safety.

Now my rage only had one target who was bigger and much faster than I. On the last pass through the kitchen I picked up my favorite orange cup and, as I rounded the corner to the dining room one last time, I saw D had given up on the meaningless round and round through the kitchen and was heading through the living room toward the front door. With all the strength I could muster, I threw the cup at him and hit him square in the center of the back. He let out a scream and immediately went down to the floor. In a mindless rage over my toast, I quickly closed the distance to where he lay crying on the carpet. I looked down on him triumphantly and, without so much a second thought, started jumping on his back as if he were my parents mattress. The sobs and the pain in my brothers voice fell on rage deafened ears. I was berserk. I was out of control.

Satisfied that he was out of commission, I left him crying on the living room floor. I turned the corner to the hall and directed my rage to the end were the bathroom door stood between me and my goal. I gathered a full head of steam and threw myself into the locked door with all my might. I barely felt the pain from coming into contact with the wood at full speed. It stood fast. I backed up and hit it again. Something cracked. One last time I went barreling down the hall into the door. This time it flew open with little effort. I spilled out onto the tile floor and hit my head on the corner of the sink as I went down. I knew I was hurt but my rage knew no pain. I picked myself up off the floor and turned to the bathtub where my little brothers cowered still holding the toast they were given. Heaving from the exertion but still full of hate I opened the shower door and raised my right fist. They were crying but there would be no mercy from me. Tears of rage spewed down my face and was going to pound on them till it was out of my system. My fist, raised high behind my head, was suddenly ripped backwards so hard that it spun me completely around. Holding my arm was the neighbor and friend of the family who's daughter we played with regularly. She was a large sweet woman who happened to be a teacher at a local school. D had followed mom's emergency procedures and run for her once he recovered from the literal stomping I had administered.

She took me across the street to her house and immediately called my mom at the office. I sat, quietly sobbing, in my neighbor's house as I waited for my mortified mother to come home. The pain I had inflicted to my own body during my mindless rage came with a vengeance. The entire left side of my body hurt from where I had come in contact with the bathroom door. A large knot had developed on my head from where I hit it on the sink. I was on the verge of falling asleep from the energy my body had expended while in an adrenaline induced fury. When my mom arrived, she kept apologizing to her friend for having to deal with me. The gentle teacher continually reassured her that everything was fine and no one was really hurt. While walking across the street, I looked up at my mom who had tears streaming down her cheeks. I never felt so bad in all my young life as I did that moment. It was a profound scar on my young psyche. Even though the punishment I knew would be coming was severe, nothing was as bad as seeing my, normally strong, mother crying as I was escorted home.

This event marked a major turning point in my personality. Before this day I was an outgoing little kid who feared nothing and fought with my siblings and kids at school at the drop of a hat. From this day forward I was more shy and reserved. My mom wondered what happened to the little kid that would charm strangers in restaurants and lose his temper all too quick when he didn't get his way. It was this event, as much as any that followed, which shaped who and what I am today. That little terror of a kid still lies dormant deep within my personality. I learned to keep control of my rage that day. Hints have surfaced but I never let the demon completely out except when I got into my one and only school fight after that day. I still shudder at the thought that I'm capable of such violence but take comfort that it only comes back when I'm physically threatened.

Don't change a thing baby.

Most of the guys I know go for the typical definition of beauty. Blonde, big boobs, and no brain would be the description of the perfect women for a lot of guys. Not me. I've always leaned toward the opposite end of the spectrum. I prefer brunettes. I don't really know why but it could be the contrast of skin and hair. Boobs are not my thing. I don't care if they are triple D or A-. I've always been a butt man. My only criteria, as far as weight is concerned, is that a woman still have curves that are proportionate. Once a woman gets so fat she looks like an egg is my cut off. Some of things I think are sexy would be a turn off for other men and a point of anxiety for some women. Freckles can be cute. Finding a mole in an interesting place is nice. Having an big nose is not always a turn off either. I guess you could say that I'm the anti-model guy. I think the imperfections are what make people interesting. It could be that women in the media are so "cookie cutter" that I find it refreshing when there is a variety.

Why did I go into this and why should you care? I have no idea. Maybe I just wanted to give some hope to those (most of us) people that think they have to keep up with the unrealistic definition of beauty out there.

So my question of the week is this...

What attracts you most (physically) to a prospective mate or what is the most unusual thing you find attractive?

Goose bumps.

On Thursday I was in Lowes buying some hardware for my VW and there was a girl at the register wearing jeans and a jacket when it was 93 degrees outside. I could immediately identify with her.

I'm currently at work and holy shit it's cold in here! What the hell is the fascination with fucking air conditioning? Lord this is miserable. Why must people set the air conditioning on 4? Nothing annoys me more than to be cold when it's ninety degrees outside. You wear shorts and a T-shirt around so you can be comfortable in the heat and then you walk into any business like Wal-Mart, Taco Bell, or Home Depot and you freeze your ass off. It's a wonder I haven't died of pneumonia. It's sad when you enjoy sitting in a hot car with the windows up for five minutes after you had lunch at a local restaurant. Is there some conspiracy to preserve people by keeping them in cold storage? When there is condensation on the windows of a building (like here at work) IT"S TOO FUCKING COLD INSIDE! If the temperaturee drops any more in here, I'm going to have to file a workman's comp claim for frost bite. I already can't feel my toes.

Note to self: Bring sweater, electric blanket, parka, ski mask, mittens, ear muffs, propane heater, long johns and six pairs of wool socks to work next week.

Stupid is...

- Waking up late and being pissed off at your wife for pushing you out of the bed. Especially when she doesn't have to get up for another three hours.

- Pumping gas on your way to work and leaving the receipt for the gas at the pump. (L. is the family bookkeeper and is fantastic at maintaining a balanced checkbook when I remember to give her all the receipts.)

- Getting to work and forgetting to sign in for the first thirty minutes of your work day.

- Making a trip to Mickey D's for some much needed coffee and a sandwich (because I woke up too late to make my own) and realizing, only after ordering, that you don't have any cash on you.

- Blowing by the drive thru window because you're too embarrassed to tell the girl with the headset that you don't have the money to pay.

- Realizing that they take debit cards only after you pull back into the parking lot at work.

All this and it's only 7:40 AM. It'll be a miracle if I survive the day. Send a search party to find me if I don't post again by tomorrow morning.

Someone shoot me.

This is by far the longest most boring work day of my life. I don't think it will ever end.

Issue? What issue?

So I asserted myself a little when she got giggly on Sunday and I'm pleased to say she melted like an ice cube in a furnace. I'd rather not get into details, lets just say that I've never known another woman who gets into sex as much as L. She never ceases to amaze me. When she's hot, she is on fire. The sexcapades continued through Tuesday when that bitch "Flo" decided to show up.

Long ago, when I was single, I had a conversation with a couple women that I knew. It was more like they had a conversation with me. Both of them told me that they got really horny when on their period. They asked why men don't like to have sex when women during their cycle. I told them that most men don't really care. I, on the other hand, do have an issue with it. It is a throw back to when I was in high school and had sex with a girl in my car who was having her monthly and either didn't know or didn't bother to mention it to me. It was dark and I didn't notice until I got home and took off my clothes to take a shower. There was a mess all over my underwear and the next morning I found a stain on the seat of my car. I think that sort of freaked me out and has given me a complex from that point on.

So my question of the week for the lady(s) who are reading this blog is:
Does your period make you more, less, or just as randy as normal?

Question for the guy(s):
Do you care weather they are on their period or not?

Getting down and dirty.

L. and I have been having issues lately. Or it could just be me. It seems that we have fell off in the sexual department. It's hard to explain. It's not that we don't have sex, it just seems like less often and it's more difficult for us to initiate it with each other. This was never a problem in the past. In fact, I would have to say it was me that had trouble keeping up with her. At first I thought this had to do with our conflicting schedules but, after two weeks of me living a semi normal sleep pattern, nothing changed. Sometimes I find it hard to tell when she actually wants to have a romp or if she is just feeling affectionate. When I make it clear what my intentions are, she seems shy about it. She gets giggly like a little school girl and seems embarrassed. It's like she is afraid to expose herself to me. In my simple brain this is ridiculous after over eleven years together. I think this may be her way of telling me politely that she's not in the mood. Or maybe she is trying to be cute. Could it be that she wants me to be a man and just take her? I don't know. It makes me feel like she is just not all that into it. We still compliment each other on our looks and I truly feel she is as sexy as she has ever been. Maybe she's a little self conscious now that we've been working out. I can tell she feels a little bad that I seem to have lost more weight than her. I tell here that it's natural for men to drop pounds faster than women. This is especially true because she has a job that is physically demanding and I sit at a desk all day. She is definitely more tone than she was when we started working out. When we were in Florida last weekend, we were the sexiest people in our little group of friends (the competition wasn't exactly tough). At any rate, I can't seem to get her over that little giggly stage. It's not exactly a turn on for me. After all, I want to be wanted too. I think I'm just going to try and assert myself in the next few days and see what happens. If that doesn't work I think I'm going to have to open up a serious dialogue. If I have to do that, she may overreact (which she sometimes does) and make the problem much bigger than it is. I don't want to give here a complex or make her feel like she has to accommodate me every time I want a little nookie. I just don't think it should be as awkward as it seems to be.

ZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz.

After two weeks off you would think I would be refreshed and ready to work. WRONG! When I woke up at 2:45 AM this morning I considered going out to the garage to get my vice grips in order to hold my eyes open. If it wasn't for the crizzy I'd be sleeping while I type this. Maybe I am sleeping and this blog is just a reflex action to keep my subconscious mind occupied.

My schedule just blows. That combined with a completely meaningless job makes it even worse. Seriously, my job is so lame that one of my predecessors decided, when he was 4 weeks from retirement, that he just wasn't going to do any of our appointed tasks anymore. I kid you not, no one outside our office noticed. It sounds cool to get a paycheck for doing nothing but it turns your brain into mush and really wears on your self worth.

On the bright side, I only have one more shift and my work week is over. If I fall asleep during that shift, which is entirely possible, there's a good chance no one will notice.

I'm still waiting on a verdict to get my old job back. If that doesn't pull through I'm going back to school this year to give myself some more options.

Back to the grind.

Nothing will make you more tired after a long break than waking up to the realization that you have to go to work again. I felt great for two whole weeks. I had a normal schedule for the first time in four years. For a while I felt guilty for wasting vacation without any specific plans to do something, but after a day or so I realized that vacations where you don't have to do anything are the best. One of my favorite lines from Office Space goes something like this, "I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything I thought it could be." (I love that movie.) While I did a ton of work around the house and in the garage, it never felt like work. I enjoyed it. It always feels better to get things done for yourself.

Vacation tidbits:

Wear jeans and long sleeves when welding big projects. Evidently a mig welder will give you a wicked sunburn. Either that or welding on a ninety degree day will literally cook you.

Even when you're 33 years old, getting caught in a summer storm and splashing in the puddles will make you giggle like a school kid.

Steaks grilled over charcoal are truly better than broiled in the oven. They just have that great smoky flavor you can't put in a bottle.

Insure two things when joining friends at a condo for the weekend. Especially when you and your wife are both randy. First, don't assume you will be getting your own room. Second, make sure there are no rent-a-cops to make you get out of the hot tub at 11:00 PM. If there is security, make sure you get in the tub before 10:57 PM.

Ahhh.

Some good stuff going on during my vacation. Too hard to put together good posts when I'm at home. I have more time at work when L. isn't around.

So far I've:

got a sunburn without the sun or a tanning bed.
been soaked from head to toe while still in my clothes.
grilled some perfect steaks.
been out on a Saturday night for the first time in over a year.
slept in repeatedly.
done a ton of work to my buggy.

A couple friends have talked us into going to Pensacola this coming weekend. I foresee many beers, lots of chilling by a pool, and maybe a little hot tub nookie at a beautiful condo.

Life is good when you're on vacation.