Off the mark.

Sometimes I read what other people write and it reminds me how painfully inadequate my meandering blog can be. Will this stop me from continuing? No. My goal with this written cyber journal is not to become a better writer as I really have no aspirations to become one. Sure it would be fun to write a great novel or piece of work that touches millions and makes me rich and famous but there are much more qualified individuals who are more capable and eloquent than I. When I think about myself as a writer, I compare my skills and opinions with that of a famous person who wants to be taken seriously but should never be. Someone like Paris Hilton for example. I see this chick on the TV and I wonder...How the hell did this girl get famous? I mean, other than having a family fortune at her disposal, why the hell do people care what she's doing? She's not even an actor. The only reason she became famous was for partying and high style that 99.999999999999% of us are incapable of keeping up with. So why worship something like that.? Maybe it's because I spent some of my formative years growing up in the city of angels but I just don't get into what celebrities are doing. I also don't respect them and hang on their every word like many people do. Sure it can be good for a laugh to see them get all self absorbed but seriously, who really who really reads this crap? Strike that. I know who reads it, and I'm not trying to bash them for doing so (really). What I have a problem with, is how people become immersed in it. There are entire channels on TV dedicated to what these people do on a daily basis. Seriously, who cares if they took a shit in a public bathroom? People just put too much stock in what these idiots who live in lala land say and do. Most of these people are complete imbeciles and so far out of touch with reality that they have no business dispensing advise or political opinions or even telling you what's cool to wear. Paris Hilton, Keaneau Reeves, Brittany Spears, Ashley Simpson, the list is endless. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion and, if I was famous, I'm sure I would jump on the soap box occasionally. The thing is, you really need to go into deep self examination sometimes and try to decide what's truly important. If your goal is strictly entertainment then go with it. But don't try to pass yourself off as a well educated insightful person when all you have to go on is your looks or your bank roll. Some (many I hope) of us see through your fortune and fame for what you really are. You're a normal idiot like me who got lucky or had the bank roll to buy your fame. That's it. Don't worry, you entertainers still have value to me. You look good in a swimsuit or you act or sing so poorly that it makes me laugh when you open your mouth. Just keep in mind, as you tell me what I should do or believe from your Beverly Hills palace, that you are my entertainment not my god.

Wow this post went way off the mark from what I originally was trying to get across. At least I know I'm an idiot.

Scared of change.

This weeks question is for those that have switched to the new blogger.

I've been considering the switch simply because I'm tired of being prompted to do so every time I log in. That being said, I'm a little hesitant to cross over because I think it might eat all my old posts or something. Like it would be a travesty to have all my blather erased from cyberspace. So, if you've switched, have you had any problems and is it any better or worse than the old blogger?

Another day of the week.

Sunday. It's the same as every other day of the week. There's nothing special about it. Unless you live in Georgia where if you want a beer, you better have some left in the fridge or you're fucked. What it amounts to is a law instated by the Christian rule that dominates the heritage in the south. I don't know how long it's been in effect, but I'm sure it's pretty much been here as long as the state has been a state. Now there is a bill being pushed here that will allow the liquor stores and quickie marts to sell on that day which is blessed to the Christian majority here. (Yay!) They want us to vote on which way we want it. I think I'm going to schedule the day off and make sure I turn up at my polling place. Sadly, I will probably be out voted. This is a shining example of how other peoples beliefs get crammed down my throat.

The irony in all of this is you can still buy a beer on Sunday here. All you have to do is go to you're favorite bar or restaurant and order whatever you like. You can get as shitfaced as want as long as you do it in a public place. How stupid is that? It's a conspiracy to maintain high levels of DUI convictions if you ask me. So you're a Christian and don't think it's cool to drink on the holy day of Sunday. Fine, but don't get pissed at me if I blow beer chunks on you in the parking lot of Ruby Tuesday because the sight of you in your Sunday best reminded me of how much you make me sick!

What is it about me and toast?

I don't know if it's tensions from the lack of nicotine or something darker and more sinister. On the morning in question, I woke up (after the third snooze hit) and L is asking me if we should fly or drive to PA for her cousin's wedding. To say I'm not a morning person is a gross understatement. Just arousing from slumber is not the time to badger me with questions that I will be held accountable for later. Up until that moment, we had planned to drive there at a leisurely pace and visit some sites along the way. I tell her that it's cool no matter what we do. Then she goes off on me for not being more active in our trip planning and I must not really want to drive or I would argue otherwise. And if I don't care about what we do, why even bother going? Now, we all have moments with loved ones where we absolutely want to shove our fists in each others faces. Lets just say that I had a one balled up under the blanket ready to go. Not wanting to escalate the fight any further and needing to swap the radiator in her car before I go to work, I get up and start the coffee. While I'm fumbling around in the kitchen, she (still in bed) starts rambling on about how I don't care about anything and how lazy I am and I don't do anything around the house. I silently go about my business avoiding saying anything in return. I know I'm lazy, but bringing that into the fold on a day where I'm repairing her car before I go work for ten hours doesn't sit all that well on my pallet. To top things off, I did five loads of laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and worked on the bus for eight hours the previous day. But I'm a reasonably intelligent person and I know this fight has nothing to do with my laziness. There is some other issue that is at the core of this tirade. Eventually she quiets down and I assume she may have dozed back off. I make some PB&J on toast and stand in the kitchen eating it. From the bedroom she yells, "Where's my toast! You're not even going to offer me some?" I start to recognize this as one of those times where I can do no right. I've resigned myself to the thought that, no matter what I do or say, at this point, it will only make things worse. I grit my teeth and wait for the next volley of incoherent woman babble that's going to fly out of her lips. "Don't you love me anymore?" She asks, "Don't you care enough to offer me toast?" I feebly try to mutter something about how I thought she fell back to sleep and didn't want to wake her. "Just forget it," she snapped at me and rolled back over in bed. So I did as she asked and went into the garage to replace the radiator.

So what's the moral of this story you ask? There really isn't much of a lesson here. I just wanted to show that it's not all fun and games in the geek household. We have a good marriage but nothing is all good all of the time. The only thing that I regretted was that we didn't work it out before I left the house. I was stewing about it all day at work. She apologized later and blamed it on PMS. I suppose I was also reminded that toast seems to be the catalyst for events in my life and I should avoid it.

Shoot The Duck

S.T.D. is the second blog I was turned on to. It came recommend from Bob. I have to say, it's a fun little read. Duck is a single gal of my vintage (age) and her consistent posts and "snarky" wit keep me coming back. I like her perspective and she reflects many of my current thoughts and, I guess you would say, values. In between her fun(ny) posts, she lets you in on what it's like to be a thirtysomething woman in today's society. I hovered around her site for quite some time and found most of my regular reads through the links she has posted and those who left comments for her. I'm definitely a lurker when I initially find a blog that seems interesting. I always try to back up and read previous posts to get a perspective on what people are about before I start dispensing my own comments. I don't think I've read Le Ducks' entire site but damn close. She's and excellent writer and her blog is always fun and insightful. So hit the link, if you haven't yet and see what I mean.

You ask me the question of the week.

This week is for the ladies out there. I want you to ask me any question you like and I promise to answer honestly from a male perspective. No bull. No games. Just the truth from your average guy. Hit the comment button (be anonymous if you're embarrassed) and I will post my answers to your questions for everyone to be enlightened. If it's too personal, just drop me an email and I'll answer privately if you like.

It's simple girls, just click the button below and type away. Some of you have to have questions about why we are such pricks, or what it feels like to get kicked in the nuts, or why your man did that stupid thing he did. I don't think I can be stumped, but if you feel like you can make me speechless, give it a shot.

And guys, feel free to add your two cents.

You have to love this interactive stuff or you wouldn't be reading this. So let's use it to it's full potential.

Speaking of stupidity.

First question on a written survey at work today. This is not a fabrication. I kid you not.

"Can you read? (circle one) Yes No"

This speaks volumes about the environment I work in.

I'm for Natural Selection.

There are some stupid people out there. Nature wants to thin the herd but we've progressed to a point where we protect the ludicrously stupid.

Example one:

Driving to the gym the other night, I'm rolling around a slow curve near my town square (think Back to The Future complete with broken clock tower) and a dude on a bike whips out of a side street coming from my left. I see him but only because he has a single amber reflector on his front wheel (which can only be see from the side). I stomp all over my brakes to keep from running him over as he makes his turn ultra wide and crosses the double yellow lines into my lane. After which he settles on the opposite side of the street riding, in the center of that lane, toward oncoming traffic. His bike is a navy color. He's wearing dark jeans and a black windbreaker with a beanie cap that's also black. I accelerate to pass him as I mutter obscenities under my breath. But wait! There's more! No sooner did I stomp on the gas, when he decides to swing back into my lane crossing from left to right and missing the right front quarter of my car by inches as I accelerated. He never even looked to see if he could make the turn or cross the street. His life was spared by a single reflector. In the dark recesses of the evil side of my brain, I wish I hadn't seen the reflective plastic.

Example two:

An airliner landed the other day with a frozen and semi-crushed dude in the wheel well of the landing gear. Ummm...What would make a person think that they could survive a flight in the wheel well of an airliner? Lets gloss over the fact that you aren't likely to survive the gear coming up and move on to the cold hard facts. For every thousand feet of altitude the temperature drops about two degrees Celsius. 80 degrees Fahrenheit equals 27 degrees Celsius. Your typical airliner travels at 35,000 ft. So if it's 27 degrees Celsius on the ground it's -43 at 35,000 ft. Can you say meatsicle? If you're suicidal just spare us the aggravation of airline delays and jump off a cliff or something.

Example three:

George W. Bush.

I rest my case.

Question of the week.

I liked the question of the week for the short time I asked it and, somewhere along the way, I stopped doing it. But now It's time to resurrect it again.

So in an effort to garnish comments from the few of you that actually frequent "the mad rambling of an airplane nut", I'm going to stick with my recent automotive theme and ask this.

What is/was you favorite conveyance (car, truck, bike, skateboard) and why?

I'm going to try to get away from this car junk. I promise!

Hell on wheels.

I know this will bore most of you to death but, I was thinking about it, and I've owned a bunch of cars.

The list in the order in which I purchased them.

1- 1978 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme:
My first car. I loved it for a ton of reasons. The main one was the Bench seat in the front. Great for those "parking" events in high school.

2- 1981 Oldsmobile Delta 88:
I purchased this battle ship from my parents after the Cutlass died and I still hate the thing.

3- 1987 Toyota Corrola:
Go here for the story on that one.

4- 1995 Dodge Neon:
First brand new car ever and the salesman saw me coming. I think he's still living on the commission. It was a great car though.

5- 1995 Jeep Cherokee:
Wanted a Jeep for a long time and traded the Neon to get out from under the insane interest rate I was paying.

6- 1995 Mazda B2300:
Traded the Jeep for it to reduce my payments and insurance. I will never buy another pick-up truck as long as I live. Sold it to some kid who lowered it when the mini trucks were all the rage.

7- 1995 Ford Probe GT:
Practically stole this car from the dealership when I caught the salesman in a lie. got more money for it as a trade than I paid up front after driving it for a year. This deal made me a family legend at car buying.

8- 1999 Jeep Wrangler:
My second brand new car ever. Had 4K knocked off the sticker price before I walked into the dealer showroom. It was a fabulous car and, If circumstances hadn't forced the sale I would still own it.

9- 1968 VW Beetle:
I always wanted one and I finally got my wish. This car served me faithfully, including a two year stint with a Pizza Hut sign on the roof, until about three years ago when the clutch gave out. I started to restore it, but the rust was so bad I decided to make it a dune buggy. I still own it and it's a work in progress. It's going to be resurrected as a bad ass little machine when I'm done.

10- 1989 Nissan Sentra:
I bought this for a couple hundred bucks during the Pizza phase as a spare in case the Beetle crapped out. It died before the bug did.

11- 2004 Subaru Impreza:
I wanted one for two years before I bought this. It was the best all around car I could find for the money and the only reason I actually did purchase it was because the bug was down. And I still own it today. But once the bus is on the road, this thing is gone.

12- 1995 Jeep Cherokee:
This is the replacement for the Wrangler. L needed a bigger car for work and this one was cheap and runs strong for it's age.

13- 1967 VW Bus:
It lives but it needs a ton more work to be road worthy.

From the look of things, it would appear that I really like the 1995 model year. It's just a coincidence. I do like Jeeps. Every one I've owned has been dependable and nearly bullet proof. Air cooled VWs are the shizneeeaaaaat. They just have personality.

My top three favorites:
1. The bug (duh!)
2. The '78 Cutlass (there's just something about your first)
3. The Wrangler (uber fun SUV)

Honorable mention: I'm sure the bus will bump the Wangler out of the top three but that has yet to be determined.

Cross your fingers.

New electronic ignition installed. Check.
Gas can hooked up. Check.
Throttle cable connected. Check.
Battery cable attached. Check.

Fingers crossed and key turned. The starter wound up and...nothing. But it sounded better than the last attempt a month ago. It sounded like it had a shot at firing.

Quickly I jump out and rotate the distributor clockwise a little.

Again at the key with fingers crossed. Starter turned but nothing. Sounded worse. Like no spark at all. Dammit man!

So I run back to the rear again and rotate counter-clockwise past the original starting point.

Crank, hit the gas, and amidst a cloud of blue smoke it comes to life.

IT's ALIVE!!! IT LIVES!!! MUHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!

Forty years old and it gets one step closer to terrorizing motorists, once again, by driving ridiculously slow.

No Smith and Wesson for me.

Forgot how miserable quitting smoking is. I feel all icky and fidgetey. If I had a gun, I'd shoot the next Mo Fo that walked up to me. I told L that she needs to be patient with me because I'm a little snippy. (ubderstatement of the year) I've been cutting her short the last few days and haven't been my normal tolerant/laid back self. It better get better or I'm gonna jump off a cliff or end up divorced.

We refuse to acknowledge we're insane.

L and I had a long discussion on my birthday. (34 yuck) It stemmed form being in debt. For a little over five years now, we've been trying to get back in the black. It's been a war with our credit card. We've fought long and hard. The tide has changed many times. This year the goal of being debt free was but a tax return within reach. Then her car broke and we spent too much on Christmas and Thanksgiving and taxes and insurance and bla bla bla. So here we are again, in debt hell, desperately trying to climb our way out. Granted, we are our own worst enemy. Which is really what the discussion was about.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. If that's the case, we're both certifiable. We're making the same promise, again, this year.

We will not go on any expensive trips or make any large purchases until such time as our debt is paid in full and we have the cash to do so.

Sounds easy right? Not when all your friends make over twice as much money as you do and are always inviting you to do fun, interesting and expensive things every few months or so. Our problem is we have just enough money to do these things and it's hard to say "no" to long weekends in Florida, Vegas, Tunica, Biloxi, Mexico, The Bahamas and other places where the living is warm or slots go ding. So we've made this promise for the last three years and failed miserably each and every one. What makes the promise so different this year? We've come up with the answer as to why we're having this problem.

It occurred to us, after we literally dodged Roman candles on a muddy farm in Georgia to ring in the new year, that we have been too complacent at living our own lives. It's like waking up in some one else's' dream. What the hell were we doing at a party where we were the only two people who had a full set of teeth? (OK it wasn't that bad, but it felt like it.) We're the types who like to ring in the year in fancy clothes and kiss as balloons fall at midnight. This is just not where we belong on new years eve. What's happened to us? How did two hard rockers who can barely tolerate country music end up among the cast of The Blue Collar comedy Tour on the biggest party night of the year?

It struck us like a locomotive as we sat motionless on the couch on the 2nd day of the year. We've been letting our current batch of friends dictate what we do. Back in the not so distant past, we used to make our own fun. It seems, since we've been in Georgia, that our friends have been the only source of our fun times. We wait for our friends to invite us to do something. We never go out and make our own fun anymore. We're always the invitees and never the inviters. So our richer friends plan vacations and huge activities and we either have to say "no" or "Fuck it! Lets go!" The problem is whenever we say the latter, we put ourselves further behind by keeping up with the Jones'. When the fun is over, we feel guilt and put ourselves back into "pay off the debt" mode. We restrict ourselves so much that we feel guilt for just going out to eat or taking in a movie and therefore we don't plan anything else because we think we can't afford it. We pinch ourselves down and keep our noses to the grindstone until we get another invite and say "Fuck it!" Then the whole cycle starts all over again. In an effort to reestablish our own personalities, we're not only dead set against being talked into big trips but also committed to entertain ourselves in small ways so we don't go nuts and need a break from the tedium of regular life.

To be fair, redneck parties can be fun and the food was actually quite good on Dec 31st, but we were just out of our element on a day we consider more special than it was. We had no one to blame but ourselves for not making our own plans. So starting a few days ago we're going to activate our own schedule and do our own things to reclaim our identities and our sanity.