N.P.A.

The National Pimp Association. The dues are cheap the benefits are top notch.

My Baby's Momma

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, Shari. Shari and I started dating in November of 2003. She told me that she had been divorced for a month and was looking to go out and have a good time, which we did. I quickly became aware that Shari has a few issues. She has one of those personalities that is cute and bubbly and first, but quickly turns into "man, she needs to cut back on her meds."

On our third date, Shari announced that she was only going to date me. I quickly told her that I had been divorced for less than a year and was not interested in dating just one person. At first, she seemed to accept this, but soon she was doing all of the little things that had the voice in my head screaming "run! run as fast as you can."

She would come into my house and start rearranging my shit. You know, "Oh, this would look so much better over here!" I ended that activity with the comment "You know, when you start paying my fucking mortgage, you can put shit wherever you want." Next, she went with me to pick up my new puppy, Daisy. Soon she began to refer to Daisy as "our dog" and I had to point out to her that I was buying the food, training the puppy, paying for the vet without her and that my dog didn't need another owner. The final straw happened about two months later. I have this thing about visitors. You don't come to my house unless you were either invited or were called and asked first. This protocol had been covered with her on numerous occasions. One afternoon, I had gotten out of the shower and was in the kitchen putting a pot of water on for red beans and rice. Now I don't normally cook in the buff, but I figured I could put the water on to boil, and by the time I got dressed, it would be ready for the other ingredients.

I'm in the process of getting crap together in the kitchen when the doorbell rings. I swarm of epithets flowed from my mouth that would have put Lyndon Johnson to shame. I briefly considered answering the door sans clothes and telling the Mormans, or girl scouts, or whomever deigned to darken my doorway that unless they wanted to chew on my root, they could get lost.

Practicality got the better of me. After all, what if was Vance, the solicitor for the Gay Crisis Hotline? I would be in quite the pickle then, no pun intended.

I threw on some shorts, yanked open the door, and there stands Shari. Without blinking an eye, I bark "What the hell do you want?!?!"

She bolts down the walk and around to the front of the garage. "Dear Lord," I thought, "she thinks I'm going to lay the smack down on her." I step out onto the walk and follow her to her car in my driveway. She is leaning in the back seat and when she stands up, she is holding the cutest little Golden Retriever puppy.

"I thought you might want to meet Cali, Daisy's new sister." OMG! I tore into her. "Shari, you live in an apartment the size of a phone booth, you work twelve hours a day at your shit job, AND you told me that you gave away a dog right before you met me because you couldn't take care of him. You have lost your damn mind, this is the dumbest thing you have ever done." Of course she didn't listen to a thing that I had to say. I guess the echo in the empty cavern that was her brain was drowning out my voice of reason.

She disputed my opinion by saying "No, no, Cali is sweet, she won't be any problem." Sure enough, I got a phone call at six in the morning. "Cali is crying, what do I do." I don't know what she did, but I knew what I was gonna do.

I gradually weaned Shari away from me over the next few months. She stopped calling me and she never dropped by the house again. Then I made a huge mistake. I was on a date in February with a young lady that I had been seeing since Labor Day. I hadn't been out with Shari since August or so and she never really crossed my mind. Then I ran into her while on my date.

Stupid, stupid Chunk. The first words out of my mouth were "Hey!!! I haven't heard from you in a while!" I knew it was a ginormous fuck up, but the words were out there and I couldn't take them back. I tried to cover with a quick follow up question, "How is Cali doing?"

"I had to give her away, I couldn't take care of her." Sur-fucking-prise. I gave her the "ok, I will see you around" and led my date to another area of the bar.

Of course she called me the next Monday night. I asked her how she was, ready to make some small chit chat before I made my excuses. She got quiet and simply said "I'm pregnant."

And that was it, just "I'm pregnant," no follow up statement, nothing. My heart flip-flopped several times, lunch was fighting it's way back up and my dick shriveled to the size of.........aww who am I kidding, I already have a small dick, it couldn't get much smaller. Anyway, I start doing the math in my head, recalling that she certainly didn't look pregnant in the bar while holding a cigarette in one hand and a Smirnoff in the other. The dates didn't add up, she would have to be about six months pregnant for it to be mine. I breathed a sigh of relief and said "How does the father feel about it?"

That stumped her a bit, you could hear the disappointment in her voice. I guess she wanted me to say "ok, what do you want to do?" She recovered and told me about the guy she had been dating and how he just had a baby with another woman and wasn't very happy about this pregnancy (turned out she was something like eight or nine weeks along), but she was going to have it. I read her the riot act about how irresponsible she was and how could she take care of a baby if she couldn't care for a puppy? I'm sure that by the time I was done, she wished she was explaining her pregnancy to her Dad.

I didn't hear from her again until June. She left a message on my machine on Father's Day, "I haven't talked to you in a while, just thought you might want to know that it is going to be a boy." Sheesh.

Well, guess what happened yesterday. The doorbell rings, I start ranting and raving about feeding solicitors their own genitals, the dogs are barking, it's just general chaos. I open the door and there she stands in her thirty-eight weeks of glory. The pregnancy was the only thing that saved her, even I am not mean enough to slam a door on a pregnant woman in this heat.

She comes inside and we make small talk. Most of it's inane and what isn't inane is just plain out of this world. Finally, I ask her how things are going with the baby's Daddy.

"Well, he doesn't really talk to me anymore and he doesn't have any interest in the baby. I will get it straightened out when I go to court after the baby is born." I tell her that by all means she needs to get child support. Shari stops me and says, "Well, I have other issues to straighten out before I can get the dad into court." Of course I ask what the problem is and she tells me "Well, according to the state of Tennessee, if you get pregnant and have been divorced for less than a year, then the ex-husband is considered the father, so I have to get him to take a paternity test."

Do what? Again the mental calculator takes off. Pregnant in December or November, minus a year means she was married when she was going out with me!!! I bring that up and she says "are you sure I didn't tell you I was separated? My divorce wasn't final until January of last year." Whatever. I was completely over the conversation by now and was ushering her out the door. She gave me a hug and turned to walk to her car and then casually said over her shoulder "After I have the baby, I will bring him by so you can see him."

"Waitaminute, waitaminute, waitaminute! You do not bring that baby over here!"

"Ok, I will just bring him up to your work or something."

"YOU HAVE LOST YOUR MIND. If I have any interest in meeting your child I will let you know, in the mean time don't come by, or drop by, or visit or any damn thing!"

She said ok and waved good bye. I hope it is.

Look For Me

Just so all of you haters will know how well I did on my Predators seats, here is a map. Look for me if you show up to any of the games. I will be the drunk yelling "Jack 'em up Hordichuk, jack 'em up!!" I'm right at the tip of the arrow, living on the edge, trying to die young and leave a good looking corpse.

Antibiotics Please

You would think that I would know better than to participate in unprotected blogging, but alas, I have contracted a BTD (Blogually Transmitted Disease) from two of my favorite bloggers. The bitches. Normally I refuse to participate in this "tagging" crap, but since I plan on making a Chunk sandwich with Crystal andBritni, I'm gonna humor them. Oh, I also plan on marrying one of them and shagging the hell out of the other, I just haven't decided which one gets which pleasure.

10 years ago - I was in my last year of nursing school, had been married for about 5 1/2 months, had a great dog named Gabby, and felt like I was finally getting my shit together.

5 years ago - I had just moved to a backwater town in Tennessee called Jackson for my wife's seventh or eighth job in as many years. My house had just been finished and I was all moved in and busy painting, planting grass, and working my ass off to pay for crap that I didn't need.

1 year ago - I was two weeks away from running from a hurricane and meeting one of the best friends I've ever had (it's only been a year?). My internet porn site had just become a huge success, but I blew all of the money on calf implants for me and a twenty-foot fountain made from a little boy peeing for my front yard.

Yesterday - Drove to Nashville to meet with the aforementioned best friend and her kids and went down to the Gaylord Entertainment Center (I didn't make that up) to pick out our seats for the mini-season tickets we bought to the Nashville Predators. Go Preds!!! (got killer seats if I may say so)

5 snacks I enjoy - I live for Pancho's cheese dip, I've been known to eat half a bag of Chips Ahoy at one sitting, my Grandfather and I used to share a jar of olives when he was alive, I'm a fan of hot dogs at the ballpark and the peanut brittle my mom makes for Christmas.

5 songs that I know all of the words to - "Piano Man" Billy Joel (yeah, it's pathetic), "Margaritaville" Jimmy Buffet (who doesn't?), "Gin and Juice" Snoop Dogg (I prefer the version by The Gourds), "Lit" Buck Cherry, and "Whiskey In The Jar" Metallica.

5 things I would do with $100 million - Buy a Ford GT, pay my mom's bills, rent a cruise ship and invite all of my friends (better suck up now folks, those things only hold a couple of thousand people), hire Van Halen to play at my Bar Mitzvah (no, I'm not yet a man!) and buy season tickets to the Cardinals.

5 places I would run away to - Rome, Athens, Barbados, Australia, and San Francisco, not necessarily in that order.

5 things I would never wear - a banana hammock, a mullet, birkenstocks (it's a personal issue), a toupe, and a pinky ring.

5 favorite TV shows - Survivor, The West Wing, The Sopranos, Monday Night Football, and pretty much anything on Spike.

5 biggest joys - Sunday morning coffee on the patio, the smell in the air after a hard rain, my dogs, a really cold beer, clocking out on Friday afternoon.

5 favorite toys - This is a tough one because I tend to use my toys for a while and then forget about them. I guess my computer, my car, my i-pod shuffle, my R. Lee Ermey doll, and my right hand.

5 people I rub naughty cyber bits against and pass this BTD on to Keebler, Zinger, 30something, Seahorse, and Monalicious.

Mr. Bubbles Takes Over The World

This is a picture of part of my hotel room in Clearwater. That is a killer jacuzzi type tub and we could see the beach, the band and the bar. After three 32 oz. Rum Runners and a beer run to the store, I found the bubble bath isle and my old friend Mr. Bubbles.

Now I admit, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, so it should be no big surprise that I failed to read the directions on the bottle. In my inebriated state I figured "big tub, needs a lot of Mr. Bubbles, hmmm.....half a bottle should work." So in goes half a bottle of Mr. Bubbles, on go the jets and into the tub goes the Chunkster. This would be the end result.

A Prophylactic Apology

When I took Sugah her copy of the pictures from last week end, she pointed at the fish picture posted in my previous entry and said "I hate that picture." Of course all I see when I look at that picture is eight hours of fun in the hot sun, drinking beer and playing with bait and fish. After she made her comment, I realized that she might not consider a picture of her with a fish her most attractive moment. So, before she can bring it up, I have posted a couple of my favorite pictures from last weekend. I think they speak for themselves.

Who's Your Daddy?

I'm back!!! Had a great time fishing, drinking, watching baseball, and soaking up the rays. I have some great pictures, some interesting pictures, and a picture or two that will never see the light of day.

Saturday, we got up at the ass-crack of dawn to be down at the docks by seven for our boat, the Fanta-Sea. Bob was the captain and James was the mate. Both good guys who work very hard to make sure you get your fish. If you are ever at Clearwater Beach, check 'em out.

This is a two part anecdote and since I don't want to give the punch line away in the first couple of sentences, I'm going to reverse the order in which the events actually happened.

We had been fishing about five or six hours with mixed results. Lots of grouper, but they were all to small to keep. A few snapper, but none bigger than a couple of pounds. Captain Bob caught a couple of grouper that were about this size:

So, five hours in and I had not caught my trophy fish when suddenly my line went taut. I yelled to First Mate James "dude, I've snagged a rock again" and handed him my pole (no gay jokes please, not that there is anything wrong with that) and went to the cooler. As soon as I turn my back he yells "you aren't snagged, fish on man, fish on!" So I yank my pole away from him (shaddup) and begin cranking (get your friggin' minds out of the gutter!). This fish is dishing out more than one drunk Tennessee boy can handle, but I'm determined to fight him into the boat. I think it would have been easier to bring up the rock. So I'm working the rod (*sigh*) and pulling and cranking (really, it's getting old) and finally I get a glimpse of him. This fish is easily two or three times bigger than the one in the above picture. I'm sweating bullets, the Budweiser is climbing back up my throat and I'm exhausted, but I'm yelling for Sugah to "get the fuckin' camera!"

James leans over and grabs my line (for cryin' out loud, who knew that fishing sounded like gay sex?) and when he does he pulls the tip of my pole down (I give up), the fish feels the line go slack and immediately shakes the hook. As I watched him swim away, I almost cried. It would have made a nice picture.

Now for the punch line. As we are getting ready, icing down the beer, setting up our gear, a crusty old dock bum walks by. I think I had my arm around Sugah and wasn't really paying much attention until I heard "It's so nice to see a father take his daughter fishing."

Crap.

A Sordid HNT

Let me preface this by saying there are certain things that you have no control over. I realize this. I don't like it, but I live with it.

My day was uneventful. Work was boring and completely quiet so when the evening rolled around, I decided to meander up to Friday's for a cold one. I was well into my second beer when Kajagoogoo's "Too Shy" came on the juke box. The bar was thumping with "Too shy dee shy, hush, hush, Heidi's sly..." or some crap like that when there was a sudden rumble and BOOM! Seymour escapes from his "cage." He reaches up and grabs the pretty little bartender by the collar of her shirt and screams in her face "Hawaiian Volcano! Hawaiian Volcano! C'mon, fucker, make me a Hawaiian Volcano!"

I was mortified. I had forgotten that Kajagoogoo for Seymour was like spinach for Popeye. I eased back in my chair a bit to give him a little room, aware that there was no predicting Seymour's behavior when the dulcet sounds of "Too Shy" are banging in his ears. That, and I didn't want to get spit on either.

The bartender brings this Hawaiian Volcano concoction to Seymour and slowly backs away. Seymour eyed her for a second and then said very softly "I like the cut of her jib." Whatever that means. He grabbed the monstrous goblet that contained the drink, drank half of the pink libation in one gulp and then quickly passed out. I managed to snap this picture before the management asked me to "take the damn sock outside, we don't serve that kind."
I was so embarrassed.

Happy HNT.

A Child's Life In Summation

Canofworms over at Boobs, Injuries, and Dr. Pepper recently posted about a tense moment in a movie theater that had racial overtones, but ended with a humorous outcome. She lives in Memphis and I used to live in Memphis, so I can sympathize. It inspired me to relate a story of my own.

When I was in kindergarten, I went to Even's Elementary. I loved the school and it was close enough to walk. Since this was in the early seventies, my parents were comfortable letting a five year old walk to school with some slightly older neighborhood children. (That sounds totally crazy to me now.)

Memphis was in the middle of integrating their school system. This meant that half of the kids in one school district were bussed across town to another school district and vice versa. The idea was that you would force predominantly white neighborhoods to mix with black neighborhoods. This theory had a major fault. Most of the middle class white parents rebelled and took their kids out of the school system. Overnight, several half assed private schools opened that existed only so that parents wouldn't have to send their white kids to school with black kids. I know, it seems so surreal now.

My parents were lower middle class. Barely. They couldn't even afford to send me to a half assed private school. So, when I began my first grade year, instead of walking to school, I would leave the house to catch a bus to a mostly black neighborhood. Not that I cared about the color of skin at six years old, but I could not understand why I was no longer walking to school with my friends.

First day of school, I caught the bus at 5:45 a.m. for a forty-five minute drive through Memphis traffic, on the interstate no less, to go to class with the black kids at Norris Road Elementary. I don't recall how I got into my classroom, but I remember the response when I got there. I was the only white kid in class. I loved it. All of the black kids wanted to touch my hair and my skin, I was the center of attention.

The only other thing I remember about going to school there before my parents moved , so I could go to a different school, also happened on the first day. The teacher, I think she was black also, but I don't remember, looked straight at me when we took our seats. She stared for a minute and then said:

"Honey, I bet you feel like a marshmallow in a cup of hot chocolate."

Death Week

August is a special time in Memphis. I lived there for years and August was always an interesting time. Except the year this young man actually died.

I don't remember how old I was. Young, that's for sure, but when my friend down the street told me that Elvis died, I punched him in the face! Memphis holds a strange relationship with Elvis, always has. Most Memphians will tell you that they have never been to Graceland. When he was alive, there were many stories of Elvis renting a movie theater for his friends, or showing up at a local convenience store and buying all of the donuts, or going into a local dealer and buying all of the Coupe de Villes on the lot.

It isn't really a love/hate thing. Most residents like Elvis. They considered him a good ole' boy that "done real good." There isn't the devotion that you find around the rest of the world though, Elvis has just always been part of the background.

So, whenever a relative or friend would come to town, they would always mention Graceland. Personally, I felt obligated to show them around so we would drag our sorry butts down to ogle the shag green carpet in the Jungle Room, the gold buckles on the seat belts in the "Lisa Marie", and wonder why one man needed so many TVs.

Death Week is the week that Elvis died (It didn't take him a week to die, you know what I mean.) Over the years, it has turned into an event with concerts and a candle light vigil. One year a friend of mine was in town and wanted to go to Graceland during Death Week. It was amazing! There were thousands of people from all over the world. The line for the vigil wrapped around the block and people didn't think twice about standing in 95 degree heat to carry a candle past a dead man's grave and weep.

The ultimate entertainment has always been the various impersonators that show up. They are swarmed by fans like they are the real deal. I remember in particular going around a corner and there was a man dressed in black leather like Elvis was in his come back special. He had the hair perfect and the leather was just right, even to the wrist bands. He was surrounded by a crowd of women from Germany screaming "Elvis, Elvis" kissing him and begging for his autograph. What made it so surreal was that this man was obviously Asian and didn't look a thing like Elvis.

So take time out to pause and think about a man that has affected so many people around the world. It's a shame he went out the way he did. Rest In Peace Elvis.

Taking Care Of Business.

More Adventures In Travel

The time for travel is again upon me. I depart next weekend for sunny Florida for a weekend of fishing, baseball, and drinking. I recently found a few pictures and I am trying to decide if I should consider it some type of warning from a greater power.

Sometime in early summer of last year, an old buddy of mine "The Hammster" and I decided to go fishing in Clearwater. The airfare was cheap from Nashville and we booked a flight for Labor Day weekend.

Mr. Hamm, or "The Hammster" as he is known to his friends, is an interesting travel companion. Alternately full of pessimism and piss and vinegar, you never know in what type of adventures you might find yourself if The Hammster is aboard.

We were to leave the Thursday before Labor Day and naturally as the date drew nigh, a storm was brewing in the Atlantic. This storm later earned a name and Frances caused quite a bit of damage on the East and Gulf coasts of Florida.

Hammster took great pleasure in studying the weather channel and reporting to me daily on the storm's path. He was of the mind that we should be cautious and skip the entire trip. "Bollocks to that" I'd say and remind him that everything was non-refundable.

So off we fly with one eye on the stewardesses and the other on the weather, pounding back those little mini bottles of bourbon you can buy on the flight. We landed in Tampa and were immediately struck by how gorgeous the weather was. Light, feathery clouds, eighty degrees, and not a rain drop in sight.

We spent Thursday and Friday fishing and drinking. Whenever we did make it back to the hotel room, we watched the weather channel and I spent time convincing The Hammster that we would be long gone by the time Frances reached Clearwater.

Friday afternoon, we decided to head over to Busch Gardens, mainly because I was dying to go to an amusement park that served beer. While there, we discovered Beer School. Anheuser-Busch apparently thinks it's a good idea to educate it's consumers on how to properly drink the golden nectar that is beer, and what better place to do it but at an amusement park with many roller coasters to ensure that you get to enjoy the beer more than once.

I, of course, graduated at the top of my class and was awarded my "Beer Master" certificate. Saturday morning we awoke with only mild hangovers and flipped on the T.V. Seems that Frances had picked up quite a bit of steam overnight and was now centered over Miami. I still believed that we would be able to enjoy our entire weekend. We were to leave on Sunday afternoon and my thought was that we would be long gone before the storm hit.

The Hammster mentioned that perhaps it would be prudent to call our airline, Delta, and see if we could possibly get an earlier flight on Sunday. After an hour wait on hold, he was finally able to pose the question to a Delta employee. Said employee then proceeded to tell us that an earlier flight on Sunday was out of the question since Tampa was closing it's airport in a few hours and no flights would be leaving the next day. I began to feel The Hammster's panic from across the room.

"When do you think they will open the airport again? Tuesday? But it's Saturday! It is going to be closed for three days?" And then he went silent. I have know idea what he was being told at this point, but when his eyes rolled backwards into his head so that only the whites were showing, I knew that his brain was in gridlock. I gently took the phone from his hand.

"Ma'am? Is there anyway we can get out before Tuesday?"

"Well, they have begun to post mixed crew flights. Most of them are full, but Northwest has one leaving in forty-five minutes."

I found out later that a mixed crew flight means that airlines are taking planes out of storage and putting any pilot from any airline that they can find on them.

Now Clearwater Beach is easily a thirty minute drive from Tampa, but I did not relish being trapped on what is basically an island for what was now being labeled a category four hurricane.

"Ma'am, we will give it our best effort. Book us on the flight."

We immediately threw our beer stained clothes into our bags and bolted out the door. We made it to the airport with about fifteen minutes to spare, ran to the Northwest ticket counter and qued up in a considerable line. After about five minutes, with the line moving forward at a reasonable pace, The Hammster turned to me and said, "I wonder if we were supposed to check in at the Delta counter first."

Now I knew that I was being set up. If I agreed and we got out of line to check on it, we would miss the flight. If I disagreed and it turned out that the Delta counter was where we needed to be, then we would have wasted our time and missed the flight. Either way, it would be my fault that we missed the flight. So, I turned the question back to The Hamster and said, "Whatever you want to do sport." Normally, the need to make a decision completely fries The Hamster's circuits, but today he immediately said "Let's go to the Delta counter."

We jumped out of line and ran to the other side of the terminal and were immediately stopped in our tracks. The lines at the Delta counter reminded me of the evacuation of Saigon. We were sunk. I approached a Delta employee standing there and explained our situation, hoping that he would send us back to Northwest. He confirmed our fears and said "You have to check in with the trans airline specialist" or some such rubbish. Dejectedly, I asked where this line might be and he told us that it was right behind the large column that was in front of us. We walked toward the column, there was no hurry now since we were sure to miss our flight. Once we rounded the obstruction lo and behold!!! NO LINE. There was a lady patiently waiting for us with nary a customer in sight. We closed the distance with a quickness, explained our situation, which miracle of miracles she grasped instantly. A little computer work, much furious typing and she handed us a set of tickets.

"There you go."

"Umm, ma'am? Where do you want us now?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you have to go back to the Northwest counter."

We ran. We ran like O.J. from the law. We ran like we owed money to the I.R.S. We ran like there was a hurricane bearing down on us, which of course it was.

The line at Northwest had not abated much and we returned to the end. We only had about five minutes before the flight departed, so I did not hold out much hope for our boarding the plane. Suddenly a young lady stepped out from the counter and asked "Is there anybody who has not checked in for the 12:05 flight to Memphis?" That was us! Our hands shot up, she dragged us to the front of the line, bam, bam, ripped our tickets and sent us to the gate.

Now I like the set up at the Tampa airport. Most airports make you show your ticket and ID at one common point before allowing you into the terminal proper. This causes a huge mass of fliers to bunch up at a single point. Tampa has trams that go to different areas of the terminal and they divide the checkpoints among each tram entrance. We whipped through the checkpoint, boarded the tram, exited into the terminal and got in line for the baggage check and metal detectors. I was beginning to feel a little hope. The line was moving very quickly.

We were next to put our bags through the x-ray when suddenly the security guard dropped her little wand in front of us.

"If the two of you will step out of line please."

Oh fuck! What did we do now? Without a word, we were ushered into another line that was feeding into this contraption that looked like a phone booth with doors on both ends. As we drew closer to the phone booth, I worked up the courage to ask one of the security personnel what was going on in front of us. His eyes lit up and he launched into an explanation.

"It's brand new. We are one of only two facilities that have it. It's being tested here before they install it in all of the airports. It's our new chemical sniffer and will detect minute quantities of materials used to make explosives."

"Ummmm, sir, why were we pulled out of line for this?"

"Oh, it's completely random, you just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

As much as I disagreed with his last comment, I didn't have time to explain my position. It was my turn to enter the phone booth. I walked in as instructed and stood on the little footprints. Suddenly there was a gush of air that made me glad that I decided not to wear my kilt home and then the doors in front of me opened.

I walked out and reached for my bag. Nanoseconds before I reached the handle, the bag was snatched away. I looked up and another official informed me that my bag was to be searched. They took all of my clothes out and swabbed the inside of my bag, ran the swabs through another machine and then informed me that I could go catch my flight. "Fat chance," I thought. Luckily, The Hammster had already undergone the same scrutiny as I and we were both free to run to the gate.

Panting as we approached the gate, my heart fell. There was no plane at the gate, the flight information had been change to reflect an impending departure to Boston, and nobody was in front of the counter. I just knew that we had missed the flight.

Once we got to the counter, I put on my best puppy dog face and began to ask if there was anything to be done.

"Oh," she replied,"Your flight hasn't left yet, they will be bringing up the plane shortly."

A reprieve! We managed to board the plane without incident and as the plane took off the pilot
addressed the passengers over the intercom.

"If you folks will look out the right side of the plane, you will see Frances approaching Tampa. People, you missed the rough stuff by three miles."

We had never seen a drop of rain.

Dear readers, think of me during the coming weekend. Keep an eye on the weather and pray for my safe passage.

Seymour

Just a note to let everybody know. Rachel at Me & You & Everyone We Know and I have agreed that the "sock" needed a name. We decided that hence forth he shall be known as "Seymour Sock." Stay tuned for further adventures.

HNT

I swear the sock is out of control. I was trying to get to ESPN.com and check how many games St. Louis needed to clinch the NL Central when the sock flops up on the keyboard and clicks on Rachels blog. I swear I'm gonna have to tape him down.

P.S. I really hope Rachel doesn't mind me using her picture.

Red Headed Trouble

Redheadedcalin took umbrage when I mention that red heads have always caused me trouble, but I am drawn to them like a june bug to the zapper. The end result of our conversation was the idea that I would post about them red heads than done done me wrong.

First Red Head:

Tiffany. Oh sweet, sweet Tiffany. We were 14 and met on a church trip. I didn't attend that church, I never went on church trips, but hey, it was a cheap way to get to Destin and my parents, though shocked, couldn't think of a good reason to deny me. I met Tiffany at the pool. It was the only time a pick up line ever worked for me. Introductions were made and I blurted "I have a dog named Tiffany!" I know that sounds like an insult and that certainly is the way she took it at the time, but I happened to carry a picture of my dog (a 14 year old needs to have something in his wallet besides the condom that he isn't going to get to use for another 2 years!), and that picture sealed the deal with my first red head. My dog Tiffany was a beautiful Afghan hound. Tiffany and I (the girl, not the dog) were like peas and carrots that summer. I lived in East Memphis and she lived in Germantown and I would ride my bike the 8 miles or so to her house everyday just for the kiss I would get when it was time to leave. Alas, it was not meant to be. Tiff's dad worked for Kodak and he got transferred that fall. I saw her again about two years later, she was working as a model in Kansas City and had totally out grown me. She was my first real girlfriend as well as my first heart break.

Red Headed Friend:

Sherri and I sort of ran in the same circles. Everybody had a crush on her as much for her personality as for her looks. She was a horrible flirt and would do things to me like stop me in the hall to check my crotch. She would reach out and open the piece of fabric on my Levi's and tell me "Button fly? Good boy, so much easier to open." She dated one friend of mine during high school, but they had a bad break up, so I felt obligated to be mean to her even though it broke my heart to do so. The first summer after high school, I was working a job that required out of town travel. I came back one weekend and there was a huge party. I somehow ended up with Sherri, which was fine by me. We were upstairs doing what a man and a woman do when they have had a few drinks and there is porn on the T.V. when there was a knock on the door.

"What?"

"It's me, Kenny, what's going on in there?" Kenny also had a crush on Sherri but I wasn't feeling generous enough to share.

"Go away Kenny, I'm busy."

Sherri and I continued with our little project and about 5 minutes later there was another knock.

"Whhhaaaattt!!!!!!"

"Dude, Danny wants to talk to you." This was Eddie, it was his house, but I wasn't worried about him. Danny was the one that gave me second thoughts. Danny was another friend that had a crush on Sherri, but Danny had a reputation for unpredictable behavior and wasn't somebody that I was interested in dealing with when he was inebriated. He had a penchant for laying claim to women that hadn't even talked to him. At a restaurant once he leaned in to tell me that he was going to kick Art's ass. When I asked why, he said that Art was "macking" on his woman. I inquired who he was talking about and he pointed to a cute blonde that was waiting tables. I found out later that Art had asked her for a Coke.

"Tell Danny I'll be out in a while."

"He wants to talk to you now."

Sigh. I wasn't about to stop getting my freak on to go have some kind of drunken conversation with Danny (Did I mention that Danny was huge? Compared to me at least, he stood about 5'10", 200 lbs. to my 5'7" 145.)

"Ok, I will be out in a minute."

Sherri looked up from what she was doing and said "Are you leaving?"

"No way, but I gotta pee now and there is no bathroom in here. Crap."
With no other choice, I raised the window, peed through the screen from the second story. I found out later there was a drunk passed out against the side of the house. He wondered why he smelled like an alley the next day.

Sherri and I finished with what we were doing and I finally went out to face the music. Expecting an ass kicking I took a walk with Danny. He was not a happy camper. I was asked if I was in love. When I gave an answer of "No," Danny wanted to know how two people could sleep together and not be in love. I was so stunned by the question, I couldn't come up with a response. Eventually, Danny let it go and the party continued. He dated Sherri a couple of years later and once when Sherri stopped in Knoxville to see me on her way back from D.C., there was an angry conversation between the Danny and I. Luckily our friendship survived, but Sherri and I never got together again. Eventually, after she dated Danny and then Kenny, she married Kenny's best friend, Scott. None of this was her fault. She was always a real sweet heart, but trouble none the less.

Hot Red Head:

Robin was in and out of my life for several years. I actually met her at the University of Nebraska the summer before my freshman year (different story for a different campfire). She went to the University of Louisville and I was at the University of Tennessee. We saw each other infrequently because of the distance, but I had to take several crappy jobs just to pay my phone bill. She was one quarter Filipino and all fiery, confident red head. We took a break for a couple of years and then right about the time we both were ready to graduate, things got heavy again. She spent a week with me in Knoxville after my finals and I thought "Surely this is the one."

Prodded on by her best friend, I asked her to marry me and we picked out a ring for her. She was still in Louisville and I had moved back to Memphis for work. We saw each other when we could but I always felt that she didn't really have time for me. She never officially broke up with me, but I got the picture when she started telling me about the football player she was dating. About a year after we became engaged, I saw her for the last time. She was excited because she was having a house built and I felt more like an inconvenience than somebody she wanted to see. I called her six months later and she raved on and on about her new guy that was a bar back at Hooters. She was pregnant and I never heard from her again.

Evil Red Head:

Spring quarter of my sophomore year I met Lyn. My fraternity had a huge bash, I was drunk and feeling the need for companionship and at the end of the night I turned around and she was standing there. I had never met her before, but I walked over to her and yelling above the screeching of the band asked her if she would spend the night with me. She nodded yes and it was then that one of the worst years of my life began. We slept in the same bed that night, but nothing else. Just a lot of sleeping and spooning.

Soon we were a couple and I was very smitten. After she realize that she had me by the short and curlies, things went south. She quit school (for which I had starting paying), began to drink heavily, and started filling my head with ideas. Halfway through the beginning of my Junior year, I was drinking heavily, in danger of failing out of school, and stupid enough to ask her to marry me. Things went from bad to worse when I went home for Christmas. I got a call from her New Years Eve. She was crying and babbling something about one of my fraternity brothers banging on her door. I used all of my Christmas money and took the next flight back to Knoxville. Once back at school, I confronted several of my friends and like an ass, threatened to break legs and disfigure faces if they ever bothered her again. Hind sight being 20/20, I realized later that she was sleeping around on me and I was mad at the wrong people.

Lyn got a new room mate shortly after that. I don't remember the girls name, but I remember she was from Texas and had apparently already been kicked out of A&M. The roomie got pregnant around March or so and the next thing I know, Lyn tells me that she is moving to Texas with her and that was the end of that.

While Lyn was probably the worst relationship I ever had, she was also the one with the most closure. I had graduated school and was working in Memphis. I went back to Knoxville the next fall for a football game and somehow Lyn found out that I was there. She called me and asked if I would meet her somewhere for a beer. Curious, I agreed although I worried that it would stir up all of those old feelings of abandonment and lost love. I showed up at the bar (The Last Lap, an institution in Knoxville if you ever make it there) and saw her sitting at a table with a guy I didn't know. She introduced me to him and it was all I could do to keep from laughing. It was her new boyfriend, his name was Dallas (no shit), and he obviously thought I was there to steal her away from him. Anytime he contributed something to the conversation, it always amounted to "We are so in love, we can hardly stand to be apart." or some kind of love sick bullshit. I wanted to pull the poor bastard aside and scream "run, run as fast as you can" in his ear, but I knew he wouldn't be receptive. It came time for me to leave, she looked at Dallas and said "I'm going to walk him to his car." He wasn't happy, but didn't argue. Once we got to my car, she leaned into me and hugged me. She looked up into my eyes and said "I've missed you so much, I want to get back together."

Now there has only been one time in my life when I had the right words for the right moment. This was it. My crowning achievement. My minute of glory. I looked her right in the eyes, smiled real big, chuckled and said "Not a chance in hell." That was the last time I talked to Lyn.

Red Headed Wifey:


I won't say much about Barbara. I still love her dearly, I'm just not in love with her. We met in the Fall of 1990. I remarked to a friend that I thought she was "the hottest bitch on two wheels" and we dated for five years before we got married. Eight years after that we got divorced, mostly because of me, but both of us played a part in the break up I think. I still talk to her about once a month and would do anything for her.

She NEVER was trouble for me, but by God if anybody else crossed her, it was on like a pot of neckbones. I will give you one example, but bear in mind, this is how she got things done with everybody but me.

We had a dispute with Northwest Airlines about how we could use some tickets she had been given for getting bumped. Northwest told her that I couldn't use them when we tried to book a vacation. At the time she got bumped they had told her that she could use them anyway she wanted. Being very non-confrontational, I would have let it go. Not Barbara. She fought and argued and batched for a solid three hours. I had gotten bored with the whole thing and was watching Ren and Stimpy in the other room. I went into the kitchen to get a Coke and heard this part of the conversation.
"I don't care if you are the CEO of Northwest Airlines. You and your company are responsible for the information given out by your employees. I demand that you allow me to use these travel vouchers for my husband as well as me."

What the fuck? She had aggravated, pushed and prodded, cajoled and threaten employees of Northwest Airlines until they had finally put the CEO on the phone. I was quite impressed and more than a tad intimidated. She eventually got her way and I traveled with her on the voucher. That was how she got things done. She was always meek and mild with me, but if anybody else crossed her path, she was one troublesome redhead.

Current Red Head:

I was almost finished writing this when I got a phone call from Sugah, my girlfriend. She was a little down in the dumps because she had allowed somebody that she works with give her a semi make over. She didn't like the hair cut she got and then began to complain about the color. I asked her what had she had done and the reply was "Well, it's a little red."

She knew I was writing this so I have decided to include her. The only trouble she caused so far is really not her fault. She works odd hours, so sometimes I get the phone call at one-thirty in the morning "Can I come over?" Not that I have anything to complain about once she gets here.

There were a couple of others along the way. All have been trouble. Still, every time I see red hair, it's like a moth to the flame.

*addendum: I really should recognize Britini at Young, Willing, and Eager for her inspiration. Check out her laundry list posted on August 1.

Bow Down To Maddie, Dog Of Extreme Evil

This is Maddie the demon dog, protector of the gates of hell. I saved her from a bullet in the head (my friend Harley might have been kidding, but I wouldn't put it past him ((yes I have a friend named Harley))). When she is next to me she is fairly sweet. Don't move to quick though, she tries to herd you by nipping. She was house broken when I got her so I assumed I could leave her out and about in the house during the day while I was gone. Silly me. My golden retriever, Daisy, stays out all day and never bothers a thing, but if Maddie is out with her, suddenly anything on the counter top (which I know Maddie can't reach) is fair game. I bought a lot of bread for a while. Lord, I will never forget the time Maddie decided to play with the full vacuum bag that I had left in the garbage. That was more fun than a room full of drunken red necks.

On separate occasions Maddie has:

Eaten my wallet. This would have been worse if she hadn't decided to come say hi to me with George Washington hanging out of her mouth.

This is what's left of one of the pillows from my couch. Or one of the many expensive dog toys I have bought. It's hard to see, but it's pretty much pieces of stuffing.

She took a huge chunk out of by best pair of sneakers. I swear I only turned my back for a minute. Now I walk like a bow legged cowboy with a hot poker in his ass.

This was a present she gave me. A little blurry, but I think you can tell it's a cricket. You cat owners, I'm sure, are saying "What's the big deal?", but I've never had a dog bring me bugs.


This is a large tennis ball, a little bit smaller than a basket ball. It lasted almost five minutes in the maw of the hound from hell.

One of the many holes in the back yard that she dug. I know, dogs dig, but this one was headed to China. At one point I looked out into the yard and all I could see were beady little eyes looking over the rim of this crater.


I guess I'm going to keep her. Everybody else thinks she is a sweet heart and Daisy would certainly miss her. She definitely stays in the kennel now when I'm not home.

The Return Of The Sock a.k.a HNT

My back yard viewed from my backside.

Politics (or How I Became Disillusioned With The System)

I know it's a huge mistake to write about politics or religion. Nothing raises hackles quicker. Nothing invites insults faster. Nothing makes enemies of friends quite like a discussion on politics or religion.

But......I cannot hold my tongue any longer (care to hold it for me?). I have voted Republican. I have voted Democrat. I did not vote for our current president which is the equivalent of being an animal fucker in this part of the country. I always thought that he was fairly flakey without a well defined vision for the future of the U.S. I was so wrong. He obviously intends to subject Americans to a freaky version of time travel, slowly unraveling every advance we have made in medicine, peace, economics, women's health and now education.

I will pass on the opportunity to comment on Iraq.....or stem cell research......or the decline in the economy combined with the soaring of fuel costs......but to ignore the comment made today about "Intelligent Design" is an exercise in futility.

It is abhorrent that a graduate of Yale would think that the theory of "Intelligent Design" should be taught alongside the theory of evolution in schools. If you aren't familiar with "Intelligent Design" it is the bastard brother of Creationism. In short, "Intelligent Design" proposes that life on earth is too complex to have developed through evolution, implying that a higher power must have had a hand in creation.

Fine. If that is a part of your belief set, more power to you. I have no issue with individuals that hold their belief above science. It's your choice. But belief is not science. I certainly am no expert on the subject, but evolution, or Darwinism, has a basis in science, which means that there is a mechanism to prove or disprove the theory. How are you going to prove that a higher being created everything? Or disprove it? You want to teach "Intelligent Design"? Fine. Create religious studies courses in public schools. I'm in favor of some type of course for high school students that explains and explores religion. Of course, the Christian right would turn it into a strict Judeo-Christian exercise, completely excluding other major religions of the world including Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc. I propose that a course is offered exploring maybe the top five religions. Wouldn't that be advantageous in understanding the Muslims? The Chinese? The entire Middle East conflict? It will never happen of that I'm sure.

What is the most appalling about Dubyas statement today is that he isn't a private individual. He is the highest elected official in the land and he has chosen to ignore one of the most cherished traditions (and I realize it's mostly tradition) of our young nation, the separation of church and state.


Let the hate mail begin.

Voting Suspended

Well, after several comments I have decided to end the voting on the Full Monty issue. I basically had three positive votes, two of them from people I know outside the blogverse. Calin tempts me with a promise that she well also go Full Monty (and oh how she tempts, I have a weakness for red heads) but over all the consensus seems to be that I should leave something to the imagination. Osbasso kind of seals the deal since I consider him Poppa Half-Nekkid Thursday. So, no Full Monty. I can physically feel the relief from all over the blogverse.

Hopefully the 'shrooms will kick in and I will come up with something original this week............but I wouldn't count on it.


Stay tuned, same bat time, same bat channel.