Archive for December 2007
During the summer between my 5th and 6th grade years my Dad made a bet with another Realtor in his office. He put $100 on the proposition that a house that he had listed would sell in two weeks. To keep from losing the bet, my Dad bought the house himself. The new house was only a mile or so from where we lived, but it meant that my brother, sister and I would have to attend a new school.
His decision had profoundly affected a 12 year old who would have to say goodbye to his first “girlfriend.”
I arrived at the new school knowing no one and missing my friends. Over the next month I got to know some of the guys in my class and noticed one girl in particular. Her name was Kelly, she had straight blonde hair and reminded me of Marcia Brady (hey this was the mid seventies). One day, I got up the nerve to send my friend Mark over to ask her if she liked me. This was how we did things then. If the girl said “yes,” you were “going together.” She said: “Tell him I’ll think about it.” Not exactly an auspicious beginning.
Later that day, being a kid who was completely bored with school, I did something that she found disgusting. In front of the entire class, she rolled her eyes and loudly stated: “And you wanted me to like you.” Of course, everyone around us started laughing. Not being one to take an insult lying down, I yelled “Well excuse me for being a nice guy and offering to help you hide the fact that you like girls!”
For a split second, you could have heard a pin drop. Kelly turned beet red, jumped up and ran squalling to the teacher. She said: “He just called me a dyke.” I was still a year away from completely understanding the term, but I was satisfied that I had redeemed myself in the eyes of my classmates. Unfortunately, the teacher acted as if she were a founding member of GLAAD and sent me to the principal’s office to explain myself.
The rest of that school year was spent being tormented by, and finding ways to torment, Kelly.
Sometime during the summer before 7th grade I heard that Kelly had moved away and for the next 16 years I didn’t give her another thought.
I was assigned to the rescue truck one night during my second year on the fire department. We got a call to respond to a woman who was having difficulty breathing. The address was in a run down apartment complex. It had been a nice place prior to the arrival of subsidized housing and the passel of welfare brats that always seem to follow.
Entering the apartment, we were directed to a back bedroom. The woman we were there to see was frail and looked at least twenty years older than me. I asked my Lieutenant the patients name. It was Kelly. She was in the final stages of Leukemia, her hair was gone and her head was covered with a brightly patterned scarf. She was slipping in and out of consciousness and her vital signs said she didn’t have long. Her family wanted her transported to a local hospital in hopes that they might buy her some more time. We knew it was a futile gesture, but in these cases you have to abide by the family’s wishes.
When the ambulance arrived, I said “Kelly, we’re going to move you from your bed to the cot and take you to the hospital.” With the drugs she was taking she wouldn’t have known me from Adam, but she grabbed the covers and shook her head violently. A woman next to me said “She wants her pants. She’s naked from the waist down and can’t control her functions.” The woman who had spoken grabbed a pair of sweat pants and helped Kelly into them. I picked her up and placed her on the cot. She probably weighed less than the last time I had seen her.
As the ambulance crew rolled her away, I thought “Karma is a bitch.”
But this time Karma had bitched me.
Today, I took Smoochy and Muggsy and four of their friends to a nearby “upscale” mall. I am not what you would call a mall person and malls during the holidays come close to giving me a rash.
After dropping them off, my wife and I went to a nearby TGI Fridays for lunch. She headed out to take care of some business and I headed back to look for the kids. This mall has most of the high end stores you would expect in an area known for it’s yuppie population.
Understand, I have nothing against yuppies per se, but I do have a problem with people who like to put on a “wealth” front. Trust me, the truly wealthy people I know have no need to flaunt it, the jack asses who make their entire existence an exercise in getting to that level are the people I want to put in a “rear naked choke” as my friend Hooligan would say.
Worse than the above mentioned pretentious jack asses are their spawn.
At least the pretentious, wanna be wealthy, yuppie jack asses I observe have accomplished something. Their kids, on the other hand, have done nothing but put their sticky little hands out and shoved an allowance into the pockets of their trendy jeans.
One good thing about this “upscale” mall is the Brookstone store. Great massage chairs. After a 40 minute nap, I headed out to look for my girls. Muggsy had mentioned that they would be spending some time at Hollister. Hollister, of all stores, gets me particularly pissed off. $3 t-shirts that teenagers will buy for $20 and $10 jeans that go for $70. For a guy who buys 3 pack Hanes t-shirts and Wrangler jeans from K-mart, this store is anathema.
Upon entering Hollister, your auditory senses are assaulted by LOUD, but weak, pop music. Remember, I am a guy who drives fire engines and rides motorcycles with open pipes and I think this music is loud. The aisles are narrow and crowded with people who want to join the ranks of we the sheeple. I made one circuit without finding the girls and on my way out I met “Brody the Yuppie Spawn.”
I don’t know if this jerk offs name was Brody, but he looked like a Brody. You know, the type of kid who pledges a fraternity in hopes that gang banging a goat will be part of the initiation.
I was walking past the checkout counter when Brody came running by and pushed a clothes rack into me. Luckily I was on one side of the rack and Brody was on the other. I grabbed the top rail of the clothes rack and shoved back hard. Brody stumbled back fast enough to knock the Hollister clad checkout girl off her register and onto the floor.
Being a gentleman, I reached down and helped the young lady to her feet. Being an offended adult male, I felt the need to school Brody. Grabbing him by the scruff of his perfectly pressed Hollister Oxford, I jerked him up to eye level and said “Next time, slow down and say ‘excuse me sir’ you contemptible waste of ejaculate.”
The look on his face was a mixture of fear and confusion. Obviously his father is either absent or emasculated. As soon as I let go of him he ran for the exit. Not content to take his medicine without risking further embarrassment, he stopped at the door and yelled “F**K you man!!!”
I would have chased the little bastard down and pummeled him had I not noticed the growing stain on the front of his pants.
George Carlin is right, these soft, fruity baby boomers really are raising a generation of soft, fruity kids.
Happy Holidays? I don’t think so. I live in the United States of America. This is the CHRISTMAS season and I’m not ashamed to say so.
So here’s wishing you a MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
As proud as I am of my own native heritage, as much as I believe in the right of secession as a remedy for irreconcilable grievances, as much as I believe that the native peoples within our borders were legally raped by the U.S. government, I have to pass along a short history lesson to Russell Means and other Lakota freedom activists: Secession has already been tried and it didn’t work out too well for the Confederacy boys.
The King, as evidenced yesterday, did a fine job with this song, but I have to give my personal nod to Francis Albert.
Who can deny that at the height of his powers he was the coolest guy in the universe and a man that personified doing things “MY Way”?
And, of course, I have to add my all time favorite Sinatra song: