Archive for September, 2006

A spark of memory

It is funny how long-term memory works. You stumble across a smell or a visual and all of sudden you are deeply immersed in a memory from a decade ago. A memory that you had written off as a standard part of your being, and all of sudden it becomes an extremely vivid account that suprises and shocks your conscious mind. Like a prisoner of war on a electroshock rack, your mind kind of leaps back and forth between what you remember, and what you think you remember. After all, our long term memory is as pliable as melted marshmellow. Ewwww… Sticky.

Last night, I was remembering my first kiss and just how big of a dickhead I was in High School.

My first kiss was awkward, although I am sure there is nothing unique about that. I was at a Forensics/Debate meet, my Junior year of high school, and I was admittely flirting with anything in a skirt. What teenage boy doesn’t flirt? (Well, except the quiet ones silently plotting how best to act out Star Wars with their legos after school.) One of my teammates, Wendy, flirted back to my quick witticisms and general hormonal-driven idiocy and, of course, that just fed my overwhelming ego machine that was in high gear. We had spent the entire day in each other’s company, for the umpteenth meet that year, and it was late that saturday night. In fact, we were all wrapped up for the meet, saying our goodbyes and handing out congrats where they were due. Wendy and I were hugging, as we had been off and on all day (as teenage monkeys tend to do… the whole social contact, grooming, group thing that you see on the discovery channel), when I swear I heard my name called off to my right. Well Wendy’s face happened to be at my right cheek. And bam. First kiss. Good thing her eyes were closed, because mine were wide open in a deep state of suprise.

So how does a dickhead handle the situation? Well let’s see. I string her on… then I date other girls at the same time… then I break it off… start it back up… make promises that I did not intend to keep (and I didn’t)… break it off again… and obviously hurt her emotionally again and again. Looking back on it, I am kind of sad that I acted in such a way. I was very self destructive back then. My behaviors were uncalled for, if not outright spiteful and mean. I think I did what I did for many of the hedonistic behaviors that all teenagers have, but then again, I think I did it just to see how awful I could be.

I am glad I am a different person now. Not only for my sake, but for my beautiful wife’s sake as well. And now for our child and the family we are finally starting. I am glad that I learned the lessons that had to be learned.

Thinking back about Wendy, and how I was a great example of being a poor human being, a very unchristian shithead of a human being… I apologize to you, Wendy. I hope that I did not cause any harm beyond the surface level of being a teenager in a shaky beginner coed relationship. I know it was not a serious relationship (as no high school relationship should be), but looking back on it, we didn’t know what a serious relationship should be, so I should have acted better. I should have treated you like the great human being you were (and are I’m sure), and not the excuse to act like a self damaging time bomb, uncaring about who I hurt or how often.

So there you go. Sorry for being a dick… and thank you for the reflection.

Hello I am a criminal

My name is … well, actually, my name is not important. Why, you ask? Because, I am, simply a criminal. No better term, no more descriptive word can change the fact that I am guilty of a crime by the mere name on my birth certificate.

So I guess my name is important. Dammit.

Well at least that is what the TSA thinks. Every time I fly, I “have been selected by the TSA as requiring special treatment.” Which translates into: “We think you are a motherfucking terrorist and you will have to endure a motherfucking anal exam and thank us afterward for keeping the motherfucking plane safe.”

Ahem.

Sorry. I had a Samuel L. Jackson moment there. Don’t know what came over me.

With the way I was treated last week, you would think that I was carrying nuclear arms in my luggage. And on my person. And in my bag. And in my shoes. And in my nalgene. And in my toothpaste. And in my deodorant. And in my motherfucking left nut. And in my damn chapstick.

Dear TSA: The only way you will keep airline travel “risk free” is to make all passengers fly naked, without luggage, enduring cavity exams with MRIs and chemical checks… and probably blood work. And make all the airplanes rocket proof. Cause you know an RPG from the end of the runway could do the same job. People will soon realize that your security measures are like drops of water in a very big, very deep bucket. Any measure that the TSA takes will only be preventing 1 of 10,000 different ways to cause terror. And everytime you outlaw one thing, 9,999 other things will be suddenly be very attractive to anyone seeking to cause terror. Do the math, and it just doesn’t add up.

You can’t prevent terrorist attacks. That is the point of terrorism.

I am my own Evil Twin

My initial subconscious reaction to becoming a father:

  • Grew a goatee
  • Wearing black undershirts
  • Switched to full Boxers
  • Wearing heavy black shoes
  • Have a new predilection for spiky hair
  • Switched to a black iPod
  • Been listening to Heeeeavy Rock and Metal
  • Been giving ultimatums at work
  • Prone to evil laughter

Mu-wahahahAHAHAHAHAHA!

Time to get my hands on some sharks with fricken laser beams on their heads!

Bean?

Last night was my last in Amarillo. I was sitting on the hotel bed, watching the tube, waiting for something to happen. Or, better said, waiting for something I had to do.

Dinner? Check.
Nap? Check.
Repacking? Check.
Surfing the net? Check.
Fantasize about the beemer I drove? Check.
Call home for the fifth time? Blank.

Well, maybe this time my wife will actually answer the phone.

Ring, Ring.

“Hello?”

Success! Sweet success! I can actually go to sleep tonight without feeling like an ass for not talking to my wife first! The first cardinal sin of a relationship must be avoided at all costs (as I found very quickly when we were first engaged).

“Hey. Whatcha doing?”

“Just watching TV.” she said.

“How long have you been home?”

“About a half hour.”

What I am thinking: ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire. I called twenty minutes ago.’

“Really,” I said, “I called a bunch tonight. What were you doing?”

“Scrapbooking at my mom’s.”

Ewwwwwww…. old lady hobby, I immediately think. After all, my mom scrapbooks. Then I remember that like usual, I totally spaced the fact that she was scrapbooking tonight. When did she tell me? Last night? Last week? Half an eon ago? If it was anytime before my head hitting the pillow last night, I am not going to freaking remember. So how to not look like a total tool… Quick have to salvage it!

“Ok. I was just testing you. Mmmm, yeah.”

“You miss me?” Which really means ‘Did you think about me for hours upon hours today?’.

“Of course.” I said. Which means ‘For at least 2 minutes’.

“You miss the dogs?” Which really means ‘Did you miss the dogs more than me?’.

“Yeah.” Translation: ‘Not walking into that trap’.

“You miss Bean?” she asked.

Keep in mind that all this time I was watching South Park in the background. With that, my mind snaps fully to attention. Bean? What or who in the hell is bean? Holy shit! By avoiding the ‘missing me’ trap did I walk head on into a clever ploy of her’s to once again pledge my undying love? Crap!

“Bean?” I said. Hmmmmm, I am thinking, As in Mr. Bean? Why would I miss Mr. Bean? Whisky Tango Foxtrot!

“Yeah BEAN. You know. BEAN.” She said. Each time she says bean, it is drawn out and over enunciated, implying high cognitive value that I must be aware of, otherwise I am in fact, a total idiot.

“Um. Bean?” Dammit, I have to fish for it.

“Your unborn child? The baby in my womb? It is a size of a bean.” she said. Her tone is wry and she is obviously getting a mild kick out of her teasing.

I slap my forehead. Yep. She had mentioned that yesterday too.

Note to self: Weeds = Bob. Baby = Bean. Forgetful Ass = Me.

My mind is so wrapped around the shock of watching South Park to the Bean conversation, I answer without really thinking it through.

“Nope. Don’t miss the bean.”

Uh, oh. Conversation scoreboard just changed. Wife = 2, Me = 0