If you're like me, and I know I am...

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Google This

Everybody Googles themselves sooner or later.
That's why if I hate your ass, you will eventually
find out about it right here. No invitation necessary.

I have a lot of hate. I'm a junkyard dog, baby,
and that rattling metal sound you hear is the
chain around my neck being stretched nearly
to the breaking point.

One thing ab9out this blog that is
different than many others is that it isn't
anonymous. My name is right here for
you to see. No guessing needed. So look
deep into my piercing/crazy eyes and
drink deep of the FUCK YOU!

Happy Fucking Birthday

Scott Gillespie and I were born on the same day
in the same hospital in 1968. We met when we
were 16 working at Bishops Buffet. We were
pretty good friends most of the time but not
once did we ever celebrate our birthday together.
The first year was no big deal since we hadn't
known each other for more than a few months.

By the time we new each other for more than
a year, it was pretty clear that Scott was the
kind of guy who didn't like sharing. If we went
to get Chinese and he ordered the #3 and I said,
that sounds good, I'll have that too, he'd flip and
if he couldn't get me to order something else,
HE'D change his order.

Everybody's got their peccadilloes, fine. But
we'd made arrangements to hang out and
celebrate our birthday together year after
year and he'd become unavailable or have
some last minute excuse usually involving
the latest girlfriend.

For our 21st birthday, we made plans. He
never gave me any indication that anything
else was even on the table. As zero hour
approached, he called me up and said he
was on his way out to my house to pick
me up and make a night of it. I was all
moussed up and ready to go. I waited
and waited and that fuck never showed
up. He didn't call back that night, the
next day ... nothing. When I called his
house, he wasn't home.

I ran into him by chance at the mall
about 5 days later and rather than
express any real regret, he smirked
like a little bitch. An empty apology
is one thing, but having someone
barely contain his laughter while
doing it ... well that's just hurtful.
This was supposed to be a friend
of mine, after all, and he made
damn sure one way or the other
that I spent my 21st birthday, a
big one by all accounts, at home
doing nothing because he "stopped
to get gas and ran into **** who
wanted to buy him a beer, then the
next thing you know ...".

At one point just before this, he
needed to borrow 150 bucks to
pay Creighton for some shit so
he could enroll. I was at ISU
and had no money but I lent
him that cash and made sure
he knew it was no big deal, just
pay me back when you can. Fast
forward about a year when my
student loans didn't show up until
December. I'm fucking starving.
I must have lost 50 pounds that
semester. I called that dude up
and told him the situation and he
sent me a rubber check. When I
called him up about it, he asked
me to tear it up and said he'd send
me another one the next pay day.
I'm sure he didn't have any problem
spending money on beer and bitches
though. I never did hear from him
again that decade.

I ran into him in the mid 90s and was
friendly enough because in spite of
accusations of holding grudges for
far too long, I think this is one of those
"fool me once, shame on you; fool me
7 times I must be a fuckin' retard" situations.

It was always his mission in high school to
get me laid. It was like a sad 80s movie,
but so is being a teenager. One night,
I had two chicks I was making out with ... that's
right, both of them were mine all mine. Scott
was off screwing some other chippie while I
wrangled these two. They were definitely
not A material, but I worked to get them.
Scott gets done with his procreative activities
and what does this magnanimous soul do?
He horns in on the better of my two and
I'm stuck, as it turns out, with the one on
the rag. The only good thing about this is
the fucker got crabs from her and was going
into the Army the next day. But it's the
principle of the thing that matters.

Now, the last time he contacted me was
about 4 years ago. I was working at the
Nonpareil and he just got dumped by the
Korean chick he is now married to (I'll bet).
That was another pattern. He'd ditch you
for a bitch in a heartbeat, it was his favorite
excuse for missing birthdays or any appointment.
Some chick he just met that week always came
first. But if he just got dumped, he was your
best friend. Whatever year this was it was just
a few months before our birthday. So what does
Scott say he wants to do? He wants to make
plans to do something together on our birthday.
Well, I've heard this one before. It was routine.
He'd offer but never come through. I said,
"Why don't we just make plans and then
plan on not doing anything." Oh come on,
was his retort, as though my negative
attitude were the real issue and not his
years of pulling the same bullshit on me
time and time again. Luckily, I didn't even
expect him to come through. The one time
I called him to go out after that (at his
insistence) he told me he just got this
new girlfriend at work and she wanted
to make him dinner so I didn't even
think about him on my birthday.

So fast forward another 4 years to last
Friday and I get a message from this
guy and what does it say. "Hey it's
almost birthday time again ... blah
blah blah.. Schonberg ... blah blah
blah ... give me a call ... blah blah blah."

I erased the message forthwith. That
guy has jerked me off so many times
I think I'm entitled to at least ONE
happy ending. I'd be an idiot to do
anything but protect myself from
yet another casual betrayal of my
much abused trust. Any and all fun
I had with that dude has been
completely overshadowed by
these little acts of cruelty.

I have extremely low standards and
the only thing more amazing than
the fact that I can't get them met
is that anyone ever acts like I expect
too much. I can't tell you the last time
I saw a cake. Last year, my sister and
my dad took me to Iowa Feed and Grain,
a restaurant I fucking hate. If I hadn't gone,
I'm sure they would have gone anyway
because MY birthday treat was that I was
fucking allowed to tag along on their usual
Friday night supper plans ... to which I am
not usually invited.

I'm so fucking far beyond having a decent
birthday at this point that trying is pointless.
I'm like some wolfboy raised in the wild until
the age of 37. You try to pet a dude like that
and he's just gonna bite you no matter how
much he needs a good petting. By now, there
is just no god damn point in even trying any
more because even if I did have my dream
birthday, I'd be incapable of enjoying it. I don't
have the happiness mechanism in my brain.

But at least all this shit gives me something
to write about.

[insert appropriate emoticon here]

You can take the girl out of Council Bluffs but you can't take Council Bluffs out of the girl

Had my 20th reunion last weekend. It was,
in spite of some concern, a great time. By
and large there were no assholes there. 120
classmates showed up and we talked about
old times and what's new with little rancor,
no awkward moments or heated exchanges.
There was a lot of love in that room and for
the first time in ages, I was at an event I wished
could have lasted much longer.

There was one exception, however, and that was
my good old friend's wife. Jim Heidenescher and
I were part of the same little D&D-playing clique
back in the day. We both went to ISU and lost
touch shortly after that. He married a girl from
our high school (apparently, though I don't have
a clue who she was) named Dawn Shipley. Apparently
she was two years younger than us. It was also
pretty apparent that she had a severe attitude
problem I like to refer to as typical Council
Bluffs cunt syndrome.

People who leave Council Bluffs for larger cities
often operate under the delusion that those of us
who still live here were somehow unable to leave
and become human beings worthy of respect or, in
fact, common decency. So when they are forced to
come back home, they have a real snit. Their backwards
ass hayseen genes kick in and they start letting
everyone know they think they are better than us.
Which is ironic becaues anyone who really is better
than us is either able to relax and have a good time
or didn't bother to show up at all. This is a side
effect of being a hick in the THE BIG CITY.

Who gives a shit? Living in a big city doesn't make
you a big fish. Why is it that reunions make
people feel it's necessary to go and impress/denigrate
others? If I were so certain I was just that much
better than everyone else, I wouldn't bother to show
up and act like an asshole. I'd only show up to act
like an asshole if I were and insecure shtibag.

Which brings us back to Dawn Heidesnsfher who has all
the charm and social graces of a white trash incest
survivor. While speaking with my buddy Mark, she acted
quite perturbed that he didn't have a clue who
she was. "I don't know half the people in my
OWN class," Mark said. "Why should I know anyone two
years younger than me?"

Good point.

Later that night, the bitch made Mark's wife
cry with just the right combination of questions
about her sick mother in Korea that she might
never see again. This was right after she tried
pissing me of with her political "acumen."

Pretty typical case of someone who thinks her
shit no longer stinks because she moved to "the
big city." Houston might be big, but its chock full
of fucking rednecks. It's like Planet of the Apes
without the great love for truth and science.

It's too bad as well because Jim's a good guy who
deserves less of a slag for a wife. I can see why he
waited so long to have a kid with her, I'd have my
doubts too about someone who would rather ruin
a good time than have one or stay the hell at home.
It's frankly disgusting. How people develop these
silly-assed issues is beyond me and what compels
them to act out on them is even more mystifying.

Let's say I'm a stupid bimbo like Dawn and I think
I'm better than normal and well-adjusted people
who are actually enjoying the companionship of old
school mates, but I'm twisted and bitter because
when I was 15 years old, some 17 year old wasn't
polite to me or made me feel like a stupid ugly little
flat-assed piece of white trash. I might decide
that -- since I'm actually better than these
people -- to just avoid them.

So what then would be my motivation to go and
hang out with people who couldn't give a shit less
about whether I was alive or dead? A desperate
need to be either accepted or respected? Possibly.
To prove what a little girl I really am inside by
trying to hurt people I don't even know because
that's what truly superior people do? OK.

Truth is, Dawn Shipley Heidenescher was simply
out of her element. A 20th reunion isn't an
opportunity to show people whose only real
distinction from you is that they are two years
your senior your contempt. It's a party. You go
to a party to have fun or you stay home. Anyone
who chooses to go and lambaste everyone with
your shitty attititude says nothing bad about
them, it just shows your lack of maturity. It
shows just how far from your roots you HAVEN'T
managed to grow.

So fuck you Dawn, we're better than you. Maybe
in two or 20 years, you'll get to where we are. If
not, stay home.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

Who wants to buy a dictionary?

So I'm watching "Who Wants to be a Superhero?" the other night. That's Stan Lee's reality show. For years, Stan Lee has been saying "Excelsior!" It's a pretty cool thing to say, very up with people. During the show, Lee explained to the people on his show that excelsior is an old English expression that means to do your very best. A little disappointing for me since you'd think a guy who's been saying a thing for 50 years would have had a chance to look it up in the dictionary before defining it on national TV. I thought any fool smart enough to know the word would know it's not English. It doesn't even sound English. Why would anyone assume it's English. Good way to tell it isn't English? You need to translate the word to know what it means. That's your first clue. Not a lot of English words you need to translate into English. Does this show not have a producer, a director, a script girl or a dictionary. Other than that, it's pretty cool.

Pronunciation: ik-'sel-sE-&r, -or
Function: noun
Etymology: trade name, from Latin, higher, comparative of excelsus high, from past participle of excellere
: fine curled wood shavings used especially for packing fragile items

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Use these in a sentence

Merriam-Webster added some new words to this year's edition of their American English language dictionary. Below are just four.

Mouse potato (noun): a person who spends a great deal of time using a computer
(Never even heard of this one so either I'm more out of touch than I thought or these guys are just trying to sound cool. Sounds more like the grunge dictionary, n'est pas?)
Supersize (transitive verb): to increase considerably the size, amount or extent of
(Again ... a little slangy)
Ringtone (noun): the sound made by a cell phone to signal an incoming call
(This makes sense)
Drama queen (noun): a person given to often excessively emotional performances or reactions
(I can't believe this one wasn't added 20 years ago)
Unibrow (noun): a single continuous brow resulting from the growing together of eyebrows

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Chicks Can't Hang ... Nor Should They

Do not under any circumstances tell ME chicks can hang. Any
chick you think is capapable of truly hanging with the dudes, just
go up to her and say, Hey how's it going bitch? Just as you might
say to one of your actual friends. She'll jump right into telling you
tearfully how mean you are.

I havefun with some females, but mostly there is still a line drawn
that cannot be crossed. I like that line there. I'd like that line to be
much thicker and made of concrete ... like the Berlin Wall.

Socrates on Gossip

(I didn't write this, someone just sent it to me)

Keep this philosophy in mind the next time you hear
or are about to repeat a rumor.

In ancient Greece (469 - 399 BC), Socrates was
widely lauded for his wisdom. One day the great
philosopher came upon an acquaintance who ran up
to him excitedly and said,
"Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one
of your students...?"

"Wait a moment," Socrates replied. "Before you tell
me, I'd like you to pass a little test. It's called the Test
of Three."

"Test of Three?"

"That's correct," Socrates continued. "Before you talk
to me about my student let's take a moment to test
what you're going to say. The first test is Truth. Have
you made absolutely sure that what you are about to
tell me is true?"

"No," the man replied, "actually I just heard about it."

"All right," said Socrates. "So you don't really know if
it's true or not. Now let's try the second test, the test
of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about
my student something good?"

"No, on the contrary..."

"So," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something
bad about him even though you're not certain it's true?"

The man shrugged, a little embarrassed.

Socrates continued, "You may still pass though because
there is a third test-the filter of Usefulness. Is what you
want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?"

"No, not really..."

"Well," concluded Socrates, "if what you want to tell me
is neither True nor Good nor even Useful, why tell it to
me at all?"

The man was defeated and ashamed and said no more.

This is the reason Socrates was a great philosopher and
held in such high esteem.

It also explains why Socrates never found out that Plato
was banging his wife.

A Dish Best Served with Flaming Hot Shit

So my buddy calls me the other day for about the second time in a
year. Our high school reunion is coming up soon, so I figure he was
just trying to defuse me like a sweaty bundle of dynamite with a
faulty timer. Cut the green ... NO THE RED WIRE!

We had a little disagreement the last time we met. No need to go
into details.

I would have much prefered if he could have gotten himself motivated
a few months sooner to call and feel out the situation. At least then
I might have been able to fool myself into believing he was just calling
because we've been friends for 20 years and not because he wanted
to make sure it would be safe to be in the same place with me with
dozens of on-lookers. What am I a fucking moron I can't figure that
one out?

So don't tell anyone, but I'm gonna fucking humiliate the shit out of
this guy at the reunion. It's gonna make Carrie's prom night look
like Pretty in Pink ... or something like that. I was thinking maybe
I'd do something with papier mache and feces. Or rotten fish, 1,000
ping pong balls and a small trebuchet. Maybe I'll just get drunk off
my ass and make a scene. Or maybe I'll just plant the seeds of doubt
in his mind and let him stew. I'm capable of anything.

Better start saving up the shit now though ... just in case.

Greatest Generation, My Ass

Every day I talk to people in their 70s and 80s who, in spite of kicking Hitler's ass, can't figure out how to work their fucking remotes. People tell me I'm not patient enough with these old fuckers as if I'm trying to explain quantum chemistry to them using only sign language. "Press the channel up button." "The what?"
How'd you change your God damn channels yesterday, man? It's the same fucking thing. Did I use a bizarre term? Channel up button, motherfucker, DO YOU HAVE ONE? Push it!
Oh, it's working now.
Good, I'd hate to think of you missing out on the Matlock marathon.