The goat

They’re easy to grow, easy to maintain and easy to scrape off in case you need to make a clean cut appearance.  What am I talking about?  That freaking goatee every Tom, Dick and Harry wears these days.  Was it the grunge explosion of the early 90s that brought that fashion eye sore front and center again?  I don’t know.  I think they look OK on some people, but not on everyone.  Come on guys, just because you have facial hair you don’t have to grow the goat.

Remember that guy in high school, the one who wore the peach fuzz mustache, who was always checking it out in the bathroom mirror, asking you, ‘how’s my stache’?  I’m not saying you have peach fuzz, but that’s you, now.  You look better with a clean shaven face.  Your mom was right.

I know, I’m just ranting, it doesn’t matter…even I have grown the goat from time to time but today it just dawned on me, too many guys try to grow it out and they just look trashy.

Thanks for your attention, you can go back to googling amputee porn and videos of guys getting kicked in the nuts.

Can Robin Hood save America?

What is wrong with the Democrats? Do they honestly think they’re going to save America by collecting taxes on the rich and big corporations? In the recent debate there was more of the same garbage we always hear from them. Tax the rich! Big corporations, bad!

Another thing I’ve noticed is that rather than tackling the issue of a balanced budget they are resigning the argument and instead pointing the finger of blame at Bush by saying, “we’re not going to be able to dig ourselves out”.

What are their solutions to anything? They want to pull troops out of Iraq but nobody has come up with a plan of how that’s going to be accomplished. None of the democrats have given any hint of an interest in protecting our borders or continuing to secure America from the terrorist threat that they almost deny exists. They act as though Mexico belongs in the USA and that if we just play nice with the Palestinians that they will lose their lust for our destruction.

Their happy feelings and Eutopian dreams will just blend us all into that wonderful idealistic melting pot our elementary school teachers told us about. Then Hillary and Obama can go skipping hand in hand through the lily fields basking in the glory of their accomplishments. Who needs a savior when we’ve got the Democrats?

The traveling panhandler

I was reading DT’s blog today and it triggered a response in me to make this post.

Every night I drive home on I-80 and take the 1300 East, Sugarhouse exit. Every night there is at least one, sometimes two panhandlers standing at the intersection with a shitty looking, hand scrawled note on a torn piece of cardboard. The characters rotate from time to time but I do see the same folks over and over again. The one that really cracks me up is the guy whose sign reads “Traveling, anything will help”.

I see this guy day after day after day. I am tempted to stop and ask him about his destination and why the hell he doesn’t try to hitch a ride or at least make an attempt to travel farther than the intersection he occupies.

The panhandling racket is something else. I can’t believe people actually give money to those clowns. I’m not a heartless bastard by any means but so often I just want to shout “get a job!” to the bums. I mean, we live in the U.S. freaking A. How hard is it to find work for the day, enough for a sandwich, coffee and some bus fare?

Don’t beg from me with your smoothly shaven face, Old Navy fleece and your clean set of clothes. If you want me to even consider kicking a couple of duckets your way you’re going to have to pull at my heartstrings with a missing limb, some kind of mold growing on your face or something better than a ratty looking cardboard sign.

Get a job!

Loud talking trash – A rant of rants

<RANT grammar=”runon”>I hate when I go to a restaurant, typically a fast food joint of swanky mode and many star rating such as Taco Bell or Carl’s Jr., and have to listen a couple of tables away to a pack of inbred, or at least poor-bred, white trash, malcontent losers, usually consisting of several generations out for a “nice meal” and speaking at above normal volume bent on impressing those within earshot with their out-dated pop music ringtones, their proclivity for eructation, ball busting on one another to show alpha status, etc. and so forth.

It is at these moments that I want to walk over to the older generations in the group, AKA the parents and grandparents, and tell them to listen to their loudmouth children when they speak at home so I don’t have to be subjected to their mundane and horribly trivial and worthless interests while out in public.

Having said that, I wish to add that I love all people and forgive them for their rudeness and complete disregard of others present and their ignorant assumption that just because they are so simple minded as to believe others are interested in hearing them out-gas and bop head to a midi version of “Wake me up before you go-go” that everybody must be impressed by the same tripe.</RANT>

Here’s the story, of a lovely lady…

I received news yesterday that my ex wife is getting married. This is not news per se, as I have known about her engagement for quite some time. She has been waffling back and forth on a date. First it was in December, then it was to wait until next spring, then it was as soon as they get a house together, then yesterday I received word that they are hitching it up next Wednesday (I’m sure the pressure she felt from my petition to modify the divorce decree had absolutely nothing to do with it…). There’s nothing like a good sandy foundation upon which to build a third marriage.

You’d think people could learn from their experiences and observations through life and play things more cautiously than before. Evidently some can not.

When we got married she was taking her shot at a second marriage — it was my first. I was blind and idealistic…and naive. I quickly adopted her two daughters (and she quickly rejected her ex husband and every member of his family and kept them completely out of the children’s lives) and less than a year later we had our third daughter together. I was in way over my head and there was tension and stress from every direction weighing me down and I had no escape. I was overwhelmed and alone in this family of 4…and it grew to a family of 7 before the last chapter of this tragedy was written.

Suffice it to say we did not do well and I had a hard time adjusting to being a father/step-father and taking on the responsibility of providing for a family with a stay-at-home mom after living my life as a single man for 30 years. I had adjustment troubles with my adopted daughters, even though I love them dearly, and the wife, consciously or not, drove a wedge between us at every turn by taking sides in our struggles. I’m sure that is common in these hybrid type families.

We have been divorced officially for 15 months and she is getting married for the third time, joining our 5 kids and his 3 kids together into a Brady Bunch style family of maniacal proportions. Incidentally he is the same age I was when we first got married…which makes him 14 years her junior.

I wonder what she believes she is getting into. I feel sorry that she hasn’t learned much through her tragic life other than to run from problems by heaping new ones upon her shoulders. She has been through 2 miserable marriages and divorces already (not to mention the childhood she endured) and is quick to jump into yet another, more stressful dynamic with open arms and fanciful expectations. I have my opinions, which I shall reserve.

I hope for the best as this family construct is going to mold my children in their formative years. I saw the effects of marital stress and the results on my older daughters as we jumped unprepared into our holy union. I was beyond unprepared and I will say that her new chump, I mean husband at least has a solid career and some parenting years under his belt.

There is a silver lining in all of this, other than me being completely rid of that Jezebel. Alimony is a thing of the past.

Call me retarded…I’m an idiot

Sometimes I say things I don’t actually mean in hindsight. I have thoughts that are just random and when I’m having a conversation with someone I feel close to and can trust I don’t censor myself as much as maybe I should. I feel safe in just blurting out whatever pops into my head.

I’ve learned time and time again that it’s not necessarily safe to do so. People still take things literally and there are assumptions and conclusions drawn in their minds as to the meaning behind what I’ve said when in reality they’re just fragmented thoughts that get spoken with little or no meaning at all.

Think before we speak. Just do it, even if we feel completely safe with our present company.

Word.

Backing in, backing out…what’s the difference?

Before you begin reading this post you must understand that I am well aware that this post is possibly the most worthless drivel I have ever written. I’m making it quick and without too much thought. It’s pretty much a rant.

What is it about back-in parkers? This bothers the hell out of me, it shouldn’t but it does. There are times when back-in parking makes perfect sense such as at large event venues because all 15,000 – 20,000 people are leaving at the same time, or in the city where angle parking is required and darting backwards into moving traffic is not the safest move to make. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about people who back in at their offices, at grocery stores and malls or when they drop by their kids’ elementary school to take them their lunch money, crap like that.

Most back-in parking is done by penis trucks…I mean pickup trucks. It’s been explained to me (yes, I have asked) that backing these oversized phalluses into parking spaces makes it much easier to get out and helps avoid fender benders in busy parking lots. OK then, Captain Sporty Mullet, what about the traffic you have to navigate while backing your monster truck into your space? You’re not only backing into a parking space in a busy parking lot but you’re also backing in between 2 other cars. How in the hell does that mitigate the risk of hitting another car in a busy parking lot?

I digress. My main complaint is not against people who drive trucks since they have an argument that at least makes some sense to them. My main complaint is against these drivers with sports cars and even worse, balding, pudgy sububanites who drives mid 90s Honda Accord or mini-van type vehicles. What’s their deal? Are they preparing for a speedy getaway? Maybe that’s all the excitement they can find in life is looking forward to a quick and stealthy exit after a long and mundane work day that is occasionally interrupted by a fleeting hope that just maybe this evening their frigid wives will give in to 30 seconds of passion.

Sure, I’m being a total ass here, but that’s what I do best. I still want to know what the deal is with backing in cars that are certainly small enough to fit into, and back out of any parking stall. Maybe I’ll never know. Maybe I should give it a try. What if once is enough to get me addicted? What if I just shut the hell up and concern myself with more important things in life like who clogged the office toilet with four 10 inch turds or why there are no nacho cheese Doritos at the concierge desk…or how someone would have room for four 10 inch turds in their intestinal tract (I can only hope I don’t get bored enough to start blogging on the subject of poop). Or maybe I should just keep barfing these inane thoughts out of my fingertips since I’m blogging in America and I can say whatever the hell I want, as long as I’m not threatening to kill the President. Did I just say “kill the President”? Do you think I’ll get hits from the Department of Homeland Security now?

Maybe I’m the one with the mundane, boring existence for blogging this nonsense! At least I don’t have a frigid wife to go home to. She’s now wasting her life with some moronic redneck who drives a giant Ford pickup truck with a flare-side bed and dualie wheels. The only thing missing is a sticker of Calvin pissing on a Chevy symbol. And no, this rant was not spawned by that union. But, come to think of it, her choice to be with him is another reassuring indicator of how fortunate I am to be out of that relationship. Was this about back-in parking or my ex-wife?

Back-in parkers unite!