worst luck in the f'in world...

Five minutes after scarfing down a huge spinach salad, which by the way was awesome. Co-worker reads aloud this headline: "FDA recalls all bagged spinach due to E. coli contamination."

Nothing more appealing than the prospect of stomach cramps and a probability of death!

a state like no other...

Over at Dooce, Heather wrote a piece describing the ramblings of an unknown guy doing his best to distill the world's supply of grain alcohol through his selfless liver on Jon's cell phone. It reminded me of my own morally deficient adventures in brewery land. I got drunk for the first time when I was 18 years old. I was living in an apartment with 3 other people, dropped out of college and working in fast food. Regular winner was I. We had the great idea to have a party, just a small one, with a few people. Around 20. I think. It may have been less because at some point I'm sure I was seeing double. My friends knowing I was a novice with alcohol, decided to play what they called Circle of Death. What it should have been called was get you shit-faced drunk until you pass out in the parking lot flat out on your back. I had enough Crown Royal to pickle Ted Kennedy. (That's a lot, by the way.) During the course of the evening's escapades, I became hysterically tickled by the bottles of spices on the back of the stove; they kept changing places on me. That was the funniest thing I had ever lain eyes on and let everyone know that I thought they should share in the experience with me by yelling Spices! and laughing my stupid drunk head off for five full minutes before someone finally got me calmed down enough to tell them through several giggling fits what the hell I was talking about. When I was finally ready to die, I figured I could either crawl under the sofa or make my way to the second floor bedroom. OF COURSE I chose the stairs. What kind of alcoholic-in-training would I be if I wussed out now? I began my ascent and made the first riser when it dawned on me I should be moving instead of the stairs. For the next twenty steps I was on all fours with my girlfriend behind me to make sure I didn't break my neck. Again. Winner. I didn't roll down the stairs, but my bed tried to throw me through the wall several times. It was a hateful and evil sort of bed and in need of a good exorcism. The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!

I survived the night, but went into a repentant state of sobriety for almost 5 years afterward.

Then I discovered rum and cokes.

like the weather...

It's starting to turn cooler in my neck of the woods and that can mean only one thing.
That's right, chili my friends. Food of the Gods.

Here's my own recipe for this glorious conglomeration of beef and stuff:

Cha's Famous Chili
1-1.5 lb. ground beef- no more than 85/15 lean
1 medium to large onion (chopped)
4-5 tablespoons McCormick Chili Seasoning
1 tablespoon McCormick Fajita Seasoning
2 16 oz. cans chili beans (drained)
2 sm. cans of sliced button mushrooms (drained) - (use fresh ones if you can find them but canned works well if not)
1 12-16 oz. can Hunts Tomato Sauce
2 cans Rotel Tomatoes and Green Chilies (undrained)


In a skillet, combine the ground beef, chopped onion, and the 2 seasonings. Brown the beef and onions over medium heat.

While the ground beef is cooking; in a large crock pot combine all other ingredients.

Add the ground beef and add to the crock pot, stirring to combine all ingredients thoroughly.

Cook on low heat for 6-7 hours, stirring occasionally.

Serve with favorite toppings and enjoy!

taking the long way...

Let's start this off with an announcement.

I'M EMPLOYED!

Took long enough, huh? I thought so too.
Here's a quick recap for those just joining us. I was fired on April 6th from my hella good paying job for reasons sinister. By June I had reached a state of anxiety so high if you flicked me, my entire body would hum like a tuning fork. Come July I had all but given up on ever being employed again. Either God hated me or I had been named unluckiest man in the world by the U.M.I.T.W.N.C (Unluckiest Man In the World Nominating Committee). I think it was a little bit of both. Somebody stuffed that ballot box. Anyway, I finally broke down and re-applied to my old company from '99 and wouldn't you know they took me back at 99% of my previous employer's salary. Sweet!
So, now I am back in the working world and have just hit my 1 month anniversary. It's weird starting over again but not really being unfamiliar with it because I had previous experience here. I find myself remembering how to do the job in bits and pieces and more coming back every day. And I can't help but get the feeling that I was always meant to come back here, the first day was like going to a high school reunion and seeing all the people I used to know five years older but still the same somehow.

I know that I have changed in many ways but do others see me the same as I see them? Do I want them to?

stuck in neutral...

I wrote a few months ago about losing my job thanks to my own stupidity. Since then I have been firing off resumes like a 4th of July fireworks show, mostly to no avail. I had a promising interview about a month ago with Build-A-Bear for a management position, Ms. Bear Rep told me I would hear something in July. Well, July is almost over with and the phone hasn't rung yet. I'm not holding my breath. So, now we come to today, I am scheduled to interview with a grocery store chain for a store management gig. I hold no hope that this will pay anywhere near what I was making before. But, since it is pretty clear that the employment opportunities around here are few and far between, I am willing to take almost anything.
I have been at a loss as to why my ass is still unemployed. I have always had an exemplary employment history and my job performance has never been in question. So why all of a sudden is me finding a job about as likely as Bush pronouncing nuclear correctly? It has 3, count'em, 3 syllables Dear Leader. In a way being unemployed has given me time to recuperate from working non-stop for 11 years. However, anxiety about the future and my ability to support my family has begun to weigh heavily on my psyche.
I will keep slogging through the classifieds in hope of a new path revealing itself among those black and white pages. Wish me luck.

Finding out you're still a bad person...

"Hey look, it's the one-armed security guard again," the wife said.

"Do you think she carries a gun?"

"I wonder if you could have one arm and still be a policeman?," she says.

"But what if she has to use a flashlight, too? How would she hold them both?," I ponder.

I turn to the wife and answer my own question, "I bet she juggles."

monkey see, monkey do...

Monkeys rock-

pardon me, while I hurl...

The grossest thing I have ever heard:

Our dog going to town snout down between her legs.

Imagine something akin to a pig rooting in mud, your toothless uncle gumming pudding with his mouth open, and the half-clogged drain in your tub sucking that last inch of water down the pipes.

All at the SAME TIME!

the monster that lives in the toilet...

Yesterday while wandering around Lowe's, my son's half-brother (I know very complicated, I have one child and his mother is now remarried with a second, who we keep during the day for her while she is at work), began doing the hunched-over-I-am-pretty-sure-the-buick-in-my-ass-is-in-drive-dance. I rushed him to the restroom, which of course, was on the other side of the store, completely in the back. The pooping commenced.

I learned something during that excursion to waste-management land, children can lay stinkers as powerful as big people and courtesy-flushing while said child is still on the throne will result in his disengaging his ass from the seat at such a rate as to cause a significant drop in air pressure inside the bowl.

of course we are completely rational adults...

Since discovering the guilty pleasure of Art Car mania, we have become nothing short of groupies. The weekend following our foray to Eureka Springs, the wife and I pile into the Pontiac and trek our happy asses to Texas. Houston, Texas, for the Orange Show's Everyone's Art Car Parade 2006!!

We arrived the day before the event late in the evening and got up the next morning to head off to the park. The streets were lined with people from all over anxiously awaiting the cars. We were not disappointed. This year's event included 266 entries of some incredible pieces of artwork. Don't let anyone fool you, these cars were labors of love and imagination. Some of the owners have spent literally thousands of dollars creating their art car. Many of the entries didn't even start out as a car of any sort, but they were as mobile as anything on the road.

My favorite had to be Draka the Dragon, this thing was astounding. Freaking huge!

We had such a good time at the parade, even with the Neanderthal standing next to us who thought it completely appropriate to tell his toddler-size daughter that she needed to grow up with boobs as big as one of the cheerleader type girls' walking with the parade. Somebody please get this man a castration for Christmas. Sleaze extraordinaire.

You can see all the cars at this year's parade and read about some of the entries and history of the Orange Show here:

Really, being unemployed does have it's perks!

marketing strategy, part 2...

Um, it's failing as far as I can tell. Site traffic is pretty much the same, maybe a few more hits. Maybe given some more time, also I have a flickr page now, that may bring in some new readers. Fingers crossed.


Upcoming: Savannah, GA here I come, sun and sand, and great food. Will be arriving on Sunday the 28th.

Can't wait!

when you know you're a very bad person...

After pointing out the one-armed security guard for a factory in our town, my wife had this to say.

"I bet the story of how that happened is not a happy one."

"Yeah, you're probably right."



I'm not sure when we're going, but the handbasket arrived this morning.

long ago and far away...

I was recently asked to write a short essay of sorts on a favorite memory of my grandparents for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. It turned into over two pages.

It was well received and I think I would like you all to be able to read it.
Enjoy :)


Memories of Grandparents
What is my favorite memory of my grandparents? That's a tough one. When I was first approached to do this, my initial thought was, “I have no idea!” I'd never thought about it until then. I knew there were memories that I had cataloged and filed away in some dusty corner of my mind only to be found at a later, but pleasantly unexpected date. So I began with a broom and a flashlight to look for the best one I could find. Did it involve only me and them? Maybe it was an entire roomful of people all sharing the same experience? Was it on some hot summer day or maybe a cool fall afternoon? It might have been only a single conversation overheard through a half-open window.
The first memory I wiped the cobwebs from was brought on by a pang of hunger. I smiled remembering how each year during my childhood, Grandpa would carry into the house a flat full of onions and potatoes. Grannie would look them over, deem them acceptable and they would set to work sowing the small field behind the house with that year's garden of crops. Sometimes I was able to help, but only if I was not previously engaged with a book or a bike. The summer would pass into early fall and Grannie would get out the canning equipment. There would be jars upon jars lining the counter-tops of green beans, tomatoes, pickles, and any number of vegetables that happened to have sounded good when they were out buying the seeds. Everyone knew they were going to get a share and if needed, an extra jar or two to help during a short week. Yes, that one was a great memory. But was it my favorite?
So I set that one aside, ear-marked just in case and began to dig some more. Years of lost thoughts coming to light again. Lost being the operative word. Picture a road trip to Kansas with Kris, Grannie and me to visit Aunt Billie. On the return trip, we left pretty late in the afternoon and before long we found ourselves driving in the dark. We'd been on the road for several hours and gradually it became quite apparent that we were not in Kansas anymore; but, neither were we in Oklahoma where we should have been. Grannie drove a few more miles and came to a road sign that read Missouri. At least a hundred miles into Missouri at that! East looked like west. Grannie, not panicked or upset, just laughed it off with us and turned the car around. It took longer to get home, but gave us three more hours together on our little adventure.
Road trips were one thing all the grandkids in our family shared with glee. We couldn't wait when summer rolled around to find out if we were headed south to see Aunt Janet and the Red River of Oklahoma or north to visit the never-tiring Aunt Billie. It didn't matter to any of us just as long as we all got our chance to go. I'm almost positive that Grandpa and Grannie drove us around the world several times over before we were all grown and out of the house, driving ourselves. I don't wonder if any of us would think twice about doing it all over again.
Must. Take. Road. Trip. Soon. OK, OK, back on task.
I still need to decide what is my favorite memory of all. Memories go by, pages upon pages of old pictures from a long lost photo album just recently found again.
I turn to a dog-eared photo showing a lit and haphazardly decorated Christmas tree. And you can't see the carpet for all the presents under that tree. Boxes and bags and ribbons and colorful papers and people I love and all the food you can stuff your face with. Christmas at my grandparents home was an affair to be envied by just about any standard. Every member of the family there talking over everyone else, laughing at some goofy trick one of the kids was doing, sometimes arguing over who had the biggest gift under the tree. I help out in the kitchen one year, the next year I'm in the bedroom laying out paper and tape to wrap last minute gifts, years before that I'm one of the kids doing some goofy trick of my own. Was it really that long ago? How did I forget so much? I'm almost crying at this point. Who wouldn't be?
It's not possible for me to pick out just ONE favorite memory from these thousands of good and bad and in-between. Each revision of my choice triggers yet another moment of nostalgia. No, I don't believe I will choose only a single, solitary memory. I cannot do the impossible, so I will do the closest thing.
Instead, I will honor my grandparents with this thought. I have been blessed with a Grannie and Grandpa who saw their family as their highest priority. Never letting you forget how much you were in their thoughts as they were giving advice you might not have wanted but probably needed at the time. Few in this world have arms wrapped around them so tightly. I am one of the lucky ones.
I congratulate you both on holding us all together (even while you might have been holding yourselves together by only a thread.) I congratulate you both on your having the courage and faith to never abandon each other. I congratulate you both on making everyone feel welcome in your home no matter who they were or why they were there. I congratulate you both for the last fifty years of bringing us joy, anger, compassion, laughter, tears, but most of all unyielding love.
Love, Cha

Post post post post post...

I promise I will have several posts coming soon. Life has been hectic and I have been unmotivated it seems lately.


Apologies all around.

Cha

diese parade ist gut, ya...

So many weekends, so little time. You know how it is, your company fucks you over for five years, then sends you packing. You spend those five years giving up precious weekends for a 4 day work week. You don't want to think about all the places and events you've missed (they occurred on weekends, you see). Did I mention that the four day work week took place on the weekends (Thursday through Sunday)? Needless to say I have a lot of weekend party time to make up for.

Let's begin.


May 6, 2006: A little something called the art car parade takes place in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. I know, I'd never heard of it either. But hang in there things are about to get interesting.
So anyway, here we were the wife and I, hanging out on a Saturday in Eureka for the sole purpose of seeing a yellow submarine.

Wait, wait, wait, I seem to have started somewhere in the middle of the beginning of this post. Let's back up, almost two months up. (Hint, I was still employed). Keep backing, almost there. Okay, that's far enough. I'm at work, being the good little slave when the wife calls. She is, oh just, I don't know, excited a tad? Yeah, that's it. Excited. Here I was at work and she's out in the world excited to beat the band.

Truthfully, it was only Fayetteville and there was no band (I think).

But she was excited. At first I couldn't understand what the hell she was talking about. She kept saying a yellow submarine, yellow submarine. A yellow submarine? WTF? Finally after she stopped laughing about it she got out this: "I'm at Walmart and there is a yellow submarine car in the parking lot!" Yeah, she's smoking something at this point. I'm like, "Oooookayy, what are you talking about?"
She proceeds to tell me about this late model Olds Cutlass Ciera that is decked out, I kid you not, as the Yellow Submarine. It has portholes painted on the side and bubbles going out the back. There are pipes coming out from the top and Beatles regalia everywhere.

Fucking awesome and then some.

So the wife, being the adoring fan of all things funk, leaves a note on the windshield with her cell # telling the owner how much she thinks the car rocks and wants to know more about it.

Alright kiddies, lets go forward again to three weeks ago. Ready? Okay, just a little farther and...Stop!

We're home and her phone rings, it's the car guy. This is cool, heh:) The wife suggests we all get together for dinner some night and car guy (aka- Gary) says, "Well, I'm going to be in Eureka Springs this weekend, my car is one of the entries in the Art Car Parade, we could meet up there."

Perfect.

We arrive in Eureka during what has to be the longest downpour in history, second only to the Great Flood. Although I did see some bird with what looked suspiciously like an olive branch in its beak. Not knowing where Captain Gary is, wife calls him. We are directed to a hole-in-the-wall joint called the Pied Piper (which by the way, has the most awesome fish and chips platter). Now, remember we have never met this man but it is immediately apparent which one he is. Audience? The man in the skipper's hat. Of course. He and his merry crew are commencing with lunch, which we are obliged to partake in. Cue plug for the fish and chips! Gary informs us that the parade of Art Cars begins at 4:00 pm and we have time to wander the streets, see the sights, look like drenched rats. Oh, and yes peruse the parking lot full of funked out vehicles!

First up, the car of the hour and what started this whole adventure, The Yellow Submarine. It is a 90's model Olds Cutlass Ciera that looks like it had been attacked by a drove of backroad bandits brandishing the many shades of yellow and putting it to use for their own sick pleasure. The car, folks, has pipes coming out of the roof and a fin bolted to the trunk. Lest I forget, there is also a spoked ship's wheel attached to the steering wheel. Fun on a first date? You betcha! More interesting than a first date? Hmmm...

After we have walked around this homage to the Beatles, it's on to the other works of art on display. There is the Hillbilly Car built by Pam and Rich from Nebraska. Picture the Clampett's without Grannie riding shotgun on the roof (although it was mentioned how great it would be if they did tie some relative to the top). Then, meet Renaga and his Chick Magnet. He has not only one weird car but also holds the Guinness Record for World's Largest Windchimes. How cool is that? Gary's friend Phil has a Chevy van bedecked in toys from front to back. He calls it the Chariot of Desire. Trolls, dollheads, you name it. It all adds up to one bitchin' van!

It's getting close to time for the parade and Gary asks us if we would like to ride in the car with him? Um, yeah, Gar, that would be ok with us. Silly skipper, thought he had to ask.

Up the hill to the Crescent Hotel we go, lining up in the rain. Yes, it's still raining. The animals are suspiciously pairing off.

We start down the hill all smiles and wrinkled fingers waving at the crowd. It's a small crowd but very enthusiastic :) We wind up parking back at the Pied Piper for drinks. Second cue the plug for the fish and chips!

After a round of our poison of choice, hunger sets in with a vengeance. We head over to indulge ourselves on some local Latin flavor at Caribe! and do our best to offend some of the other patrons with our antics of art car silliness that evening. As the alcohol is poured liberally over us the darker side of some begins to come out. It is generally held that men should not play with dolls, well this night I was almost positive of it. There was a poor defenseless Barbie among us who went from being only slightly immoral at the beginning of the night to a complete and utter dime store tramp by the end. The stories we told on that woman would shame a New York cabbie to church. I think she ended up with at least one or more STD's. Pretty impressive for a chick made out of plastic. When we couldn't stick a penlight up her butt, off came her head! She was lit up like a Gloworm at bedtime and we were receiving several looks of disdain from other diners. They just didn't know how to have any real fun.

The closer of the evening occurred at a side-street bar with Reggae accompaniment. The band was pretty good once the feedback ended. Dancing was inspired by the tunes and it was great fun watching from the upper tier bar. Both my left feet were at home, thankfully. It is not pretty folks, trust me. The wife and I took off afterwards, thanking Gary for showing us a hell of a time and for having us ride with him in the parade.

Everybody we met that day was extremely cool and I am so glad to have had the opportunity to spend an afternoon with them.

Anyone know a good way to turn a Saturn sedan into a planet?

the idiot's guide to the galaxy...

Posted over at Daily Kos yesterday.

I am still amazed on a daily basis just how crazy people like Dobson, Falwell, and Robertson really are.

Wonders never cease :)

marketing strategy...

In an effort to increase this site's traffic, I have devised a simple, yet ingenious, plan. I shall list the names of high-profile people, places, things, and events in totally random order as an entire post. Hopefully, through random internet searches, people will be directed here. Should this mission fail, I will go back to writing snarky missives for the few who actually stumble onto my little corner of the www.
Actually, should it succeed I will write the snark anyway. It's too good to be left unsaid.

And now without further adieu:

Martha Stewart, Iraq, Hurricane Katrina, George W. Bush, New Orleans, Martha, Martha, Martha, Vladimir Putin, Condoleeza Rice, Gas, alternative Fuel, Gay, Gay, Bi, Marriage, Fundie, Fascist, Martha, Bush, Oprah, Tom Cruise, Mission Impossible, Scientology, Crazy Scientologists, Crazy Christians, Crazy Muslims, Crazies, Good Christians, Good Muslims, Good Scientologists, Oprah, Oprah, Martha, Bush, Rice, Dick Cheney, Cheney, Guns, First Amendment Rights, Global Warming, Greenpeace, PETA, Poseidan, Lohan, Basic Instinct Sucks, Sharon Stone, Katharine Hepburn, Dogs, Cats, Rabbits, Disney, Martha, Martha, Martha, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Donald, Rumsfeld, Aliens Invading, Immigration Debate, OIL!

pump up the volume...

One of the perks of being unemployed (did I just say that?!) is the ability to go to the movies at any time you want. Say, right before dinnertime, on a Tuesday, after catching up on some highly involved reading on the crapper. Yes, it's true! Anytime. That was exactly what I did this week. Well, it was after dinner, but you get the idea.

Wife and I went to see Silent Hill, Ba-by! I really liked it, wife not so much. She's like way smarter than me so it's probably just the case that I don't know a good movie from a good beer. I don't really like beer though, so she may have a point. Or something. But it rocked, I swear!
The director wasted no time in getting the whole thing started. Let's just say that if you have any problems with heights, grab your seat post-haste! From those first few minutes, the ride just gets more intense. I think the effects are some of the best I have seen and the frighteningly good use of air raid sirens is perfect. If you are a fan of game-based movies, you won't be disappointed.

I only have one complaint. Just a small, teenie-weenie concern. It has nothing at all to do with the movie itself, but the movie theatre. I'm referring to the Malco Theatre in my area to be exact. Apparently some jack-assed moron thought the volume wasn't high enough for the space station's crew to hear so this pickle-headed dimwit cranked it up some more. My ears were ringing for two, count them, one + one = two days!

I'll remember from now on to bring me some earplugs.

peanut butter, baby!...

Ok, so I finally gave up looking for that damn jar of crunchy peanut butter and just bought a new one. It's chained to the cabinet door. Let's see that fucker try and run this time.

will work for...

Ok, it is now week 3 since I lost my job. I am still unemployed. Bummer and stuff. It is really sad the quality and quantity of jobs here in Arkansas. I didn't think it would be this long trying to become gainfully employed again! I have put in my resume to several companies, my favorite being this :)

Onward ho I say!

I'll keep updating, at least until I have to sell my laptop to buy milk for the baby. Er, don't have a baby but you know what I mean. Right?

Right.