What’s worse? Facebook status updates by the hour or blog post updates by the hour? I got nothing to do today so I may or may not be drinking wine and listening to Heart. To keep productive and sane I vacuumed and mopped the floors with my shirt off like a real man. I need to get the dog to start wiping her feet when she comes in from the yard.
If you don’t have an interest in a certain area of life, you can spark an interest by betting money on it in some way. To add to my fall in life, today I started a career in being a degenerate sports gambler. If wagering money is not enough to make you care about sports it means you’re not betting enough. I’m playing on the provincial government’s gambling platform where they promote responsibility by telling you to “stay within your limits.” But if you don’t listen to them it’s not their fault. They also provide gambling addiction assistance meaning they give you a number to call when you’ve lost all of your money and pawned your wife’s wedding ring that’s still attached to her finger. A friend and I have a steak dinner wager on which one of our friends is going to get divorced first. We don’t bet on the guy as much as we bet on who has the craziest wife.
On the radio yesterday morning was a documentary about people in America living off the grid because they think the country is going to go to shits. These same people say they are going to vote for Donald Trump not because they like him but because it represents change in a system they think is going to bring chaos.
People like to believe what caters to their current situation. If your life is good then you’ll believe it will continue going that direction. If it sucks then maybe you’ll live off the grid, stock up on ammo, Heinz beans and vote for Donald J. Trump. Also, if you have kids you’ll want to believe everything is going to be okay.
The uprising of the idea that the world is going to go shits within a handful of years was spawned by the 2008 recession. Before that no one was stocking up on ammo, talking about zombies, an apocalypse or producing survivalist TV shows. It doesn’t take much to strike fear in people. Optimism and confidence are as fragile as trust. Your husband has been faithful to you for 25 years but the day you catch him watching midget porn is the day it all goes to shits. Give the guy a break, he’s not planning to leave you for a dwarf.
The store opens at 10 AM and there’s plenty of people waiting for the doors to open at 9:30 AM because the restaurant opens 30 minutes earlier. Ikea probably did some market research and found that people are happier and shop longer on a full stomach.
The big lure is the the cheap food. The idea is to get you in for an inexpensive necessity(food) and hopefully you will walk out with a bookshelf made of fake wood. It’s like the casino…you think you can walk in and spend only a couple bucks but one day they will get you and the deed to your house.
Much of the restaurant clientele are parents looking to take their kids out without having to spend much money. What do you mean we never do anything? I take you to Ikea all the time. The rest are just a bunch of cheap fucks like me with nothing better to do on a Saturday morning.
The portions are small and the food isn’t good but also not bad. For $6 with a free coffee though you can walk out of there without feeling like they got the best of you.
I spent years 4-12 living in a house that was a step away from resembling a crackhouse. People felt sorry for me when they saw where I lived and even more horrified when they stepped inside to see that the inside matched the outside. If the visuals didn’t stimulate their eyes the smell would hit them like a punch in the nose.
It was a small place so the cigarette smoke would hang out like a constant fog. When the master of the domain grows up in a time when smoking cigarettes could be prescribed as a cure for certain ailments, there is not much thought given to the dangers of secondhand smoke. Sometimes his other single male friends would come over and light up and I would cover my nose and mouth with my shirt. To them I was being a sissy. “It’ll put hair on your chest.” 25 years later and I still don’t have a single visible follicle of hair there. I think they said the same would happen if I ate onions.
When I left that piece of shit house just before I turned 13, I started smoking cigarettes. Smoking would automatically get me accepted by a group just like if I were to join the chess club. “You’re one of us now.” Certain corner stores would sell illegal cigarettes for $4 and by illegal I mean Marlboros. For whatever reason Marlboros were illegal in Canada. We would find a friend to split a pack so that we would only have to shell out $2 each from our meager allowances. $2 was a small fee to pay to be cool.
My body never liked cigarettes all too much but I continued my partnership with them not because I thought it was cool but because it gave me something to do for 5 minutes. It was also a bonding tool. “Go out for a smoke?”
Smoking cigarettes is often referred to as stupid. I disagree. Stupid is when you’re given all the facts to be able to come to an obvious conclusion but you don’t have the brain power to make sense of it still. Knowing that smoking is bad for you and doing it anyway is something else…maybe foolish, ignorant or you just don’t care because it feels so good.
Cigarettes still don’t do it for me but I will have one every now and then because I like breathing smoke out like a dragon.
Daily Prompt: Smoke
In my life I have never abused my power, mostly because I never had much but now I am in a position to do so. The volunteer agency has bestowed upon me a handicap parking permit which allows me to park my car in those oversized parking spaces sufficient for the most obese of persons to comfortably move around in between vehicles. A wise superhero once said, “with great power comes great responsibility,” but Spider-Man never had the great power of a handicap parking permit so it doesn’t apply.
I’m not sure that I will be able to resist not abusing my power even though I have nothing but good intentions. How many times have you been in a situation where you’re desperately circling around for parking and you think you see a primo spot only to have your hopes crushed when you see that it’s reserved for the handicapped? It always brings you back to the reality that when something seems too good to be true then it probably is.
Because I’m not completely shameless, even if I do fraudulently park in a handicap spot I would feel the need to pretend that I’m disabled. To just come out of my vehicle like a rock star when I’m supposed to be disabled might be borderline sociopathic. I’ll keep a walking cane in my car and walk with my left foot contorted inwards. That should convince the surrounding public that I’m an invalid. For good measure I’ll tilt my head a little to the right. A little drool wouldn’t hurt either.
Or maybe I’ll just continue parking in those spaces for chumps where you’re always too close to the line and can’t carelessly swing your door open. It sucks to be average.
The recent intensified possibility that Donald J. Trump will not be elected president is like that feeling the moment you realize your cocaine high is headed downhill…that is, if you are rooting for him which I am.
I don’t know if he was going to make America great again but I had full confidence he was going to entertain me at least every other day for the next 4 years. There is no way Hillary is going to get off Air Force One and start grabbing the crotches of international politicians.
Ever since the public learned of his ‘grab’em by the pussy’ tactic the media and other political pundits have stated his chances of winning are next to none. His only prayer is that Hillary gets a heart attack within the next few weeks or video is leaked of her in a threesome with Bill and Monica Lewinsky.
There may be consequences for Trump’s entertainment value if elected but that’s the case for all forms of entertainment. Next to fixed expenses in our lives, entertainment is what bleeds our wallets and time dry. Entertainment is paid for with money, credit, hangovers and regret. Worst case scenario Trump was going to continue giving people what they wanted only in a less accepted method like paying for sex.
Donald Trump running for president and almost winning was the high amongst highs for a presidential election. Now if things are going the way they say they are the world is going to be fed the entertainment value equivalent of tap water and saltine crackers for the next 4 years or possibly 8. I realize that the job of a president of a country is not entertainment but my thoughts are just catering to my selfish entertainment desires. Donald Trump was the high fructose corn syrup beverage that spiked your insulin and threatened diabetes but you just couldn’t help yourself. You tell people and yourself that you don’t want it but when no one is around you devour it and silently and lustfully scream, GIVE ME MORE!
The deal was that my mother would buy the groceries and prepare dinner in exchange for free rent. Since she was never home during dinner time she would take 15 minutes in the morning to have the meat ready for cooking.
Uncle Bill would get home around 5 PM from his truck driving job, head straight to the shower and then to the kitchen. Every week was a rotation of mostly breaded pork chops, spaghetti and meat sauce, and hamburger steak. There’s probably a reason why I adore breaded meats to this day. My mother has refused to make breaded pork chops ever since. I remember the angst on her face when she was swinging the meat tenderizing hammer.
His dinner table was his lap while he sat on his torn up leather recliner. Mine was one of those school desks where the chair was connected to the table. Then again, maybe it was a telephone table because the chair faced to the side.
Sometimes I couldn’t finish my dinner. He made me sit there until I finished it. I just sat there until he released me. After school cookies were to be blamed for ‘spoiling my dinner.’
A couple days of the week after dinner he would go for coffee with his other divorced and never married male friends. I’d peek outside through the front window to watch him drive off and then it would be party time. Bring on the cookies.
Like most Canadians I was told to be a milkoholic or else my teeth, skin and hair would fall out. I was also the smallest kid in elementary school and milk was supposed to make me grow big and strong. Didn’t happen. Milk: disappointing the vertically challenged since 1906. I wonder if all that antibiotic laden cow secretion did more bad than good.
Back in my day, people bought milk stored in cartons or plastic jugs and “homo milk” was fuel for jokes in the schoolyard. It seems to be that they want you to call it “3.25%” now like its cousins, 2% and 1%. I’ve never drank milk that came from a glass bottle so I thought it would be cool(just slightly) to try it out. I thought it might bring back memories that I never had of playing vinyl records, watching The Ed Sullivan Show and wondering who in the neighbourhood might be having an affair with the milk man.
After high school I stopped drinking milk because no one was buying it for me. A few years went by and I got back on the moo train. Diarrhea coincidentally ensued and as with every case of diarrhea, one becomes a detective. Was it the sandwich, muffin, banana, eggs, 4 Krispie Kreme doughnuts?
After 30 days I connected the regular occurrence of explosive diarrhea with the cereal I was eating 30 minutes prior. Wait, milk !
I never thought milk was the culprit since I drank milk all my life without issues. But it happens and it’s common with people from East Asian descent. I think it had something to do with not being able to afford cows back in the old country. I haven’t had a glass of milk since but the couple of lattes I’ve had in the last year seem to be intestinal approved.
I’ll let you know what happens.
On the radio the other day this guy was talking about how up until mid-life his life has always been great. Life was so splendid that he just thought that was how life was supposed to be without much effort. He said something like, “when you’ve been lucky your whole life you don’t think your luck will ever run out.”
When the only ride you’ve ever been on in life is a joyous one it’s difficult to picture your life going off the tracks and crashing. Depressed and pessimistic people are looked at as diseased aliens.
On the other end there’s people who have lived the first half of their life witnessing mostly negative experiences and outcomes. When that is your life you can’t picture anything outside of science and mathematics equalling a positive result. Failure becomes a reoccurring self-fulfilling prophecy.
Something somewhat extraordinary has been happening in my life lately. Many have been in my situation and many of them have ended up on the losing end but during the rise they had no doubts they were on the road that would end in success. I on the other hand just cannot imagine myself succeeding in such a high fashion even though I believe it’s very possible and it has been done by ordinary people. I keep telling myself that it just can’t happen to me.
It’s good to be rational and realistic but my lack of optimism that most other people would be infected by in the same situation is a by-product of a lifetime of less than average environments and people. The absence of mania reminds me that I’m probably missing the manic part to qualify for bi-polar disorder.
Even if it all does go to shit, I’ve already learned the lesson that good things are possible. You just need to walk towards that direction and have some faith.
Tell people that you are 36 years old and not married and they might have something to say to that. From my experience with volunteering with old people the old ladies will urge you to hurry up and get married while the old guys will have something more interesting to say.
A common old lady and young woman perspective is that there is no good reason for a man to be living if there is no woman in his life. What they are really saying is, “you need one of us.”
“Are you married,” he asks.
“Lucky,” he says. I replied by saying that marriage can’t be all bad. He had nothing to say. I’m still wondering what kind of memories came back during that 3 second silence.
When I was promoting the volunteer services at a festival recently, for whatever reason this old guy asked me if I was married. When I told him I wasn’t he went on to give me a 5 minute lesson that coupled as a way for him to vent.
“Before you get married do everything you want to do in life.”
The weird thing is that some of these old ladies are either divorced, had their husband’s cheat on them and/or beat them.
A woman telling a man that he needs to marry a woman is like Apple telling people that they need to get an iPhone. A man taking another man’s advice about marriage is like reading the consumer reviews.