Reggie

I updated last night, catching you all up with my wonderful life. I don't have much for today, at least at this hour. I received an enail about a week or so ago. I was moved by it and, of course, forwarded to many friends. One of my boys sent it back to me, not realizing I had sent it to him I think. I re-read itthis morning, and even though I knew what it was about, it was still moving to me. So I am going to share it for today's spot. I have no clue who the author is, or even how true it may be. The only editting I did was to take out the "<" things at the beginning of each line, and remove the email forward infos. Enjoy.

They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly.

I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open.

Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to.

And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news.

The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant. They must've thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home.

We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home).

Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.

Maybe we were too much alike.

For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls - he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes.

I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he settled in.

But it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn't going to.

I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel," and he'd follow them - when he felt like it.

He never really seemed to listen when I called his name - sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever.

When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.

This just wasn't going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes.

I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cellphone amid all of my unpacked stuff.

I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "darn dog probably hid it on me."

Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter. I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home.

But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I'll give you a treat."

Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction - maybe "glared" is more accurate - and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down.

With his back to me. Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought.

And I punched the shelter phone number. But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope.

I had completely forgotten about that, too.

"Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice."

_______________________________________

To Whoever Gets My Dog:

Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter.

He knew something was different.

I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time...it's like he knew something was wrong.

And something is wrong...which is why I have to go to try to make it right.

So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. He hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful-really don't do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.

Next, commands.

Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones - "sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signals: "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand out right or left. "Shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. He does "down" when he feels like lying down - I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business.

I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.

He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due.

Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time.

I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain.

He just loves to be around people, and me most especially. Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you...

His name's not Reggie.

I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt.

But I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again.

And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything's fine.

But if someone else is reading it, well...well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It'll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems.

His real name is Tank. Because that is what I drive.

Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news.

I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander.

See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter... in the "event"... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally.

And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.

Well, this letter is getting too downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog.

I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family. but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me. That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things... and to keep those terrible people from coming over here.

If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter.

I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you,
Paul Mallory
_____________________________________

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope.

Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.

"Hey, Tank," I said quietly. The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright. "C'mere boy."

He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months.

"Tank," I whispered. His tail swished. I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.

"It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me." Tank reached up and licked my cheek. "So whatdaya say we play some ball?" His ears perked again. "Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?" Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room.

And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

Might be worth the Wait

Welcome to another Friday. Though, truly it is a day that I have nothing to blab about on here. However, it has been one hell of a morning. For some reason, again I was awake at 3am and even after doing emails, and playing a couple little games, I could not sleep. Instead, as I lay in bed, a story started unfolding in my head.

I thought, that would be sort of cool if I could remember all this and get it at least into short form to get the details. Since then, I have not been able to do that. In fact, I decided by 5am that I had better start typing. So I did. As I am typing, I am getting more and more story idea and no time to put it down to paper because I might forget what I am writing now.... Damn! When writer's block goes, the damn flood pours!

Without further ado - go over to my other site and check out chapter 1. Open for any and all criticism - anyone knows I am not a perfect writer.
Oh, you can find it quicker by clicking here.....

Can't believe I am on a roll. Gonna have to stop in a bit to run Rusty to the vet though - it is booster day!

PeacE

Wheels are turning - Mind is burning

First off I want to say thank you for the nice comments about how wonderful and cute my kids are. Thank goodness they look mostly like their mother!! Speaking of the Wife, I did find a picture that she would not be too embarrassed about me posting. This is one of us together from Christmas of 2006. As you can tell, I been trying to lose weight for awhile. And yes, that is a Jack Daniels in my hand. I am glad I decided to let my hair grow back in this year.

Tomorrow would be my Dad's 60th birthday if he were still walking amongst the living. I sure miss him. For those of you that don't know, and might actually care, Dad passed away in 1985 due to a fight with a brain tumor. I was 12 when he passed away. His brain tumor was not natural. In 1968-1969 Dad had served in Vietnam in areas where Agent Orange was used. Years after service, it finally affected, or rather grew to where it was affecting him almost 30 years later by forming malignant tumor in the left frontal lobe of his brain. He was operated on in early 1984 where they removed a portion of the brain about the size of a adult fist/medium sized grapefruit. Dad fought for a year using Chemo, radiation, and medicines. This was back when the big thing about cancer was coming around, and they knew little compared to what they know now.

Dad has been resting these past 20+ years in Frankfort's Greenlawn Cemetery, ending a cycle that started in that same town in 1948. I am proud to carry my Dad's name on, and able to pass it to my oldest son, in honor of my father.

Being how it so close to Dad's bday time, I slapped together a little piece of a memory I recall over at my story site. Not great stuff, but a little something I remember of him. Click here to view it.

In the meantime, I've got a poker party to attend tomorrow afternoon over in Chandler (S of Phx) at a friend's place. Sunday brings on softball and Nascar. Tonight I think I will do a gym session and head home. I have a couple DVDs to watch with the family. "Meet the Robinsons" and the newest "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles". Plus disc 5 of "Stargate Atlantis" season 3, and disc 1 of "Numbers" season 3.

Y'all have a good weekend, and I'll be back with more later on!

PeacE

Wow! Two in as many days!

Go check it out over here. Another one for you to see an inside glimpse of my childhood.

PeacE

Here's something to waste your time...

I posted a little story about my First Trip ever to Mexico. Go laugh and see how stupid I was when I was younger.

Wow! d00d had some free time!!!

Yes, matter of fact the last couple hours have been slated as free time for me. Nobody is interested in working today. So, as a good little blogger/writer/wannabe-whatever that I am, I had a story come flying through the fingers and zinged onto the computer. Go check it out ...

... if you dare ...

CLICK HERE

PeacE

Just close your eyes and swallow

I am a cheating MF'er. I am so damn tired that I don't feel like posting anything worthwhile. And since I feel that way, the Reverend Mother sent me an e-mail story I thought would be cute to share with you. But the only ones that will truly enjoy it are the female readers that have children... anyways, read on.

3-year-old tells all from his mother's restroom stall. By Shannon Popkin
__________________________________________

My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and does
it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we're in the
library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window. People often
comment on how clearly he speaks for a just-turned- 3-year-old. And you
never have to ask him to turn up the volume. It's always fully cranked.
There've been several embarrassing times that I've wished the meaning of
his words would have been masked by a not-so-audible voice, but never
have I wished this more than last week at Costco.

Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade with
me into the restroom. If you'd been one of the ladies in the restroom
that evening, this is what you would have heard coming from the second to the last stall:

"Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper on
the potty, Mommy? Oh! You gonna sit down on da toiwet paper now?
Mommy, what are you doing? Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the potty?"
At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in the
bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ... 4? 5? Maybe we
could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut out of this
stall and reveal my identity.

Cade continued, "Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you? Oh, dats a
good girl, Mommy! Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on
the potty? Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh ... Mommy! I'm trying to
see In dere. Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl, Mommy. You are gonna
get some candy!"

I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of
me. Where is a screaming new born when you need her?

Good grief. This was really getting embarrassing. I was definitely
waiting a long time before exiting. Trying to divert him, I said, "Why
don't you look in Mommy's purse and see if you can find some candy.
We'll both have some!"

"No, I'm trying to see doze more stinkies. Oh! Mommy!" He started to
gag at this point. "Uh oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up. Mommy, doze
stinkies are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!"

As the gags became louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall. I
quickly flushed the toilet in hopes of changing the subject.. I began
to reason with myself:
OK. There are four other toilets. If I count four flushes, I can be
reasonably assured that those who overheard this embarrassing
monologue will be long gone.

"Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done going
stinkies! Get up! Get up!" He grunted as he tried to pull me off. Now
I could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet outside my door.

"Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under da door?
What were you wooking at, Mommy? You wooking at the wady's feet?"

More laughter. I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the situation.

"Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now. We have to go out now, Mommy."
He started pounding on the door. "Mommy, don't you want to wash your
hands? I want to go out!!"

I saw that my "wait 'em out" plan was unraveling. I sheepishly opened
the door, and found standing outside my stall, twenty to thirty ladies
crowded around the stall, all smiling and starting to applaud. My first
thought was complete emabarassment, then I thought, "Where's the fine
print on the 'motherhood contract' where I signed away every bit of my dignity and privacy?"

But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky grin while he rubbed bubbly
soap between his chubby little hands, I thought, I'd sign it all away
again, just to be known as Mommy to this little fellow.

(Shannon Popkin is a freelance writer and mother of three. She lives
with her family in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she no longer uses
public restrooms)


PeacE

Memory chapter 2

Okay, well things have been slow enough here at work today, that I took a trip through the sewers of my mind, and actually came up with something. I began an outline, and have proceeded with a second installment for you, my esteemed readers. the outline I have will ast me a ways, with something actually to write about instead of just rambling. I now have purpose, and direction. So, without further waiting her eit is - and let me know if it starts to suck... Cuz then I'll have to cry about it and so on. No, but I would like to hear constructive criticism if ya got some.

Chapter 2

It was bright out this morning, but the sun was at my back as I walked down the street. It felt good to stretch the legs this way, and my mind was working overtime as the sidewalk cruised by under my heels. The main questions I had I presume a person with amnesia would normally have: Who am I? Why can’t I remember past a certain point? I quick glance around shows me I could be anywhere in the US. The license had a Santa Monica address, but it wasn’t humid enough to be there. It felt warm enough to be California, just not near the coast. My guess it wasn’t California at all. ‘Let’s take this in baby steps,’ I tell myself. ‘Find out where you are and then get some food. Priorities.’

Perfect. Ahead I see a shabby looking Waffle House. Good place for information, a paper, and food. As I push open the door, I realize by the look and smell of the place, not very many middle class people come here. Hesitating, I wonder if I should even stay, but the need for info was dire. I walk over to the counter and sit, trying not to look around. As the waitress comes over with the menu, I ask for coffee, black. Seems I remember that I like it that way at least. Without opening the menu I decide on breakfast and push the greasy flyer away.

The waitress returns with my coffee, and I place my order. Her nametag says “Tina”, but she sure doesn’t look like one – like I would know. No smile as she walks away. I must have read too many novels where they always smile at the lone guy. When she comes back with my meal, I try some small talk.

“So, Tina, what brings you to work in a place like this?” Yeah, I am smooth like that.

“Three kids and an alcoholic husband that doesn’t work, plus the fact I like to keep a roof over my head. What the fuck do you care?” Now I get a pissed off look as she walks away. I decide my quest for info is going to have to go somewhere else. I finish eating and leave enough to cover the bill.

Stepping outside I see a newspaper stand. Through the glass I can see that it is Thursday, July 17th and I am in the delivery area of the Arizona Republic. Now I can see why it is so hot, and this is probably Phoenix. I glance around, and up the road yet I see something that changes my mind – Casa Grande Auto parts yard. Hmmm, let’s try south of Phoenix a ways. I poke my head back inside the Waffle House and catch Tina’s eye.

“How hard to get a cab here?”

“Where ya headed that ya need a cab? Most everything is in walking distance.”

“Need to get to the bus depot.”

“Might as well walk it. Two miles back the way you come from. It is quicker than trying to get a cab over this side of town.”

I nod my thanks and start heading back the way I had been from. Now I had part of a destination in mind, where should I go from there? I flipped through the wallet to see if there were any numbers I could call, but the ID card and cash was all it contained. Who was the guy that called me earlier? How did I get in touch with him? I looked up just as I was passing the hotel I had been at. Quickly I walked in the door.

“Back for another night?” asks the desk clerk.

“No, actually, has housekeeping been through my room yet? I forgot a duffle bag in there. Could I run up and get it?”

“Housekeeping don’t start for another hour. I suppose I could let you up real quick. Here’s the key.”

I pick up the key and head out the door. I am feeling like I need to rush, but I don’t know why. Maybe it is just eagerness to try my idea. The door opens nicely. I scan the room and see the duffle lying where I left it. A quick look verifies what I thought – empty. I sit on the bed, and rest my face in my hands. I need to figure out someone that can help me fill in some blanks desperately. Outside the door, I hear a payphone ring. After several rings, I wonder if I should go pick it up or not. Then I got a hot flash.

My eyes riveted over to the room phone. I pick it up and hit redial. Several beeps go off – too long to be a local call. Can’t tell if international or long distance though. Like I would know the difference I think… maybe I would. On the other end it starts to ring, and my heart starts to beat faster. Four, five rings. On the seventh ring, I hear it pick up.

Afternoon update - maybe a story?

(Yawn)! Yes I have been enjoying my holiday! In fact, what made it easier to enjoy, was our server going down for two hours! Yea! I can't email, transfer online, surf the web, nada! So what better thing to do, considering I forgot the book in the car, than to write a story. No writer's block here folks... infact, I got to writing and I meant for just 1 short story and ended up with more. So now I have another work in progress, depending on the reaction to it. So without further adeiu, here is a prologue and chapt 1 of what I did today. Let me really know how you feel, 'cuz I sorta felt juvenile writing it, and almost like I am stilling several ideas from several movies.. I dunno. You tell me.

It all happened so fast. I have no idea where it came from, but I sure know where it ended up. Against my forehead, nice and cold. I could almost feel the emptiness of the barrel. I uncrossed my eyes from looking at the gun, and slid my sight down the barrel. ‘Nice black finish,’ I couldn’t stop myself from thinking. ‘Extended barrel; revolver; my guess would be a .357. And they’re not using hollow points.’ Now my view had reached the gunman’s, and I could see the uncertainty in his eyes; it was there, flickering in and out with fear and rage.

“Well, hombre. You and me here. What ya gonna do?” I asked slowly. I tried to keep my voice from breaking, and in the back of my head, the rest of me was trying to keep from releasing my bladder. I was always told to play tough if this were to ever happen. Be tough. Stay on topic. Confuse the shooter, then defuse the situation. Almost like every cop negotiation seen on TV. Things aren’t always that easy though. I should know. I was the one with the gun against my head.

“So exactly why are you holding this gun against my head? Do I know you?”

“YOU know what you did. And I’m a gonna put one in you to stop you from taking from me again!” His eyes are getting beady, and I can see the sweat starting to form on his forehead. I haven’t much time left. I slowly raise my left hand, and his eyes dart back and forth between it and my face. I start to reach into my jacket –

“Don’t do it! I will shoot you dead.” The sweat has begun to run down the sides of his face. The crappy long sideburns he has doesn’t stop them at all. I watch a drop drip off his chin.

“C’mon, boy. You don’t want it to end this way. Let me show you my wallet, por favore.” His eyes glance to my hand again, and I slowly slide it in my jacket. “We gonna end this just fine,” I say softly. His gaze switches back to my eyes. More sweat drips off his face. “Just watch,” I croon softly to him, “this!!”

At that moment I kick out, smashing the inside of his knee. The sound of the dislocation is huge in the quiet interior. I fling out and up my left hand, brandishing a collapsible baton. In smooth motion my arm deflects the gunman’s aim, and the baton slides open to slam against his forehead. Moving quickly I squat and leg sweep what is left of his right leg out, and the body falls to the floor. Before he can open his eyes, and start to scream from the pain, I am standing on his gun hand, and tapping his check with the baton.

“Now then, shall we say, you owe me an explanation?” I coyly ask. He starts screaming and trying to grab his shattered knee. “Tut, tut. No manners.” I reach down for his revolver, and spin the chamber to make sure it is full. A snap of the wrist closes it, and I cock it, pointing at his head. “One last try, Amigo?”

Stifling a scream, he looks into my eyes, and I see the fear running rampant now. Sweat is pouring off his face, mixed with tears of pain. “They told me you was coming. They told me to stop you. I would get lots of money and my family would not be hurt if I stopped you. Let me go. I won’t tell them you are coming still.” The shakes take over his body for a moment, and I pondered what I should do.

We’ve all seen the movies, and the movies are almost always right. If I let him go, as soon as I turn to leave he will miraculously get a gun and shoot me in the back; or he will try, and I will turn and shoot him first. Either way he is dead, and I am slightly wounded, or maybe free from harm. But you always have to get the info from them first. So I needed info, then get rid of him. Some other way around this? Hmmm….

“No habla senor. I don’t know who “they” are, or why they want to off me. Do you?”

“I know nothing. I only want to protect my family from them. They are bad men. Please help me!”

“I sure will help you, muy amigo.”

“Oh, thank you, sir! Thank –“ The report of the pistol echoes briefly. I collapse the baton, replacing it in my pocket. I start to search his body until I find the wad of cash. Looks to be several hundred, and that goes into my pocket as well. I toss the pistol on the chest of the dead man lying on the floor. I never clean up the mess.

Chapter One

Someone always has questions in which no one will ever have the answer. Trust me, I know all about it. I am that guy. I searched for solutions in places a normal person would never dream of being. Studied religions and doctrines from around the world. Noting comes close to the answers I seek. People tell me God will answer them – and I ask them, then where is God. No man wants to wait for his death, and have his answer told then, if wins the lucky flip of the coin as to where his soul goes. If man has a soul. I know I don’t.

I look in the mirror and see a face that never seems to age. There is a haunting, flickering going on in my eyes as I study this visage. The water running in the sink starts steaming, so I bend over and rinse my face. Nothing feels better than to be clean after I have had to protect myself. That’s my full-time occupation: protecting myself. Has been for years, but I still do not know why or from what. It all started that day back years ago, when I woke up to the sound of waves …

… crashing on the beach. I was laying somewhere comfortable. I felt warm. I did a quick body check, and everything felt okay, so I slowly opened my eyes. It is dark out. I sit up partially, and a blanket falls down my chest. I am in a bed somewhere. Glancing around I see a radio on the bedside, where the sounds are coming from. I hit the off switch and swing my legs out of the bed. I see a faint outline on the wall that I assume is the door.

“Light switches are usually next to them,” I say to myself. I reach out and feel along the wall, until I reach it. The overhead light comes on. Sitting back on the bed I realize I am in some hotel room. From the phone, it looks like I am in the US, but I don’t recognize the area code off hand. I try to remember what I was doing, but nothing comes to mind prior to waking up just now. Realizing I am naked, I look for some clothes, or luggage, and find a duffle with one change of clothes in it. I quickly dress, finding the boots by the bed.

In the process of putting on the boots, I stop motionless as I hear the phone ring. A glance at it helps not at all, as only the message light flashes with each ring. I debate internally whether I should answer or not, after all, I have no clue as to where I am. Matter of fact, it dawns on me I don’t even know what my name is. Finally, curiosity wins out and I pick up the handset.

At first there is no noise. Then I hear a click of a disconnection. I place the handset back in the cradle and stare at the phone debating if this is a good thing to have happened, or should I be kissing my ass goodbye about now. After a few seconds, it begins to ring again. I pick it up on the third ring.

“Finally you answered. What the hell took you so long?” It was a man’s voice, but it rang no bells in my memory. I decide to play it safe.

“I was in the bathroom. You know – doing the duty. What’s up?”

“I’m telling you now, I am clean of all this crap. This is the last time I expect you to walk into my life.” The man is getting uptight and tense sounding. I still can’t put a name or face to the voice. “Don’t ever come around here again. Your carry items are in the drawer under the phone. There’s enough money to take a bus far from here. What you do the rest of your life, I don’t care.”

I quickly open the drawer and see a wallet, comb, handkerchief and crisp $100 bills lying there. Looks to be almost $1000 in cash. No keys or change. “So you just want me to leave here?” I ask, stalling for time, or information.

“Yes. Don’t try to contact me again after this time. I have washed my hands of you. You are nothing but evil incarnate walking the earth, and you drag your minions around killing everything you touch. I am marked for life, as you know, John.”

John? Is that my name? I grab the wallet and open it to a California ID card. Name reads John Doe. I don’t recognize the address but it is somewhere in Santa Monica – my guess probably fake as the name. I start the push for info. “Where am I? Who is this?”

“C’mon John. It’s always the same with you. You specifically told me to put you where you are, and to give you this call at this time. What you do now, and what you remember is all up to you. After this last time, I am not doing this anymore. You are on your own. I will help with one extra bit of info for you though…. After you pay the hotel bill, and you turn to the door and face the street. Turn right and start walking. That’s the direction of the bus terminal several miles down the road, and the best direction for you to get the hell away from me.” Slam! The dial tone comes back on, so I reluctantly hang up. I put the items in my pockets and do a quick walk-thru of the room to see if there is anything I forgot. Nothing worth taking. I even leave the duffle bag. I head towards the office, blinking in the mid-morning sun.

Walking into the office I smile at the guy at the desk. We settle up the bill – seems I was here only one day. I ask directions to the bus depot, and he points down the street, saying it just a couple miles. I walk out the door, and head the opposite way, pondering what the hell is going on with me.

PeacE

Vacation to San Diego (Part 2) w/pics

Saturday – I woke up wondering what time it was, and if I had missed our ride to the Island. I checked my phone and it was only 6:11am, and at that moment, someone was knocking on our door to have us get up and get ready. We had a limo that morning to take the majority of us out to the island, while the others brought the truck. We had prepared this year and gotten a wagon and 3 coolers of beer. Smitty got to find out how my digestion works when I have done pretty much nothing but drink all day, and swears to this day something died inside me.

Here is a quick shot of the limo we rode in on...

We had two teams competing this year, the rest of us being spectators along for the fun. As we were loading up the limo, a schedule check was done to determine what league started at what time. Uh oh. Don’s team was actually scheduled for the next weekend. They had just wasted entry fee and trip costs for the wrong weekend. I guess that would sort of classify as bummer # 2. The trip to the island was nice, and we were there plenty before 9. The first game the team was to play wasn’t going to be until at least 10. We sat there watching some other teams play, listening to the announcer call off team names, and drinking what beer we brought. I was watching the time as the Champions tent opened at 9, and I desired some whiskey.

Side Notes: For those that don’t know, the OMBAC OTL allows any team name – no matter the length, or wording, or swearing. For example, our team to play is named “If you have ever been to Phoenix chances are we fucked one of your relatives”. The team that mis-scheduled is “Arizona Beaver Eaters”. I had gotten a program so I would have the whole list of names. I will share some of the better ones later on, as again I was not fully prepared for posting.

Note: the Circle of Champions tent is a fenced off area that players can pre-purchase a ticket for entry, to receive free drinks and food throughout the day. This is where last year I had a table reserved for our guys as they came in from playing, or watching.

I was 7^th in the gate and wrist banded for the Champions tent. I made my best decision on table reservation, getting the one closest to the women’s restrooms. That’s right we are pervs, but best place to get some T&A pics. I had brought the camera, notebook, and program guide to make sure this day was a success.

This one didn't come out too clear, but the sign on the fence reads Ladies Only. Danny on the left, Jimmy on the right.

The waitress came by, and I started to give her my order, and the $20 I tip to keep them coming all day, and got a nice surprise. It was the waitress from the Beachcomber the night before. Christy remembered me from the bar, and I thought that put things off to a very good start! And she even looked better in the tight shorts and low top she was wearing. I mean we are talking Campbell’s soup-type good – MMM MMM MMMM!! I found out she was getting off at 4, about when we leave, but she was too tired to party with us that night. (Bummer #3??)

Here are just some random shots of some of the girls we saw.

From here the notebook does me no justice, since I never got sober enough to add more notes. The weather was perfect; there were lots of ladies around. I have a few pics of some; unfortunately, I could not get them to hold up my Boobies and Beer.net sign I had made. By 11am they were out of bourbon completely, and again, as I did last year, had to switch to scotch again.

Greg, one of the "virgins" in his free Bail Bonds shirt - think he might need the number this weekend?

Phoenix had its first official win!!! Their first game in 6 years of going, and got the first legitimate win. Jan decided to retire, Smitty was done for the day, and Eric was just happy as hell! When they’re 2^nd game came up they let OBJ, Bill and some others play instead. OBJ now has new initial of JCH (Just Can’t Hit) as after several attempts failed to make ball contact. As a gift for their first win, someone (not sure if was Monty or Steve or Pat) bought the three of them OTL hats (which weren’t cheap). The announcer even broadcasted that after 6 years they had finally won a game.

Miscellaneous shots of the guys at the table - here is Eric and Bill.

Don and Jan - in the background table, yellow shirt is OBJ next to Scott.

I think the only bad thing that day was at lunch, when this black gent and his g/f came and sat at our table. He wouldn’t shut up, and kept going on and on about how no one respects the black man, etc. Eventually he got loud and mouthy enough, he finally was escorted away, but for a while it was a pain.

Some more females - I was pretty blasted by this point - was hard to get pics.
Don and Joe with some friend in the middle.

Leaving the island, we all got on the correct bus this year. (See the OTL stories from last year if you missed the point about correct buses). At the drop off point we headed to Beachcombers for yet another night of carousing. Tonight was the dancing night, and it got to be tremendously crowded. I managed to get my barstool and kept at the bar so my service of drinks would not be slowed. I had Joe the owner serving me most the night, so the drinks were very nice sized. I know we ended back at the hotel late that night with some pizza … and I fell asleep watching some movie.


A gal from the bar on Saturday Night

Vacation to San Diego (Part 1)

Don called and said they would be by my place to pick me up in 10 minutes. So at 5:30am I was outside waiting, and they were there pretty quick. Don’s SO was riding with us, and was our reason for getting to the airport so early. A few of the wives and SO’s of the boys going to OTL were doing a separate trip to LA area for the theme parks. The ladies flight left about an hour earlier than Don & mine did. We found our gate, then a bar. Two large beers each later, we were ready to board. Everything was going smoothly, the flight left on time and a double-Jack later we were touching down, then heading to the outside to meet up with Don’s friend Scott from Vegas, who had flown in a half hour ahead of us.

Geez! Just walking out the entry doors to the airport was like walking into a paradise. The temperature was 72 degrees per our pilot; the sun was shining, and the breeze coming off the ocean was just awesome. Man, a year was too long to be gone from this place!

The first bummer (and I say first because when writing this, I had no idea what else would happen) of the trip came when the three of us got to the hotel. We had had reservations for like four rooms for several months now, but in that year, the hotel had changed some of their policies, and now no reservations were allowed into a room until after 1pm. Here it is 9:30am and we all have a carry on bag. We asked if we could leave the bags there behind the counter, and was told no, that they had done that for some other customers and now had no room. There were four other guys that flew out before us, and they had gotten lucky to leave their bags. Nothing better to do, we grabbed our bags, had a cab called, and headed for Mission Bay. We met up with Eric, OBJ, Joe, and a few others at the Sandbar, across from the coaster. The rest of our crew were driving in from Phoenix, and were about 2 hours away still. They gave me time to have a quick bloody mary and a bottle of Bud, and then we started the walk to the Beachcomber, about a half-mile down the road.

One of the “virgins” of the OTL and youngest member of our party, Greg, was nice enough he bought all of us the first round at Beachcombers, and that set off the afternoon. Joe, the owner, poured my first drink, which was damn near a half pint of Jack (God bless this man!). As he was pouring my drink he made the comment, “I don’t let my staff pour them this much at a time, but you’re okay in my book drinking Jack straight up.” I tell you, the man knew the words to my heart. Sometimes my notoriety exceeds state lines, as Joe remembered me from the previous year, and the other guys, too. The last of our group finally showed up, and things really started to get moving.

The boys started up rounds of 3-ball on the only pool table. I sat at the bar trying to get all these notes down, as I was sure to not remember most the way I was drinking. A couple rounds of Golden Tee were played, where I ended up the winner, the only with a negative score. Worst score was a +39, but we all knew that person couldn’t hit a ball anyways. (Note: remember this for later). After a couple good drinks, we all cabbed back to hotel to get our rooms. Most of us were put on the 2^nd floor, though I requested 1^st due to having a cane with me, and I knew the steps would be hurting me in the next day or two. I roomed with Smitty, which seemed to work out well. He never complained once about my snoring. After dropping luggage off, we again called cabs and headed out to Fiesta Island where the OTL is played. We spent time there buying programs, shirts, hats, etc and then enjoying some beers and tunes. I got lucky and left on the first cab group out (Eric & Jimmy). We went to the hotel, and then walked down to Red Lobster for dinner.

After dinner, Eric & Jimmy headed to bed. I watched TV until Don & Smitty got back. They were headed down to the Red Lobster to eat, then wanted to go back out. I said I would wait for them. Five minutes later, Jan & Danny show up, and I left with them to head back to the Beachcomber. About an hour or so into partying, Danny & Jan had to leave, but Joe, OBJ and Greg had shown up, so I stayed drinking until late. I cannot even remember what time it was when I got back to the hotel. Smitty & I were having a smoke out side our non-smoking room, and security came by to inform us “Hotel rules require guests to be in their rooms at this hour”. SO they want us to smoke in a non-smoking room? He again repeated his sentence, so Smitty & I just waved him off, put out the smokes and went to bed. We knew that tomorrow we would be headed to Fiesta Island by 7:30am, and we would need our sleep.

Vacation to San Diego (Prelude)

I figured I had this vacation trip all planned out perfectly. I had the proper attire, notebook, camera, necessary items, and the ever needed money! I packed compactly into a nice Crown Royal backpack I had, and set it by the door. I went over again the clothing I chose to wear the next day, and added the ball cap of my choice (Budweiser Racing for Dale Jr - one of my lovely girls picked this up at Nascar for me - thx Ginny!). I thought over last year, and what I wished I had brought, and added my cane to the pile. Yeah, between my hips, knees and back, I am a walking nightmare for long distances. I wanted to be prepared better than the crab-swaggle walk I performed last year.

Okay. I am ready, I am pumped up, and it is only 9pm. I went ahead and headed to sleep, knowing I would be awakening at 5am to be sure I was up and ready when the ride showed up about 5.30. Need less to say, I didn't seem to sleep well. I tossed and turned probably caused for excitement and nervousness of going. I mean, heck, I was flying out on Friday the 13th. Either way, I awoke at the proper time and was ready when Don called and they were on the way to pick me up.

Be prepared for the story about to come up. I am posting all parts here, and also on my story sight. Pictures will be edited in where needed - I was able to get SOME - not near as many as I wanted. I think I can get it pretty much completed in about 4 parts, but won't know for sure until I get there. Til then ....

PeacE

Updated story chapter

Okay, I have been sooo productive this afternoon. Head over to the story site and catch the latest chapter I have conked out of my head for your reading enjoyment. Or you can just click HERE to get there.

Even I must wonder where this road leads ...

Hey, I just noticed that someone is going to be # 5000. I still don't have any idea for a prize - it may take a day or two...

PeacE

I missed posting a couple stories

I see after reviewing my site, that I missed posting the chapters 1&2 over at the story sight. I have corrected that problem as well, and they are now there - including chapter 3. If you haven't read them, be sure to read them in order. I don't know how to post them in order, so I am posting all 3 in one post. Go here for the read : Stories

PeacE

Whew! The fingers are tired!

That's right folks, right off the ol' press here at Boobies & Beer we have the latest installment for the story board. If will carefully press this link right here, you can go read it, and maybe some others if you have missed them. If you can't figure out where HERE is look at he links on the right and pick the one that says "Stories/Novellas by Ralphd00d". If that doesn't work, leave me email and I will email you the story.

In the meantime, I still have nothing really to bitch about right now. I went through all my dailys and there is nothing there to get me fired up. Well, except I couldn't go to the TX Blown-eyes meet-up. I wisht I coulda. And I know I won't be going back to Helen for that one neither. I guess I just need to get one going out here, and see how many inthe SW would do that sorta thing. Course, it would have to be like October/November to do it so temps are comfortable.

Four hours to get out of here. I think I feel another story coming on. Don't be surprised if you get 2 today.

PeacE

Thursday Treat

A special treat for you, my favorite readers. I have finished another installment of my writing project (which I am still not sure where it is heading) and have decided to post it for you, and welcome your critiques, ideas, opinions, and even put-downs and lift em ups. So without further cheap admonishments, let me present to you chapter 2.

It was a simple pocketknife. Two blades, one a bit longer with a sharper point, yellow coloring on the outside. Plenty sharp, since I had spent the better of 2 days sharpening it correctly on a whetstone by hand. Nothing like good skill used correctly. I flick the hand up and spin the blade over end and catch it open-handed. A quick half turn and I fling it out side arm and it thunks into a dartboard at head height, just a couple inches under the bulls eye. I smile touches my lips, but not my eyes as I get up and pull out the knife. I close it up and slip it into a pocket. The other hand ranges along the belt and I feel the lock blade and the 12” Bowie. I check to be sure my jacket covers them well.

Walking down the street, no one notices me. Not many people out on a cold and cloudy day. The skies are looking like they want to drop rain or snow, but it is not destined to be per the reporter on TV last night. I call them reporters – they never guess the weather correctly enough to be a forecaster. I turn into the local corner mart; glancing back quickly to be sure no one followed me.

That’s always been a habit of mine. Since that one time two punks jumped me – but that is for another time, when I can remember what happened. If I start thinking about it now, the blackness will fill my head and I will lose track of what I am doing. I cross the street again and head up two more blocks. Turning left I see the police car coming from up the street. Lights not on. I tuck my chin into my jacket and pull the zipper higher. I head straight for the liquor store. As I pull open the door, I see the patrol car turn down this street.

“Hey Pops,” as I unzip the jacket. “ How about a fifth of Jack?”
“You old enough to drink? I’ll need to see some ID.” He sets down the paper he was reading and gives me a look through his glasses.

A glance out the glass door shows the cruiser going by, not stopping. I reach back into my pants pocket and feel the knife. I give the old man a nice toothy smile. “Sure Pops. Got ID right here,” as I pull up my wallet and show him a driver’s license. After a quick glance, he hands it back and turns to get my order. I hand over a $20 dollar bill and he makes change. I grab the sack and change, fastening up my jacket. At the door I turn and look at him. Already bored he has gone back to reading the paper, leaning against the counter.

The black cloud fills my mind. I try to get out the door, but my body has already stopped moving. How long is this going to last this time?

Ready to learn the next lesson?

It’s that damn voice again. What was it saying the last time I heard it. Something about being faster… I can’t remember. Now a pain starts to rip through my mind. My eyes open, seeing the old man leaning against the counter – frozen in place it seems. Suddenly my hand is gripping the Bowie knife and pulling from its sheath. Watching in a daze of confusion and fear, but with a sense of knowing what is about to happen, I throw the knife at the old man.

Everything moves in slow motion as the knife flips through the air to land point first in the man’s temple. Time speeds up to normal. I hurriedly reach out and pull the knife, side-stepping the spray of blood. Spinning around I get behind the counter and pop the drawer, grab the cash and turn to leave. The knife is still dripping blood. I go to wipe it on the man’s shirt, but instead I find myself plunging it in his back and side several times. I force myself to wipe it off and sheath it. Sweat is dripping down my face, and I am not sure if it is that or tears I am tasting. Definitely something salty. Quickly I step around the counter and head out the door, cramming the wad of bills into the coat pocket.

Did you learn the lesson?

Again I am frozen and the blackness swoops in. I think back to what just happened. I killed someone. I stole. Without thinking just violently killed and mutilated another human being. Someone I didn’t know, had never met before. And I stole money. Not like it was lying out for free, I made an effort to get the drawer open to take it. What lesson is this supposed to teach?

How do you feel about the power of taking a life?

What?!? How do I feel? Just once why don’t you show yourself? I feel the blackness darken and seemingly solidify near me. I start shaking in fear. I start thinking about how it felt to have the ability, the control to end someone’s life. It does feel sort of good deep inside – more that it was a person than an animal. Imagine if it were someone I knew, or better yet, was emotionally attached to – imagine the rush as I killed them! Yes, I learned a lesson.

Was it the correct lesson?

Yes. I feel the presence in the darkness move away somewhat. The feeling of power fades from me, and I slowly start to hope this can still be saved.

I am stepping out on the street from the liquor store. I stop and look around. I still see the cop car about a half block up the street. Should I go and get him? It’s to late. I quickly reach into the coat packet, grab the wad of money and run back to the door. Flinging it open I toss the cash in, and grab the Bowie. I wipe off hopefully all my prints and toss it by the body. No time to cover my tracks, as I take off down the sidewalk, mixing my steps in with the multitudes of others as I hurry home.

Lack of Ideas leads to boring posts ...

As if you, my esteemed and valued readers, were not aware of this, especially at this blog. I have been living a boring life - trying to stay out of the spotlight for awhile I guess you could say. Nah, that don't sound right to me either, but it seems to be the course for right now.

It is Wednesday, and with all the free time that has been allotted to me during the course of my regular work hours, today I have a short excerpt I am working on. No name for it as of yet, and I am not sure where I am going with it, but the daydreams I get whilst sitting here at work and then typing them in sure come up with some really weird stuff. Must be something they put in the Coca Cola .... So without further delay, here is the Short Story for Wednesday.
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Morbid illusions drift like dark blue and red smoke intermingling across the abyss of my mind space. I feel it prodding and asking me questions just below my hearing level as I sleep. My eyes snap open and the shadows that have lunged close to hear the answers suddenly snap back into place: the lighting on the door frame; the shirt and skirt hanging on the closet door. My eyes roam across the room, as I prop myself upon my elbow. It’s early yet, not even 3:00am. I feel the sweat roll off the back of my ears, and down my neck. Sleep won’t be back for quite some time.

I close my eyes and lay back flat on my back. At least I didn’t wake up shouting as I usually do, and the wife is still asleep. What was the voice saying? I try to bring back the moment in picture in my mind, but it is still slipping from my memory. There will be no capturing it tonight. Tomorrow I can try again, if it shows up.

I drift off to sleep, scenes of moral or ethical issues racing across the mind’s eye. Again that voice just out of hearing… “And this? React to this one by …” It’s like instruction given subliminally. Is it trying to change me… and if so, change in a good way, or a worse way? Before I have a chance to worry about it everything goes dark.

“What ya gonna do now you mother fucker?!” Eyes snap open. I am standing a few yards from a corner of a building. A white man, about my size is standing about 5 feet in front of me waving a pistol at my head. A pistol? Where am I? “Hold still before I decide to just end your fucking life, you sonuvabitch!” Saliva is dripping from his mouth. I see a body on the ground already, and I wonder if it is someone I know or not.

“Chill out dude. I ain’t got nothing to do with you,” I try to calmly explain. Keep him from shooting was my ultimate goal. “I don’t know what is going on here, but we can go our own ways. Just put down the gun and walk.” I have my hand s up partway, trying to help show him the direction to put the gun. There’s some blood on my knuckles I notice. Can’t tell if it is mine or not.

“YOU’RE FUCKING CRAZY! You beat the shit out of my buddy and I am going to waste your ass now!!” Again the gun comes up waving, pointing occasionally towards my head. I step back a couple steps “Where you going? You ain’t going no where! We going to finish this!!” Saliva flies from his lips and he begins to step nearer to me. I take the chance and look down.

Sure enough, another male of similar build is laying face down on the sidewalk, sprawled out. I see from the side of his face that is upwards, there is some blood from the nose and mouth. I glance at my knuckles again. Could be. I see my wallet on the ground. At least it looks like my wallet.

“You and your buddy trying to rob me man? You want the money? I will give you the money. Just put that gun down.” The man just eyes me wildly, and the gun is not going anywhere but hanging in an elliptical orbit his hand is doing of its own accord.. I start to bend down to pick up the wallet and the guy steps forward and presses the gun to my forehead.

It is dark. No, not quite pitch black, I can feel more than see, some smoke weaves across the space in front of me. I reach out my hand and feel nothing. No change in temperature, or sensation of touch. Are my eyes open. I think so, but I could not be sure. I reach for a pocket, but realize I have nothing on. Straining my ears, I hope for a sound of something, be it a scuffle from me, or a drip of moisture – something to put a limit to my boundaries. There it is! The whispers have come back. You can here the ss sss sss sounds but they are just low enough I still cannot make out what is being said, or asked, or explained. I feel the smoke wrap sinuously around me, giving the look of being clothed, but no one has presented them selves to me.

A flash goes through my mind. The man holding a gun to my head, as I am slightly stooped over reaching for the wallet on the ground – frozen in place.

How does it feel?

I swear I heard the voice, but there was not physical ness to the sound. Almost as if I heard it directly in my head. I am not sure anymore. “How does what feel?” I ask aloud, my voice seemingly to fill the area, and yet sound tiny.

To die. To die, for nothing.

I start to feel my breathing starting to speed up. I think it might be a panic attack, but am not sure. I never had had one before. Am I dead? I rub my hands on my forehead, over the spot where the gun seemed to be held – nothing. I feel my chest and arms – no wounds. I see no blood anywhere, or scratches. Did I die? Was it for nothing?

The scene again flashes through my mind, only this time it is going about 2x fast forward. I see my hand grab the wallet, which flips open to reveal a couple one-dollar bills, and a loud roar as the gun went off – then darkness.

Heh heh heh….

I say nothing, but work on controlling my breathing. Slowly I get it back under control, but the voice doesn’t speak anymore. Time seems to have no limit here, and there is no feeling of standing too long, or hunger. Just a sense of being there, waiting for something.

To die … for nothing.

The scene again flashes through my mind, only this time it is going about 2x fast forward. I see my hand grab the wallet, then flip it off to the side. The eyes of the gun holder follow it. I reach up with my left and grab the gun hand, twist and remove the pistol from his grip. His eyes have turned back to match mine. I stick the barrel against his forehead, just above his eyes. His eyes. Red rimmed, watering, pupils dilated to nothing. His breathing started getting raggedly as if he had been running.

For nothing …

The eyes. I could see inside him. See his fear, what he had thought was power; what he had hoped he could do to me. My insides turned to ice. I pulled the trigger.

Click. I pull it again. Click. The once-attacker gasps then starts to back away, turning to his side to start running for his freedom. Click. I lower my arm. Sirens erupt around me as police cars come careening to a halt. I hear several voices yelling to drop the weapon, but I have no idea what they are talking about. What weapon? I hear another voice saying to raise my hands, which I do, and shots ring out. I feel the body twist in different directions, and amidst splashes of red feel myself fall to the ground.

To die … for nothing.

“Holy shit! I’ve been – “ I snapped upright in the darkness. My heart is beating like to come out of my chest. Sweat is rolling from my brow. A quick glance all around confirms I am in my bedroom, and it is barely 3:25am. The wife is still asleep. I sigh, and use one hand to wipe the sweat away from my eyes. ‘What is up with these freaky-ass dreams?’ I wonder to myself… knowing I will never have an answer. Then there in the back of my mind I hear that voice again “To die … for nothing.” I don’t have time for this crap to psycho-analyze some damn dream I am having, that doesn’t last but like 20 minutes, but feels like forever. I get up and head for the bathroom. I quick cup of water, and I head back to bed, quickly closing my eyes, and trying to clear my head. I feel myself slowly slide off to slumber.

Typical morning at my house....

I woke up. What for? Did I need to cough, or go pee? It's plenty dark yet, wonder what time it is.

I sit up on the edge of the bed, let out a little yawn and rub my hands across my face. 'Pee or what?' I ask myself. Hmmm, body heard - pee it is. I get up and stumble the few steps to the restroom doorway, flick out the hand along the wall for the light and wince as the single bulb comes on. Two steps forward - complete business - shake, shake. Turn around, be sure to get the light. Pause for the eyes to adjust and glance over towards the Wife's head for the clock. A nice bright 5:25 stares redly back at me. 'Sigh'. I sit back on the bed then decide it isn't worth sleeping over. I stretch out on my side and watch my wife.

She's so soft looking there in the early morning light that barely penetrates the drapes. Evidently she was warm and has kicked her blankets off, and I reach out gently to rub her leg softly.

" -neath the light of a neon moon. Ohhhhh if youuu looosee your one and only - " Damn! I can't reach the alarm. I let it play out at 3/4 volume for a minute, then reach over and nudge the Wife. A hand rises from the shadow of where she lays and flops on the snooze button. I know she has got 10 minutes until she gets up to make sure the daughter is up and getting ready for school. Which means I can nap for about 30 more before I take her to school.

I reach out again and softly rub my hand against her thigh. "Stop it." I freeze. I move my hand down towards her knee, and rub again. "I said stop it." Uh oh.

"Why hun? I just miss being able to cuddle with you, " which is technically true. I have been on the kids the past 4 nights about being in bed on time so Momma can come to bed. As it is, she doesn't come to bed until after I am asleep.

"You ain't wanting cuddling, and I want to rest as long as I can. You can't fool me with your ulterior motives." I glare at the lump on the other side of the bed. She has not once raised her face to the sky, or moved except the arm to shut the snooze. "If you're good, maybe tonight." What? A consolation prize? I don't need no steenkin' prize!

"Sorry, but by then that will be too late. Today is the last day of that sale down the street from work. You know, the one at Benji's Boob-a-rama ...." I let the voice fade and decide it is time to just be quiet.

A muffled sound. I swore it sounded at first like the first rumblings of a lioness' roar as it would build through the throat, but as you could tell, I hadn't watched enough of them nature shows to know better. "Ha. Ha. Do and die."

I rolled over to my back. Whatever happened to one of the most primal urges that help separate homo sapien from some of the lower class mammals? Has our generation just retarded those tendencies so that they are no longer necessary? I feel like I have lost part of actual being by not being able to get that growl -from-the-gut UGH! UGH!UGH every now and then! The feel of the fist as it pounds on chest of the muscular male!! Let that Bull Ape Yell ring free from the midst of your being - (insert favorite Tarzan yell)!!!

Aye, it has been thwarted; diverted; pushed to the wayside. And all she had to do was move one arm. Sigh. If I hurry, maybe I can still get 20 more minutes sleep. Then again, there's always a chance for tonight....

Here's a little side story for ya...

How many people in the world say that they are NOT finicky eaters? Not picky. Will eat anything and everything. Doesn’t matter as long as it is prepared basically correct, and served at the right temperature it’ll go down the gullet. I used to be one of those. But I started getting picky when I was around 8-9 years old. One of those major life events that changed how I looked at certain foods.

My Dad and Step Mom (SM) got married in 1980. They had dated I am guessing at least half a year, maybe more. I never really cared at that age. Well, Dad had a regular job as a draftsman for Beard Industries. They made grain dryers for farms all around the country. SM had a job working in shipping/receiving at the only Peter Paul/Cadbury plant in the US. Which on a side note was located in Frankfort, IN. Boy, I sure remember the days when she would bring home a box of damaged Powerhouse candy bars … or Easter when they got discount prices on them Cadbury eggs with the crème in the middle. Anyways, I am getting sidetracked.

SM had always done some side business of making/decorating cakes for people. Most of the time it was for friends since she worked full time, but she would make exceptions for other people too. She had had one of them long ass classes from Wilson cake school on decorating and she is a very artistic person to boot. Well, as it goes, we moved into a 2nd floor apartment in Frankfort within a year or two. The 1st floor consisted of 2 empty “stores”. Well, SM and Dad decided to start of a cake decorating and supply shop since Peter Paul had closed and she was out of work. Sure enough they did start one up, and it did moderately well considering. One of the main things of the biz was taking cake orders. For anything. Parties, B-days, Anniversaries, weddings – I mean anything. I even saw her do one for a bachelorette party. So she got a good number of orders throughout the week, and even busier on weekends, and that would vary more with the time of year.

Guess who learned how to bake? Uh Huh. You betcha. From the time I got out of school I would be in charge of baking the cakes. Make sure of correct flavors, sizes of the pans, and then have to make the icing to boot! Gotta know how much for what sized cake, is it supposed to flavored or not. This went on for 2 years, basically until Dad got diagnosed with cancer and they closed the shop.

I learned to hate cake. I learned to throw up at the mere taste of frosting. I don’t even like the smell of it baking. You know how many times in a normal year you are exposed to cake as a dessert? My family still asks if I want any at Bday parties for the kids and always get the “look” from me, like I would puke on them if they came near. But sometimes, you just have to swallow your pride and try not to puke.

I had gone to a poker party last Saturday night, and had Daughter watch the 2 older boys. We arrived back home about 10:30’ish I would say, and of course they were still up. Well, I in the bedroom taking off my shoes when the Daughter comes in. Seems they had made a cake for the Wife’s and mine anniversary. Cake. Worse, chocolate cake, with store bought icing, in 3 different flavors. I about hurled. But, being the parent I am I said how nice it looked and to get it back in the kitchen before she dropped it or something. I can sit here and tell you how my 15-year-old Daughter has known from birth I hate cake, but it didn’t stop her. Or the boys who had helped. God knows I love the thought, but next year, a hug will do just fine.

PeacE

Band Geeks of the World - UNITE!

Since Freddie was asking, I figured I could do a little post about my band geekiness, and those around the world that share these types of memories.

As a youngster, about 3rd grade, I was fascinated by singers and instruments that played low. So that year I started playing tuba music, but due to my size, actually used a baritone. By 7th grade I had sized-up enough to handle an actual tuba. I continued playing tuba throughout high school, being a member of the marching band and everything else I could do: pit orchestra for school plays, tutors for Jr high band students, Regional and State bands, etc. My senior year I even took Jazz band and played bass trombone.

Even now I can think back and remember some of the different trips we would take for band competitions. My buds and I would sneak out of whatever place we were and try to find some trouble, go joy-riding in some security golf cart, etc.

Being in band was a good way for me to stay in shape as well. During marching season, as we practiced on the field, and the director was working with a different section, if we got caught goofing off you had to run a lap around the field - with your instrument. I got alot of running in those four years, enough I lost the chunk in the middle I had, that I have now regained. It built up arm muscles my senior year, when we got rid of the sousaphones and bought marching basses. The difference is the sousaphone wraps around you, the bass is carried in front of you, and gets "snapped" onto your shoulder when playing. We are talking 45 lbs of brass, carried in front of you, while marching onto/off the field, into position, etc. I remember the cramps we would have after major performances... icy/hot never worked so good!

It's been 17 years now since I have last played a tuba. I have a trumpet at home I get out every now and then. I still want to get a trombone or a tuba, just too expensive at this time. My daughter has taken up clarinet, and in the next year or two, the oldest boy will have the option of taking up an instrument if he chooses. Right now he is more interested in learning guitar. I have gotten him up to 4 chords, and he can play them pretty good for an 8 yr old.

Anyways, enough of this for now. I'll have to try and remember some other band story later on.

PeacE