Battle Scars

Given it has been quite some time since my last post, I might as well get things heated up right off the bat. I’m well aware not everyone will be in full agreement with me, but if that was my biggest concern, I wouldn’t be on here doing what I do reasonably well: venternetting (which of course is the fine art of venting via the internet).

I’ll start by establishing that I do my best to stay up to date on current events, major news stories, some politics, sports and other forms of entertainment in order to add to my ever-growing wealth of random knowledge whenever possible. This enables me to insert myself into a public discussion of any one of a number of topics that are presented, and not only remain involved but also to formulate my own opinion based on the facts I gathered. It is important to me to inform you, the reader, that I do my research, I acquire facts, I listen to and consider the validity of others’ opinions of the matter, and I apply this information into each and every post I create, no matter how silly or serious I intend to be.

Carrie Underwood is a beautiful woman. (Was that random enough for you?) Personally, I have no desire to sit and listen to her music on any regular basis, given I’m not a big fan of the majority of songs I can identify as hers. Don’t get me wrong though...she is exceptionally talented. Her voice is pretty remarkable and her range is nothing short of impressive (not quite as impressive as Mr. Freddie Mercury, but that’s beside the point). For all I know, Ms. Underwood is a very benevolent, caring, wonderful individual, only because I have never heard anything contrary to that to this day. So long as she is as great of a person as she presents herself to be, she certainly deserves success and all that comes with it. You will never get an argument out of me on that, unless she did something devastating to jeopardize her own career, and I don’t foresee that happening.

Before I continue, I will also state that if this story manages to make its way to Ms. Underwood herself (or even so far as her publicist, agent, etc.), there is zero ill will directed toward her. I am a firm believer in the concept of karma and I would prefer to not introduce bad juju into my life for wishing harm on anyone, especially on someone I don’t personally know. The issue I have has nothing to do with her, but rather the media coverage/obsessive behavior that currently surrounds her. Please allow me to elaborate.

Some time in November of 2017, Carrie Underwood suffered what was described as a gruesome, horrific, terrible, brutal...(and so many more adjectives used by so many media outlets) fall outside of her home due to icy weather conditions. This fall resulted in a broken wrist and a severe laceration to her face, specifically in the area of her lips reaching up to her nose. Repairing the wound required over 40 stitches according to all of these news articles, so there is no question that the incident was quite serious and it is no surprise that the media (let’s face facts here: the paparazzi) jumped all over this story. From there, follow-ups were slow to develop, as is any recovery from a rough injury.

Until recently...

So, within the last few weeks, I have seen headline after headline, some occurring daily, from an unlimited number of sources, about how Ms. Underwood has finally released photos of herself on Instagram, showing the scar from her injury. Here we are four months removed from the incident and the media can’t seem to get enough of the existence of a visible scar on a celebrity. Barely visible, to be honest. Barely doesn’t even cover it. Another photo of her surfaced from December, only one month after the accident, and the girl in the photo with her was face to face with her and claimed she didn’t even notice it herself. It’s fair to say that a woman of her status (famous, wealthy, and because whether you agree with me or not on its validity, beautiful) is capable of affording the very best doctors to ensure that she would not only avoid permanent disfiguration, but also come as close to the appearance that it never even happened in the first place.

Please, for the love of whatever my fine readers believe in, stop. Stop reporting on something that is clearly not earth-shattering news. CNN, ABC, CBS, Fox, NBC...all of you and your satellite stations need to stop beating this story to death. I can’t speak for Ms. Underwood as to whether or not she actually wants or enjoys all of the attention, but I can’t imagine she’s been welcoming the vultures breaking down the metaphorical and actual doors just to get up-close photos of her face and to answer the same few questions over and over again. If I was in that position, I know I’d much rather deal with it once and request privacy beyond that.

This is the part that I want to reiterate the fact that none of this is directed in a negative light personally toward Ms. Underwood. So here goes...

Why can’t this attention be focused on someone more deserving of it? Clearly she has a long way to go before she falls out of the public eye, so it’s time to move on. What can you report on in place of this? Well how about we turn a story about a local hero into a national one? Or perhaps we take an article dedicated to the memory of a firefighter who lost his life saving someone and dive into his life more in-depth to tell his story. How about a piece about a military veteran returning home to his family and being honored with a Purple Heart? You don’t see the media drooling over the opportunity to show photos of a person who was injured/disfigured while having less of a concern for their own life over someone’s else. No, that time is instead spent on a celebrity.

I won’t even get started on how ridiculous it is that a person who puts themselves at the ultimate risk for their career and earns a salary that these celebrities wipe their asses with, because that’s a whole other topic.

It’s just evident that once they publish a story about a hero firefighter, policeman, military veteran, EMT or any other public servant guarding your safety, it’s once and done. No more do we reflect on the actions of bravery, publicly crediting each individual with their achievement(s), honoring their courage (and in the worst case scenario, their memory). Instead, the focus turns to figuring out who the most recent pregnant Kardashian is, anything to do with the royal family (let’s face it, folks, they are nothing more than celebs...Parliament runs that shit), and whoever the next dirtbag male actor/singer/reporter/politician to be accused of sexual misconduct. Why is the American media so shamefully shallow and pathetic? I can’t speak for all people, but I know I’m not the only one that prefers some real, factual (and dare I say positive) news to read, about people that make a difference in the world every single day.

So in the end, I hate knowing that Ms. Underwood hurt herself, and I wouldn’t wish that upon her or anyone else, and that’s just me being a decent human being. I’m just saying we need to move on. She survived. She looks fine. All of her limbs are intact. She can walk, talk and believe it or not...she can perform. It’s no longer a story to be told. Please people, put your English/journalism/leisure studies degrees to good use and find a real story, put some coherent sentences together, have your editor proofread it and reclaim any bit of self-respect you may have had at one point. What you do is truly sad, and it makes someone like myself look like a Pulitzer Prize candidate. Be better, that’s all I ask.

Where Do These People Come From?

An amazing thing happens when you venture off to certain locations in what most would deem common destinations, some more common than others. I'm sure all public venues experience it to some degree, but I'm sure most people will agree with me that the few I have in mind certainly stand out. What I'm talking about are the random miscreants...the creepiest of the creepy...the dregs of society that crawl out from their caves, dungeons or display sheds in Home Depot parking lots and present themselves to the general public. Us common folk, at some level, already believe we are what we would like to think is normal. I don't know if their sudden emergence has to do with the lunar cycle or if there's a secret alliance of mutant humans that gathers in a few particular venues, but I will provide you with a short list of the ones that have stood out to me as high quality people-watching spots.

The most obvious of all: Walmart.

The only establishment on my list that has a website dedicated to the true home of the public display of poor lifestyle and fashion choices. If you have yet to visit www.peopleofwalmart.com, it can provide entertainment for hours. I know that I don't have to go into a detailed discussion of some of what you see at Walmart because to some extreme or another, we have all seen someone or something that has inevitably corrupted your mind and seared an image into your memory that you want to forget, yet you know you never will. Whether it be a motorized shopping cart being driven by what appears to be a mid-sized elephant with human children closely following, or a man dressed as a streetwalker wearing high heels and booty shorts (see above) who looks like he would normally drive a taxi or own a shady pawn shop, or possibly a family of four that arrived in not only the same outfit, but also proudly donning their magnificent mullets (that one I myself witnessed in Virginia). For some reason, these people (and the many more that I did not describe) view Walmart as some sort of safe haven for looking and acting like a total buffoon. I even wonder if some people actually and purposely are at home looking halfway decent and then actively attempt to appear like a total slob. It's not like they just roll out of bed looking that way...that takes effort!! Some would argue that these people "don't own a mirror", but I know that can't be true. These individuals surely have the need to admire themselves before leaving the house, so my thought on this is what is the condition of said mirror? Is it warped? Was it acquired from an old carnival fun house? Is the reflection some alternate dimension that makes everything look sophisticated and fancy? If it's not a fun house mirror, did they purchase it at Walmart? That will surely prevent me from buying a mirror there. I would actually appreciate if one of these people I'm criticizing now would give me what they believe is a reasonable and valid explanation as to why they do what they do. Is their goal to entertain as many witnesses as possible? Do they view us as weird? I'm truly curious. Please someone enlighten me with their first-person insight and get back to me.

Rock concerts. Those can become quite the place to crawl out from under a rock to attend. Now let me say this: I try to speak from experience, and the majority of shows I have attended have ranged between a tame rock band and some intense heavy metal. With that said, I am not implying rock concerts are the only ones that draw in an odd crowd, but something tells me they are certainly the most common. For instance, I'm not talking about a group of 50-somethings that all went out to a Jimmy Buffett show with their matching Tommy Bahama palm tree print shirts and their Banana Republic khaki short shorts, garnished with socks and sandles. That's far from extreme, that's just extremely lame. I also feel like it has become the norm for the country music fan, their typical attire consists of the oldest jeans they own saturated with cow shit and motor oil, no legitimate t-shirt and a homemade plaid button-down shirt-vest that they meticulously cut themselves with the nearest sharp object they could find at home and conveniently left unbuttoned so everyone can check out their (fl)abs. (This applies to the male concert-goers, because those women that attend...you keep wearing them Daisy Dukes and whatever limited amount of fabric you call a shirt, who am I to stop you from enhancing my window-shopping experience? Ok, sorry...typical male moment over.) Some fans of rock and roll bands are more dedicated to looking the part than most other genres. Take KISS for instance: I'm not sure if there is a more loyal fan following in the rock genre than there is for KISS, if not in the sense of loving their music, then they make up for it with their commitment to dressing the part. It's not so much that their costumes are "crazy", so to speak, but the effort is absolutely evident. The detailed face paint, spandex and bondage-esque body armor is practically an accepted part of being in the KISS Nation. Want something more intense? How about Gwar? If you've never heard of them, the over-the-top costumes and makeup they wear on stage only further encourages their fans to show up looking like they just got off the set of a bad horror-porn about bloody mutated animals doing unimaginable things to one another. It's about as bizarre as it gets. My most memorable experience was surprisingly my first concert experience: Tool on Halloween night. Without making it a long drawn-out story, all I can tell you is that it was actually difficult to determine whether or not some of these people were dressed up for the band or the holiday. Fantastic show though. Anyway, the whole point of this is that these people exist in society in plain clothes for what I hope takes up the other 99.99% of their life. Either they lurk in a dark hole somewhere and wait for these shows to come to town or they incredibly clean up well enough to have jobs, hobbies and social lives and you'd never know what goes on behind the scenes. Maybe because I've never felt the urge to look like a murderous warthog on a steady diet of steroids and PCP, I still have a tough time grasping why these people do it. Perhaps I never will.

Laundromats. Let me start this one off with a positive comment about these people. The fact is that they are going to a laundromat with full loads of dirty laundry and they leave with what I am left to assume are clean clothes. The active attempt to not be creepy and dirty on an everyday basis is certainly worth noting. Alright, so back to the unfortunate truth about some of these vagrants is that some of them come in wearing dirtier clothes than the ones they are washing, or so it at least appears on the surface. Now I've heard the excuse that "today is laundry day", which apparently authorizes anyone to show up looking like they just spent the last three weeks sleeping in a sewer in close proximity to a toxic waste dump. On laundry day, if I require a visit to one of these places, I simply wear gym shorts and an older t-shirt, so basically workout gear. I'm not there to impress anyone, and even if I was, I'd be well-prepared to do a few push-ups to show off my guns (they're more like pea-shooters, let's be real). Definitely not my Sunday best, but not something I should have disposed of years ago either. It's scary to think that there was probably a back-up option that they passed over to instead wear something from the Derelicte Campaign. While that accounts for one-third of these people, there's another massive demographic to mention, with emphasis on massive. There are the women that could anchor a yacht with their sheer magnitude, yet they felt like today was the day to unleash their yoga pants. Just a reminder folks...you can gouge out your eyes all you want, but you can not gouge out your mind's eye. Those images sear into your memory bank like a flame-kissed steak. You are crippled with fear that their asses might actually be swallowing their pants with each strained step they take. Yoga pants are designed to stretch, but they are not limitless, and these women march on whisker-thin ice every time they squeeze every ounce of cellulite into that miraculous material. If that wasn't bad enough, they pair it with a top that has some sort of positive adjective that they believe describes them well, like "SEXY" or "BABYDOLL". They should say something more like "HUNGRY" or "BABY BACK RIBS". A little more truth in advertising, that's what I'm all about. Here's a novel idea...and I'll preface this idea by saying that it is cold-blooded and a bit mean, but the truth hurts...I challenge these individuals to cut their food budget in half. By doing this, they should be able to afford their own washer and dryer set, therefore saving them money, they melt away a hefty amount of human blubber, and they save money in the long run by not having to pay unreasonable amounts of money to wash their clothes in public. Three birds, one stone. Damn, I'm good.

These are by far not the only three places you bump into these Neanderthals, but to me, these are the three that stand out the most. I can think of a few more that are worth honorable mentions:

Bike Rallies - I really do appreciate motorcycle enthusiasts, but some of you people need to come to grips with some facts: you're not in your 20s/30s anymore, you've put on some weight in areas that leather does not compliment well, and you look, smell and sound like you've smoked since Gerber was your main menu option.

Gyms - This one gets an honorable mention because the overwhelming majority of gym-goers are in in pretty decent shape. They are what we like to call "regulars". The "irregulars" are the ones that go for 20 minutes, look around in confusion and leave, so they can say they've been "going to the gym every day". Fun fact: I once saw an irregular sitting at a weight bench with very light Dumbbells...next to her bag of Doritos. The worst part is she works in the same building as me. Amazing.

Beaches - This one wouldn't be fair to analyze because everyone goes to the beach. I'll just leave it at this: for some people, beach blankets should be worn, not laid on, and Speedos/banana hammocks...not okay. You keep those covered please, your little twig and berries are not for sharing. Dammit, there are kids around!

I'll leave off with this thought: I get to make these judgements because I myself am weird. Admitting is the first step, and it takes one to know one. In this case...I know a lot. Take it from me...you people are f'n weird.

The Creepiest Man In South Carolina

There is no question in my mind about this. There is no debate. Of all of the men in South Carolina (not including those currently behind bars or in an asylum), I have met the #1 creeper this state has to offer. I exclude those imprisoned simply because the majority of them are creepy enough as it is, yet if I'm lucky, I'll never have to cross paths with them. Based on this man's actions and comments, I'm a little surprised this man hasn't ended up in prison himself. Maybe he was just released...

I digress...

Allow me to set the scene for you:

   - I was working at my second job, in self-checkout at a grocery store.

   - All self-checkout registers were open and I was walking to the front aisle to see if there were any customers with just a few items, any loose baskets, to straighten out any messy shelves nearby, etc.

   - The store was not very busy, so the front aisle was not swarming with customers.

   - A man around 70 years old, give or take a few, was rolling toward me in one of those motorized seated shopping carts (in all fairness, he looked like he actually needed it, he wasn't just some fat, lazy slob...that's a discussion for a future post).

   - He was about 15-20 feet from me, and he waved to grab my attention, and so it began...

(This guy is checking out apples...the creeper I met was checking out apple bottoms...)

Here was our brief, yet flabbergasting conversation:

D: Did you need help finding anything?

Old Man: I already found it...

D: Oh really? And what's that exactly?

Old Man: Do you know what a Brazil butt looks like?

D: Yes, I'm familiar...

(He proceeds to describe one anyway...)

Old Man: It's one of those butts that you can sit something on top of, just like a shelf. Really round and big...very nice.

D: I understand sir.

Old Man: There's this girl shopping here right now, she's got one for sure. I've been following her around the store.

[Pause: this man literally admitted to me that in no uncertain terms, at least for the duration of his and her shopping visit, that he was stalking this poor woman. I was already uncomfortable at that point. It gets worse...]

D: Oh...I gotcha...

Old Man: Keep an eye out for her...I'm sure she's coming. You'll see.

D: I'm sure I will.

[The old man then turns down one of the aisles, and just before he was completely out of the front aisle, he stops abruptly, looks across the store and then looks back at me very excited...]

Old Man: There she is! There she is! Make sure you get a good look!

So this guy slowly creeps forward down the aisle, and I figured it was over at this point. The woman walks by, and to be quite honest...not nearly as advertised, but that's beside the point. What I couldn't have predicted was that she would turn down the same aisle as him. She walked past him completely unsuspecting of his creepish behavior, and he looked back at me, smiled, and continued to follow her.

I have no way of knowing how long he had been following this woman. It's possible this man even followed her from another location to the grocery store, but who knows? All I can say is that was sketchy as hell and I pray for that woman's safety. She had no idea she could have been sexually assaulted by Bad Grandpa that day.

Now looking back at the facts, somebody out there may think that was really rather harmless compared to what could have taken place, or that they know of another instance that was even worse than what I described. If you saw it from my perspective, you'd be thinking of the age, the motorized shopping cart, the evident excitement, the clear intentions, and the outspokenness of said intentions make this man insanely creepy, especially since it was all in public. If anyone reading this can match or beat this dreg of society, I welcome you to share your story with me. I'm always up for some high quality entertainment.

Alright, time to go research for future posts (a.k.a. people watching...a.k.a. work).

D.

Thoughts on Déjà Vu

Everyone has had it. Nobody can explain it.

Go ahead, science. Tell me how experiencing this phenomenon makes me believe I've been there, done that, or seen it before. Tell me how my brain is producing some image of something that I will do in the distant future, but I will not remember it until the moment it happens. Even if you could rationalize some chemical reaction that results in such a strange occurrence, find a way to convince me that this particular event, Déjà Vu, makes any sort of logical sense.

"Whoa" indeed, Keanu.

Déjà Vu - n. - the feeling that you have already experienced something that is actually happening for the first time. (Origin - French adjective, literally translated "already seen")

That shit's straight out of Merriam-Webster, dog. Then through my limited research (because I'm not really looking to delve into the concept of déjà vu all night on a Friday...I do have a life, surprisingly), there are several theories I've read about, but ultimately, that's all they are...theories. The only fact you can derive from it is that it has been experienced by many. This is not an unfamiliar thing to the general public. Given, it's also not something that happens on such regularity that a person can't go a day without thinking, "Damn, hasn't this happened before?" Even if that is the case, that's an extremely rare case, and I'd still be willing to call "Shenanigans" on the truth-stretcher in question. I'll be glad to inform said poor soul that having consecutive bad days at the same crappy job does not constitute having déjà vu. That's called "life". Also, we don't live in a real life version of Groundhog Day with Bill Murray. He'll tell you it doesn't actually work like that either.

Here's Bill holding the second cousin of the Caddyshack gopher.

With all of this said, I would rather discuss my own profound thoughts on this topic. Whether you find them to be profound or not is entirely up to you, but I had a sort of mind-blowing moment the last time I experienced déjà vu. I might as well jump right into it now.

First of all, one of the debates that should immediately draw our attention is the origin of the occurrence itself. Think about it: we are literally experiencing something in real life that we truly feel we have done before. The exact place, time, environment, people...every little detail is so precise that the fact that you recognize it is rather incredible in itself. So how is it that we are recognizing something that you can honestly say you have only physically experienced at that moment, yet mentally you visualized it sometime in the past? One could surmise that the sheer repetition of some everyday activity resides in your memory and eventually it becomes your mind's idea of what could take place, although it's hard to believe that it would only be coincidence if it actually happened. So I'm already going to rule that out.

The next thing to consider is the possibility of premonition. Is it so hard to believe that we all possess some sort of sixth sense, no matter how minute in nature it may be? Clearly I'm not talking about seeing dead people or even possessing psychic capabilities, but I don't find it too far-fetched to have a mere glimpse into the future for even a few seconds every once in a great while. Look at it this way: have you ever had a feeling in your gut, a hunch that something, some random event, would take place, such as bumping into an old friend or receiving a phone call from someone you haven't heard from in a long time...and then it came true? How much different is that really? We're also not talking about constantly having these moments that are life-altering in any way. I can say from experience that I've only had déjà vu during some of the most mundane moments: relaxing at home, sitting in class at school, finishing out my day at work...not exactly epic memories in my life.

Now for my deep thoughts on this topic. Theoretically, if this is in fact a form of premonition, and at that moment, you can distinctly recall having that occurrence, I'm wondering why we can not predict it before it happens. Lets look at the facts again. First, you need to previously have visualized the inevitable event, primarily in a dream state. Next, quite simply, the event occurs. Finally, you acknowledge that said event was not the first time it had occurred, physically or not. So with all of this in mind, wouldn't it be rational to believe you could extract that moment from your memory before it "re"-occurs, and you would then know it's about to happen before it does? That's just following logic. This does open up the potential possibility of altering the events that have then been deemed "predictable", so to speak, which is far too in-depth of a topic to get into without straying from the point. It is still a factor that would need to be considered if the anticipation was possible. The question remains unanswered: why can we not predict the event even though we can confirm it is familiar after the fact? I don't know if there will ever be an answer to that. At least not one that holds water.

My last interest on this matter is a little more philosophical. So let's chalk déjà vu up as nothing more than coincidence or something like it. Is it something that is just part of being human, or is there a higher power involved? For those of you that are reading this that have faith in any one of a number of religions, you have to consider this as something that a higher being could control. The same goes for individuals that believe in extraterrestrials having an influence over our thoughts. The overall idea is that this could be viewed as a sign from these entities. What does this sign mean, you ask? Who knows? It could be a way for them to acknowledge your faith in their existence, or maybe they're just extremely bored and this is a way to screw with your head to keep themselves entertained. The latter actually seems like the most likely scenario in this instance. Hell, if I had the power to control someone's thoughts that way, I'd have some real fun with it. I'd make sure to do it so a person remembers stepping on a heaping pile of dog crap at an outdoor wedding, or when their pants split at work with six hours left on their shift...you know, moments that are already memorable in themselves, but would benefit from that extra bit of peculiarity that makes it stand out.

I'd make him remember this moment...twice.

It's pretty safe to say that nobody will ever know how or why déjà vu takes place, unless that's something we discover post-mortem (which also truly depends on your beliefs on afterlife). All I can say though is that it has certainly happened to me several times before, and...

...wait a minute...I feel like I've done this before...

False alarm. This post is different from the previous ones I've done.

Whew...that was a close one.

D.

Ream-ember When I Used To Write?

I started this blog over two years ago and had approximately 100 posts. I was posting on nearly an everyday basis. It kept me busy, it was a good release to get my thoughts out there to share with everyone (and by "everyone", I mean the select few that actually read this), and it made me strive for more things to write about.

Then life happened...

   1) My most recent ex didn't like that I wrote a blog. She made that explicitly clear to me, and even without a shred of a valid reason why, she nagged me to the point that it wasn't worth the aggravation of listening to her make a big deal of it anymore.

   2) My roommate decided to move back up north, which forced me into the choice of where I would live and who I would live with. Decision made: stayed down here, found a one bedroom apartment, and I chose to live alone.

   3) Although my full time job is enough to cover the living expenses (especially since I was recently promoted), I needed to take on a second job to help eliminate my debt. (See http://reaming-and-writing.blogspot.com/2012/09/crazy-btch-sessions-pt-ii.html for more on that.) This summer, I had about six or seven days off from both jobs. I was able to visit the beach (less than a mile from my apartment, by the way) three of those days. I haven't had time for car maintenance, doctor/dentist/eye appointments, or quite simply just time to relax.

   4) I found someone special to spend time with in the few instances I have said time. We both seem to make each other happy, and to her and I, that's all that matters.

These are what have prevented me from delivering my messages and telling my stories on here, but that will be changing. I've finally been given reduced hours at the second job. My lady friend and I don't always have schedules that align, so there will be free time after work every so often. I've been gathering plenty of material over the time of my absence from writing (which has now surpassed a full year, unfortunately), so there is a lot to share.

Some examples of topics you may encounter upon your visits:

   1) Grocery Self-Checkout 101

   2) Domestic Violence In Major Sports

   3) Incredible Netflix Finds

   4) Bringing Back Words & Phrases

This is just a sampling of what is to come. All I can tell you is...

...the reamer is back.

D.

Jesus Saves

You see it.

You hear it.

It's a phrase that even those who deny any and all religions as truth are familiar with:

Jesus Saves.

In case you couldn't already tell, I'm sort of a cynical thinker. Actually, not 'sort of'...blatantly. Well anyway, I was on the road on my way home from work one of these days when along came a 67-passenger church van with some super generic church title pasted on either side. You know the ones:

Our Redeemer Lutheran

Everlasting Peace Baptist

Saint John the Baptist Evangelical

The True Path Non-Denominational Church.

He Rose Again Seventh Day Adventist

Before I get to the real meat and potatoes (or the loaves and the fishes, for you Bible buffs) of my ramblings, I do want to point out the particular ironies in the church names I just made up (because YES it is that easy). The first two, Our Redeemer and Everlasting Peace I'll mention later on, for their irony is not yet relevant. Saint John the Baptist...well nowadays if you say you're a Baptist, you're not an Evangelical. Sort of like how Lutherans do zero teachings of saints and sainthood in general (go ahead...ask a Catholic), yet they have no problem naming a church after one because they lacked any cleverness. I know this because that's what I was raised to learn. Saint John was a religious prophet that performed many baptisms, and I am well aware that doesn't mean he's actually a Baptist by religion. If you're butt-hurt already, I suggest you exit stage right (Mac users, stage left) immediately. The True Path Non-Denominational is one I feel especially proud of. The simple irony here is that if there was a "true path" that would make it pretty easy to distinguish one denomination from the rest. Honestly though, non-denominational churches are the new euphemism for 'cult'. That's the greatest cop-out in the history of cop-outs. "Well we want to have a church to celebrate our Lord," (because not capitalizing 'Lord' would make me a heathen), "but we want our congregation to feel free to have their choice of beliefs while we teach them the way we look at it." Yea, that makes no sense, folks. These people are not pastors, priests, ministers...whatever. They are motivational speakers with a lot of money and no souls. The very fact that some of you are convinced they are more than that only confirms they are closer to being cult leaders than men of faith. All I'm going to suggest is please don't attend the Eternal Kool-Aid Lock-In they have planned for next weekend. Just sayin'. Finally, there's the He Rose Again Seventh Day Adventist church. This one is simple..."on the third day, he rose again." That is in black and white in that coveted book you love so much. Why worship the seventh day? Also according to that book, didn't God rest on the seventh day? You're making these people attend church on the day that the Bible says we should be sitting on our ever-so-fat asses at home so we can watch the game? Doesn't sound legitimate to me. My ultimate pleasure would be to find out that one of these church names is actually taken, and I would love to challenge the leader of said organization to defend their reasoning. I do enjoy a good debate.

Alright, so let's get back to the plot. "Jesus Saves." My cynicism begs to ask the question, "What does he save exactly?" All of these establishments would love for you to believe it is you he is saving. 

(Editor's note: if you aren't butt-hurt yet, but still have a feeling there is potential for you to get to that point, I strongly urge you to stop reading here. It's not going to get any more pleasant for you. Thank you for at least reading this far, and please check back for any non-religious-driven posts.)

Phew...they're gone. Thank God...oh wait...

Back to this saving concept. We are taught from the time we have any recollection from our youth that Jesus was God's earthly son who was crucified to save us from our sins. What I want to know is how is it that nailing a human being to a giant wooden cross suddenly saves everyone else in existence and future existence from all wrongdoing? So you're telling me that Ariel Castro is immediately forgiven because of Jesus' death, even after all that he did to those three innocent women in Cleveland? You're saying that James DiMaggio gets a free pass after murdering a mother and brother of a young girl he kidnapped because of his sick obsession, all because some guy died on a cross almost 2,000 years ago? Only if they repent, you say? Well that seems pretty fair, I suppose. All of these felonious individuals who suddenly "find God" after committing some of the most heinous acts are forgiven by that literal definition. What's that? Oh, they have to truly mean it too?! I guess that narrows the playing field a little, but the ultimate fact here is that millions of people believe this based purely on blind faith. I'd say that's the truest form of faith in all fairness, but you can never know without a shadow of a doubt that Jesus was anything more than a prophet or a religious figurehead to give everyone else a high standard to live up to. That's not a negative thing by any stretch of the imagination, but anything beyond that is pretty difficult to accept as truth.

So let's say that hypothetically the whole "forgiveness of sins" and "saving your soul" thing is a wash. I would never argue that Jesus still doesn't save anything. If you don't know where I'm going with this by now, well then you may be one of the contributors to the largest business in existence. That business is the Bank...wait...Church of God. Jesus does save...your hard-earned money. Think about it, folks...no, really...really think about it. Where do those offerings go? I attended the same church growing up for over twenty years, then assisted with a youth group at another church for a few more, and neither church seemed to show any sign of structural improvement, at least none that directly benefitted the congregation. There were more glamorous statues and decor added to make the altar more aesthetically pleasing, but that's about all. Seriously, God could wipe his all-powerful, omnipresent butt with Bill Gates' bank statement. Luckily for the clergy, each one of them gets access to this holy account. All of them have a debit card linked to the Unlimited Salvation Savings Account...and it's all tax free! What a deal! You don't believe me? Have you seen the typical residency of a pastor, priest or some other religious figure? Humble is hardly the word I would use, especially in the cases of these non-denominational factories of deception. For example, in Virginia, one of these (cult) leaders flew to his church in his own personal helicopter every Sunday. It was only after nearby residents complained of the noise it created that he stopped doing that. Yea...way to "...humble yourselves before the Lord..." (James 4:10). Represented below is the actual logo of the Vatican Bank. Holy credit!

Remember those ironic church names I mentioned earlier? Let's touch on those for a moment. "Our Redeemer Lutheran." Oh yea, they redeem alright. They redeem your checks almost as soon as you hand it to them. Hell, you might as well just direct debit into that Unlimited Salvation account I was telling you about. Cut the middle man out. Actually, scratch that. The middle man is the church, comfortably seated right between you and your faith. You're actually feeding the middle man and allowing him to grow. It gets pretty uncomfortable when you have a fat middle man. Just imagine three seats on an airplane:

1. You have the window seat.
2. Fat middle man known as the church.
3. Your faith is in the aisle seat.

Wouldn't you like the freedom to just have that extra space by the aisle? Well too bad, because you're crammed into the fingerprint-smeared hazy window seat and Mr. Middle Man didn't put any deodorant on. You don't feel so great anymore, do you? It stinks, I know. Literally. These people represent The Church of Holy Cow.

How about "Everlasting Peace Baptist"? This one requires a little play-on-words in order to have the full effect of irony. It's either that or they literally misspelled one word: peace. It should be piece. "Everlasting Piece" makes more sense, really. Why's that? Well they have an everlasting piece of your paycheck each week. Go ahead and act like I'm lying. In fact, most churches not only keep track of the exact dollar amount they receive every week, but they are even so bold as to brag about it in the bulletin. They will gladly throw it in your face that they just raised over $30,000 in offerings, but they sure as shit aren't going to tell you where that money is going. Pastor Moneybags needs a new kitchen and wants to build an extension to the back of his house to entertain guests. I guess that would be a little too much information to share to the people that are paying for it. Father Falsehopes wants to upgrade from his Infiniti to a Mercedes, and you're going to make it happen, although you won't find out until he pulls into his designated parking spot. He won't thank you for your contribution either, since he is too ashamed to clue you in on who actually paid for it. The fact of the matter is as long as you keep showing up, his bills and luxuries will continue to be paid for.

Please understand that I've been a little jaded by churches because of how I have been personally effected by them in the past, so even though it may seem like pure bitterness in this entry, but I assure you that this was intended to entertain you and make you think a little. If you read through all this and find yourself livid, upset or personally insulted...you didn't heed my warnings. That's right...plural...warnings.

Looking back on my life, with all of my experiences and research on a topic of this nature, I'm beginning to think I went into the wrong business. Why be a blue collar worker when you can make the big bucks wearing a fancy little white one? Hindsight is 20/20 they say. Oh well.

D.

...and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

Today, I am on my way to a meeting for work two hours or more away from my everyday workplace. A few coworkers and I are carpooling in a minivan...a minivan that has the odor of spoiled milk and children unfamiliar with the concept of a bath. Right now seems like the perfect time to utilize the blogging app on my phone. I have a lot of time to kill and I am hoping it will help me ignore the foul stench of misbehaved adolescents. Probably not, but a man can hope. It's either that or I listen to these guys talk about food. I love food, don't get me wrong...it's just not something I can discuss for two hours while maintaining my sanity. Listening to my iPod is also helping, so I think I'll survive.

These men represent America so well.

So before I tell everyone this story, I'd like to preface it by saying that when it comes to gifts, I have been, am and always will be appreciative of everything I am given, no matter the size or cost. I truly value the thought behind each gift more than anything else. Now this may sound contradictory, but I also believe that it is 'common courtesy' that when somebody does a favor or task for another person, especially one that spans several days and extra attention, that person should be rewarded for their effort. Again, I want to emphasize that it is not owed to the person, but everyone likes to know that their work is appreciated, and one way of doing that is to give something more than a handshake and a thank you. Anytime someone assists me in some way, I always find a way to make it up to them in return, whether it be paying for a lunch or dinner, a case of beer...whatever it may be, AND they will always have the promise from me that I will be glad to help them if and when they need it in the future. I want them to know that I am grateful for their service and I always will be.

Having said that, I'm gonna take you way back...back to when I was an adolescent. I don't recall exactly what age I was - likely in my preteen years - but that's only somewhat relevant to the story. My mom had a friend of hers that worked for an animal hospital/shelter back home in New York and any time they had an overflow of cats at the shelter, she would agree to take them home with her. Some of these cats required special medical attention, so she had no problem taking them in and giving them the necessary care from home. I'll get to the cat head count shortly, so brace yourself. She also had two dogs, both of which only had three legs. I can't make this shit up. This woman and her husband go to the NASCAR race in Daytona every February, and they needed someone to come by twice a day to feed and take care of the animals for a little over a week. The ones that needed medicine were left with pretty simple yet detailed instructions. They asked my mom if I could do it, and I said sure, no problem. That was a bit of a mistake.

So I get to this house, which I had been to before but had only been in the first floor, and I start to do the feeding and litter box changing and whatever other tasks were required to be done. That's when all the cats came out. One after another running down the stairs, coming out of a bedroom, wherever they were hiding. Then I went upstairs to the special room that had all the sick and poorly behaved cats in it. Some of them wouldn't come out from hiding out of fear and some were sick enough that they couldn't come out. Altogether, I estimated there were about forty to forty-five cats in this house. So lets roll with forty...FORTY F'N CATS!! FORTY!! You want to talk about the proverbial cat-lady? This woman was, is and always will be the cat-lady.

It was something along these lines. Plus the two three-legged dogs.

So after the first two visits, I got into a bit of a routine, and what took me about an hour and a half those first couple times took merely thirty to forty-five minutes for the remaining visits. If I remember correctly, they were gone for either eight or nine days. That's eight or nine days of:

• Dry cat food - refilling empty bowls and cleaning the scattered bits
• Wet cat food - old stuff uneaten cleaned out, refilling with new stuff that smells like fishy vomit, adding any liquid medicine where necessary
• Cat litter - scooping what wasn't super full and gross, changing whole litter bags out when they made it a minefield of cat turds
• Cat vomit - the only thing positive here was they had hard wood floors, made for easier cleanup
• Dog maintenance - they were easy...let them out, refilled the food and water, no cleanup indoors (possible result of minimized motivation due to lack of a fourth limb...just sayin')

That's a lot to ask of anyone, let alone a kid. At the time, I didn't mind so much. I do enjoy animals and taking care of them (forty is a bit extreme for me, but I dealt with it), so I did what I had to do.

Hell, the dogs were so easy to handle, if they had four legs,
they'd probably be doing this as well...impressive.

Then they came back from Daytona Beach, and my mom and I went to welcome them home and to return the keys. We dropped in, talked to them for a short time, and then got ready to get up and leave when they handed me a plastic bag. I waited to open it until after we left (part of me felt awkward opening it right in front of them, I don't know...) but made sure to thank them before leaving. Again, I want to emphasize I am always grateful for what is given to me, big or small. That 'thank you' I said to them was sincere, especially since I didn't know what it was until I had already left. Alright...I open the bag (your typical blank plastic shopping bag, either from a gift shop or an airport magazine shop) and I pull out a black t-shirt. Even at this point I'm still anxious to see what was on the shirt, so I open it up and it read "Daytona Beach" in faded yellow/tan.

That's when disappointment sunk in. There wasn't much thought put into what they got me; it felt more like they felt obligated to get something or they forgot until the last day of the trip and grabbed the first shirt they saw. In my mind, I was thinking that I would never half-ass taking care of her pets, whether she had four or forty...doesn't matter. I put honest effort into each step I needed to take to make sure that when I walked out the door, they were all fed and not left with a mountain of poop in their litter boxes. They thought enough to buy me a generic shirt out of what they felt to be an obligation. My only theory is they figured I was so young that I would be happy with any tangible gift and that I didn't understand the value of thoughtfulness.

Yummyyy...

Here are some facts for you to know after hearing this story:

• I still wear the shirt to this day. It no longer has sleeves because I washed it so many times, it began to tear at the pits, but it still exists.
• I still visited their home when my mom went over there and didn't act any differently toward them.
• This became a major reason I always put tons of thought behind each gift I give. I try to get creative and original because I never want to disappoint anyone with a gift I give them.

Some of you may think I'm an ungrateful asshole no matter what because of this story...you're entitled to your opinion. Before that day, this blog's title was simply a phrase to me. Then it became a reality. Come to think of it...if they had gotten me a shirt that said "I went to Daytona Beach and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" and that would have been hysterical to me. Oh well. Maybe you can sympathize. Then perhaps you're an asshole just like me.

At least you're in good company.

D.

Trial & Error Of Human Life

I like to think about the broader spectrum of many subjects. It's always interesting to figure out the origin of certain things, whether they came about on purpose or by accident, and at what cost. By cost, you can argue financial or some other means of value...such as human life. That's right...some things we have, know and understand nowadays came as the result of using humans as test subjects. Obviously there are now laws that prevent this from being a current research method, at least when they're not in a completely controlled atmosphere. Not everything was regulated way back when, though. Even certain controlled experimentation was shady and controversial, but that's not what I'm referring to here. I'll give you a few examples that crossed my mind.

First, poisonous berries growing on various vegetation. Something that crossed my mind is how we came to realize they were poisonous. You have to figure that the earliest of our descendants were willing to give just about anything a try in order to maintain an adequate level of sustenance. In other words, they were looking for ways to survive, by any means necessary. These individuals saw something that was potentially edible, so they figured, "eh...what the hell, why not?" Except it likely sounded more like a series of grunts and clicks, because the English language likely hadn't caught on by then, contrary to whatever Hollywood may portray in certain movies. So they pluck a few berries, pop them in their mouths like skittles, then mysteriously...they get terminally ill and die. How many of them did this before the colony or group of people decided that maybe it wasn't a good idea to be eating these things? Perhaps after Prometheus devoured a handful and passed away only days later, it's possible they thought that Prometheus may have just been a weak link in the clan and that they wouldn't experience the same fate. So they went ahead, had some anyway and died faster than he did. I wonder how many of them died before they definitively decided that they were no good and made it clear to others not to eat them...unless they really really didn't like a certain someone...then they fed them a whole meal of them. It's only logical to assume that several of these curious and hungry souls had to die to figure this out, and to a certain extent, I am personally curious how many. Maybe that's morbid, but hey...you know now not to just eat random berries in the wild. Why? Because they did...and for that you should thank them.

I'm honestly curious if even though they are poisonous, that they are
delicious as well. Only then would I understand why they ate them.

How about shark attacks? If you really think about it, the saying goes, "there's a first time for everything," right? Well there had to be a first shark attack at some point in history. Previous to that one occurrence, I'm guessing people figured there was no harm in bobbing around in the water for whatever reason: cooling off, exercise, fishing, peeing...you get the drill. Then one day, Jimbo goes out into the water to relieve himself and either he came back to shore with two arms, a leg and a nub or he didn't come back at all. If he was alone, this didn't raise a red flag to anyone and it required witnesses during the next occasion for someone to stop aimlessly drifting out into the water. It's possible the first sighting of a shark fin was thought to be a harmless dolphin, and that's only if they knew at that point what dolphins were and that they were in fact harmless. It's entirely possible that they had never seen one from either creature and, once again, curiosity took over rather than fear. They wanted a closer look instead of avoiding an otherwise unknown potential risky situation. Another popular phrase comes to mind here: "Once bitten, twice shy." I highly suspect this was the event of origin for that one. It's interesting to think of how many buffoons suffered an awful fate before the rest of these people decided to be more aware of fins protruding from the water's surface. Clearly it hasn't eliminated these attacks from happening, but that's unrealistic to even consider. All I can say is I remain cautious and aware when I am out I the ocean. I ain't trying to be an hors d'oeuvre for Jaws, you know what I mean?

He clearly didn't hear the "duh-nuh...duh-nuh........duh-nuh duh-nuh"
background noise, otherwise he would have seen this coming.

Ever wonder how they figured out that you shouldn't drink bleach? They do have warnings on the labels so that you know not to ingest it. I highly doubt that they came up with this conclusion without someone first taking a sip and finding out how tragic it can be. Isn't that the main reason they have these warnings on labels in the first place? They wouldn't tell you not to drink it if someone hadn't already made that fatal mistake. The first person...what a jackass. It smells horrible (which is enough for me not to even debate it) and if that person saw what that chemical can do to everyday objects (discolor, disinfect, distort, disintegrate), what makes them think that those effects will not occur inside their body? I could delve further into the humors of warning labels, but that could be for another entry. I think the more interesting thing about these instances I'm mentioning today are that they can't possible be isolated. There is no way possible that only one person has eaten poisonous berries. As we all know, there have been tons of documented shark attacks. So to think that one person was the direct cause for a "Do Not Drink" warning on bleach is illogical. I'm more interested in how many of these morons decided to have a Clorox cocktail and died from it. I don't know that I see it as a total negative, though. They are weeding out some of the weaker elements of the gene pool, so it's not all bad.

Bleach has also been known to cause terrible dye-jobs.
With locks like that, I'd rather drink it, personally.

I'm sure I'll think of more that are worth mentioning, but those are just a few that immediately came to mind. Until then, I'll be headed to the beach, where I'll be drinking Clorox and poison berry smoothies as I ride the waves where some tiger sharks may roam. Sounds fun, right? I thought so too.

D.

Random Reamin' Ramblings

Told ya...random.

I certainly don't have any shortage of random thoughts. Most of you know this by now. The rest of you need to wake up and learn. There really is no order or flow to these thoughts today whatsoever...hence random. My goal is to make you ponder these things for a few moments. Maybe it'll inspire you to delve into your own random thoughts. If not, well...you can leave it to me, something tells me I'll touch on it eventually. Okay, I feel like I'm sort of stalling. Here we go...

• There's a Pepsi commercial I've been seeing a lot lately since the most recent Super Bowl. It stars Beyoncé. It has nothing to do with Pepsi until she takes a sip with a few seconds left in the ad. I could go on and on about how aggravating it is that commercials don't have anything to do with their products anymore, but that's a futile point nowadays. My bigger concern is how easily entertained people can be. I'll get the obvious statement out of the way: Beyoncé is a gorgeous woman, period. In no way do I think that her beauty could have any influence on whether I drink Pepsi or not, though. She can shake her ass, jiggle her jugs and wear minimal amounts of clothing, and it wouldn't even begin to change my preference of soda. The scary part is how many people are easily swayed by things like that. That does prove some guys to be chauvinistic simpletons, but you would think that even their more animalistic, primitive desires would be no factor in what beverage they choose. Pepsi did not create the commercial with any feeling that it wouldn't help their sales in some way, so it's obvious that they are well aware how easily-manipulated the average mind is these days. I guess the main focus of my rant is that those individuals that are convinced by things like this need to start making decisions for themselves based on the characteristics of the product itself and not the half naked millionaire sex symbol who is being paid a load of cash to tell you it's the best. It's bad enough that the majority of her music sucks (which is a whole other opinion that I won't bother to tackle tonight), now we have to tolerate her fifteen to thirty second presence on the commercial interruptions during my television watching so she can act like I give a damn what she thinks of Pepsi. The less I have to see of her, the better. Actually...scratch that. The less I have to hear from her the better. I'm a guy, so seeing her isn't all that bad. If my girlfriend was the one on the commercial instead...I'd be singing a whole different tune. That's when I'd say give me all the Pepsi you've got. Maybe that makes me biased, but what can I say? (Normally, this is where I'd provide a direct link to the video for that commercial...but I don't even care enough to look it up. She isn't worth my time.)
• There's a new feature on Amazon Kindles that enables you to set a time limit on games and reading for your children. I think this idea is not bad, but far from flawless. Let's dig deeper into it, shall we? Kids nowadays don't experience much in the outside world. Everything is so technologically driven, they don't even know what fresh outdoor air is anymore. I'm pretty sure I've discussed this before, but I remember when it was time to socialize and play, I was all but kicked out of the house and told to create my own fun. Video games were one of the least of my concerns unless the weather was crappy and I had nothing else productive I could find to do. Now that the Kindle is much more than just an electronic reading device, Amazon felt that they had to come up with a way to prevent it from simply becoming another gaming device for kids. So the ad shows a kid playing some "educational" game and...uh oh...time expires. I'm sure that kid is thinking, "Oh no! Oh well, I guess I'll go outside and play now!" Yep...that's got to be it. Actually, it's more like, "Oh no! Oh well, I guess I'll go start up my X-Box instead!" Is the company really that naive or is it more the parents that think these kids will be instantly forced to get some exercise? If they're that eager to play video games, they'll find some to play. A little timer isn't going to stop them. Hell, sometimes a parent telling them not to do it doesn't even stop them. Again, I applaud Amazon for their ingenuity, but kids will be kids and that's a very minor roadblock to them. Some kids are so technologically savvy that they'll know where and how to cut the timer off entirely, defeating the purpose altogether. I still think with this issue, our society needs to think a little more outside the box...the X-Box.
• Pharmaceuticals scare me. It's pretty ridiculous how many medicines are out there in the first place, but then you have to consider all of the side effects of each one. Let's get the obvious fear out of the way: some of these side effects could lead to heart attack, stroke and other means of death. First it makes you wonder what sort of lethal chemicals are even involved in these pills and potions that could cause you to no longer exist. Then you have to think about how weak some peoples' immune systems are that they can't even fend off the negative effects of these medicines. Furthermore, I theorize that the excessive use of other pharmaceuticals may even weaken these peoples' immune systems when it comes time to use the most recent one they've been prescribed. If you don't think that's bad enough, the likelihood of the the development of a more obscure condition increases with certain medicines. Examples: treatments for low testosterone can lead to breast cancer in males and treatments for rheumatoid arthritis can increase your chances of contracting tuberculosis. Male breast cancer is far from common and tuberculosis is not exactly an illness that is frequently diagnosed in the US thanks to the vaccinations we receive when we are young. Let's put it this way...I'm pretty sure I can find other ways of dealing with a little reduced testosterone and some sore joints so I don't develop crap like that. You can take your chances if you'd like. I like my man breasts cancer free, thank you very much. This is all comparable to taking a cough syrup that makes you more susceptible to the Ebola Virus. Is it worth the risk? I think not.

Meh.

Pfft.

No thanks. I'd rather not contract Super-AIDS or be the
first person in decades to have smallpox because of a pill.

That's about all for today. On a side note, today is Memorial Day. Take time to concern yourselves a little less with the barbecue and pool party you may be at and thank the men and women that have served to make it possible for you to enjoy that freedom. There's a reason we proudly hang flags and celebrate what those soldiers have done for us, and it has nothing to do with ribs, burgers and hot dogs. Just remember that.

Thank you to all who have served. God Bless America.

D.

Cloudy Pee, Cloudy Mind

Yup...actually, not really.

Been a while, I know. So sue me...

...actually don't, I'm poor.

So a lot has taken place over the last few months. I'm dating a beautiful woman with an awesome daughter, and although it's a long distance arrangement for the time being, things are going very well. This plays a key role in this story. I've driven up to Maryland several times to visit my lovely lady and her family, and I was up there again this past weekend. She left for work, and after a quick visit to her at her job, I made my way back down south. After a brief stop in Virginia Beach to meet up with some old coworkers, I was back on the road and making great time. I crossed into North Carolina and that's when things got...fuzzy.

I was feeling a little dizzy and my vision was getting a little cloudy (which felt like dry contacts more than anything), but I was chalking that up to being tired or just needing some more water. So I stopped for gas, relaxed for fifteen to twenty minutes, chugged some water, then continued on my journey. I felt a little better after my rest, but as I drove farther along, it quickly got worse. My vision wasn't getting any better and after a couple of phone calls to my girlfriend, I was having a very tough time verbalizing my thoughts. I thought it would be best to pull over and call for an ambulance. So the paramedics start asking me tons of questions, which is where it becomes tough to explain what exactly was going through my head at the time.

They asked me my name, and I was able to slowly tell them that. Then they asked me my birthdate, and  again the delivery wasn't quick, but I was able to get it out. Here are some examples of questions I couldn't give them answers to:

• What's your mother's name?
• Where do you live?
• Where were you coming from today?
• Do you know where you are now?

They also asked if I was on any medications or took any drugs, both of which were definitely a 'no'. They had a hard time believing me because of my "altered mental status" but there's never a chance in hell I'd risk my health on an idiotic addiction. 

Think about this for a moment though...I remember now the questions that I couldn't answer then. Is that not weird? It's not like the paramedics came back to my hospital room and told me all the things that happened when I was as incoherent as I was. I remember everything I was awake for, but can not explain why I couldn't give them the answers to their questions. That's why I don't say I "forgot" the answers, but rather had a mental block from my thoughts to my words. I knew the answers...I just couldn't spit them out. It was easily one of the worst experiences of my life, and I hope nothing like that ever happens to me again. I'll get back to the diagnosis in a bit.

So I get to the hospital and they have a packed house. Considering it was a hospital in that halfway point between I-95 and the middle of nowhere, it was rather surprising how busy the emergency room was. From the time that I arrived to the time I was given fluids and had a blood/urine sample taken, somewhere between two and three hours had passed. That was a long time to be dizzy, disoriented and becoming more and more nauseous. After taking the samples, they came back with medicine and all they told me was that it would likely put me to sleep very soon, but they didn't tell me what it was for.

Here's where I'll skip the disgusting details and just say that after getting sick multiple times, they ended up admitting me into a room because they had more tests to administer. Shortly after being brought into my room, I was then told that both my girlfriend with a coworker and my mom and stepdad were on their way to see me. It wasn't until the early morning that everyone had arrived, and by then (to my surprise) I was completely coherent and was able to answer all the questions everyone was asking me, but I was just fatigued as all hell. It still didn't make any sense to me how only hours previous, I couldn't verbalize my thoughts at all, yet now I was fine. That day, they did a CAT scan, an MRI, an EEG and kept asking me questions to see where my mental status was at, and everything came up normal (shocking, right? I jest...). Only then did the nurse tell me that I had a bladder infection, which is what the antibiotics were for. Even after that actual diagnosis, the geniuses at this hospital claim it was exhaustion or dehydration that led to my hospital stay. OR?!?! Way to commit! No, definitely neither of those.

So after talking to some family members and doing a little research, here is what I found out:

• Bladder infections in men are not as easy to detect as they are in women. They don't typically hurt men like they do women, plus the only way to tell is when your urine gets noticeably cloudy, which I hadn't honestly analyzed my pee enough to feel concerned about it.
• When left untreated, you can begin experiencing symptoms similar to dementia. That explains my dizziness, confusion and "forgetfulness".
• When medicated, those symptoms almost immediately go away and your mental state pretty much returns back to normal...within reason...

With all of that said/experienced, here's some real life advice for you men out there: pay closer attention than you normally do to how clear your urine is. I'm not talking about clear versus yellow, because that's usually just a matter of sodium, sugar or certain vitamins making a difference. I'm talking about a cloudy look. If you see that, go get checked out by a doctor. It's a scary feeling to know your mom's name and where you live, yet you can't physically say it. Don't let that happen to you.

By the way...I'll try to update this more often. I do miss it...I just hope you do too.

D.

Oh, South Carolina...

This is only a re-enactment.

...how entertaining you are!

It's been a while since I've been able to sit down with gathered thoughts to assemble anything worth reading for my fine visitors. Then I visited a Wal-Mart in Myrtle Beach yesterday afternoon after an excruciatingly long day at work. I needed to pick up some essentials: drink mixes you put in water bottles, beer, candles, a shovel, lime, some rope...ok, so only three of those are true. I'll let you figure out which ones they are. So anyway, I grab my items (assuming I didn't need a cart) and I'm fumbling them all the way up to the register when I get on the "10 Items Or Less" line. After a brief moment on that line, the cashier yells to me, "Sir, I'm CLOSED!!" Well, technically you're not...hell you're not even "open" if we're getting really technical about it. You're leaving your register momentarily and can not assist one more customer. I get it. Moving on...

For miles, I couldn't find a line that was of a reasonable wait time, so I just settled on an "Express Check-Out" (which is amazing to me that they have multiple levels of what they consider to be an express lane). As I'm standing behind the other six miscreants that decided to slither out from whatever rock or swamp log they reside under, the man in front of me turns and faces me. This is the moment my life changed forever. Allow me to describe this 'gentleman' to you:

• Mid-to-late 70s
• Already grumpy
• Southern accent (possible "good-ol'-boy)
• Didn't use a napkin on his face after his last meal...definite residue that resembled Chef Boyardee or Iodine. I'm not sure of his drug of choice, so I am only left to assume.
• Purchasing: 6-pack Pepsi, 2-pack Lever 2000 bar soap, 4-pack generic brand toilet paper, and random red polo shirt (typical shopping cart of the elderly, minus the Centrum Silver and Depends)
• Outsmarted me by having a cart...rare slip on my part...won't happen again.

Alright, so let's just get this out of the way...NO, he did not hit on me. That is a one-time event in itself. Even if he was...he's not my type. Anyway, he nervously laughs before beginning this conversation with me, and keep in mind folks...these opinions are solely his own, I am simply relaying them to you out of pure shock and entertainment. Brace yourself...

I'm going to refer to the old man as Monty...simply because he looked like a Monty to me.

Monty: I always get on the wrong line...
D: I do too, believe me.
M: You don't sound like you're from around here, so you must not know this is a pretty regular thing...to be on a line this slow.
D: I'm definitely familiar with slow lines, don't worry. And I just moved here.
M: Where are you from?
D: New York.
M: So you must not know what waiting in this line is like. (<--- ????? Senility much?)
D: It's okay, I've got time.
M: Well I'm from North Carolina, moved here 35 years ago. I've only had three jobs my whole life.........(rambles on while I think of beer and dinner ideas...don't worry, you're not missing anything but his life story...just thank me now and we'll move on...).......and now I'm on this damn line.

Ok, so, this is where the conversation took a truly unexpected turn...

D: You and me both.
M: If it weren't for these Mexicans, Indians, Blacks and women, it would never be like this.

In my mind, my jaw hit the floor and caused an earthquake. How I held it together, I still have no idea.

D: Really?
M: Yep. It's them Mexicans, Indians, Blacks and women that are out to kill you. Are you married?
D: Nope.
M: Good...don't ever get married. They'll kill you. Once you get married, your stuff becomes theirs. Don't do it.
D: I gotcha.

About this time, he gets to the check-out counter. The cashier is a Mexican woman. That's just priceless irony right there. His face gets noticeably disgruntled. He pays in cash (of course), and proceeds to walk away. Then he turns back to me...

M: Don't ever get married...they'll kill you!

Then he walks away.

So perhaps some of you were expecting crazier than that, but I must say that was the most interesting check-out experience of my life. Well...at least South Carolina isn't without its entertainment.

D.