Don't Cry, Keep Singing

A letter to my daughter on her birthday.

2011-08-15T04:18:00.000-07:00

Today you turn four.

I've sat before my computer staring at that statement for too long. My goodness sweet girl where has time gone. You've lectured me about how important it is to turn four so that you can, on your tippy tippy toes, reach the cereal shelf in the pantry like your siblings. I've begged you to hit the pause button just allowing me a couple of extra days to get used to the idea. "But if I never turn four den I never turn five and den I never tall enough, like this." When you speak every muscle in your body is on stage. Your eyes grow double in size. Your arms navigate your words through sweeps and claps. You are so incredibly dramatic. It's simply fascinating.

You are growing in to such a little lady. I can't help but think of your birth mother today. She must of loved you so very much to have given you life. She must of loved you so much to have carefully planed for you, and hand picked Daddy and I to love you forever. Today we will light a candle in her honor. We will thank her in our prayers for given us the most beautiful gift any father could hope for. You have never known anything other than love.

I cannot imagine my life with out you. You were one missing piece to our puzzle. I love you so very much. If someone would of told me ten years ago that I would have the honor of parenting a little girl as perfect as you I would of laughed out loud. You are so special and don't ever forget that.

You are amazing, Elsie. I would describe you as sweet and sassy. You are stubborn and strong-willed, but you still want to please. Sometimes, I find myself in these little arguments with you and your logic is so sound that I just have to resort to “because I am the boss.” I cannot even tell you how many times I have Googled “toddler ADHD” because of your unbridled energy. You ALWAYS want to play. And you can’t simply walk anywhere, you have to bounce or run instead. But you are always pausing to run to me for hugs and kisses or simply to say “I love you.”

This year has been an explosion of learning for you. It suddenly clicked that all those letters make actual words. You like to ask me how to spell things so you can write them out. You can also count and write your numbers up to 30 (you can count to 100, but after 39 I have to prompt you on the tens). I think you are incredibly smart. Your teachers all marvel at your memory (you remember everything). You also love to tell jokes. I taught you a few knock-knock jokes awhile ago and you have turned into a joke telling monster! But you always make me laugh.

You became a big sister this past year and I was so worried how that would make you feel. I should have known better. You love being a big sister more than you love being a little sister, which is remarkable. You have been known to proudly announce to cashiers, “This is my baby sister, Julia. She is awesome!” You are so sweet and gentle with Julia and can always get her to laugh. I love watching you when you are with your brother and sisters.

As you grow and experience life, I want you to remember who you are and where you come from. Remember that you are strong and you can accomplish anything no matter how long the roads to your goals look. Nothing is impossible. Think outside the box. Always have faith and stay true to yourself. Be confident and take pride in who you are but also stay level headed. Remember that everyone is different and different is beautiful. Be kind and compassionate. Not only to everything around you, but also to yourself.

Laugh. Oh do laugh! Your giggle is just one of the many things I love so much about you. The room lights up when you laugh and my heart sings. Laugh with your friends, laugh at the world, and laugh at yourself. If you can’t laugh at yourself then you take life too seriously.

Dream big. Dream colorful. Dream magic. Dream beyond the stars. Everything big starts as something small. Leap high and go for it!

I have faith in you my beautiful daughter. I love you forever and look forward to a lifetime of experiences with you. Thank you for all the smiles and even some of the tears. Thank you for always loving me and teaching me everyday how to be a better person. Thank you for being a part of our family. But most of all…Thank you for just being you.

With all the love in the world,

Dad.

2011-06-06T04:13:00.000-07:00

When young F. W. Woolworth was a store clerk, he tried to convince his boss to have a ten-cent sale to reduce inventory.

The boss agreed, and the idea was a resounding success. This inspired Woolworth to open his own store and price items at a nickel and a dime. He needed capital for such a venture, so he asked his boss to supply the capital for part interest in the store.

His boss turned him down flat. "The idea is too risky," he told Woolworth. "There are not enough items to sell for five and ten cents." Woolworth went ahead without his boss's backing, and he not only was successful in his first store, but eventually he owned a chain of F. W. Woolworth stores across the nation. Later, his former boss was heard to remark, "As far as I can figure out, every word I used to turn Woolworth down cost me about a million dollars."

I'm From Harlem

2011-06-03T21:58:00.000-07:00

I submitted this story for the website: www.imfromdriftwood.com

I remember this day so clearly: My oldest daughter, Isabelle, begged Trevor and I to allow her to have her friends over for dinner and sleep over to celebrate the end of her basketball season. Traditionally, we disallowed visitors from Isabelle’s conservative catholic school for fear that Isabelle and her twin brother would be “outed” and therefore teased or tormented. But if she was ready to come clean to her class mates, who were we to tell her “No”?

The team arrived to our home, sleeping bags in tow. We greeted each parent and introduced ourselves…actually introduced ourselves. We were not brothers, friends, or roommates. We were Isabelle’s Dads. Four of the seven mothers decided not to allow their children to stay in our home. The remaining teammates ran through the house and eventually gathered in the kitchen awaiting the arrival of the evasive pizza delivery man. I have never been so proud of what happened next.

“Isabelle, are both of those guys your dads?” One little girl started in…I rushed from the next room toward the kitchen to diffuse the situation, but Trevor stopped me. He urged me to listen closely, but allow our daughter, who we raised, who we taught, who we loved, to handle the situation in whatever way she thought best.

“That’s disgusting.” One girl commented, “That’s a sin.” said another.

Isabelle responded in a matter-of-fact tone saying, “Some boys kiss boys, and some girls kiss girls…deal with it.”

The conversation was over and no one ever mentioned it as a problem again. Today Isabelle, Garrit, Elsie and Julia are all out and proud children of two gay dads.

Reason # 6,898,233 that I hate fox news:

2011-05-10T20:07:00.000-07:00

A reporter, speaking about airline safety, stated: "I do all sorts of (racial) profiling, I don't care! My safety is at stake."

Julia

2011-04-07T21:55:00.000-07:00

One Month Old Today!

Rainbows and Sunshine!

2011-04-05T15:18:00.001-07:00

In the words of my daughters "Some boys kiss boys and some girls kiss girls, deal with it!"

Puzzles

2011-04-04T08:20:00.000-07:00

"We need you to come down to school."

For any father, those words almost always accompanied with a sigh, a head tilt, or a roll of the eyes because they're usually followed with a meeting about something your son has done or said that was terribly wrong. Last week when I heard those words, I thought that was where the conversation would be headed. I drove to the school later that afternoon, prepared for another long conversation about Garrit's outbursts, arguing, and disruptive behavior. I figured out quickly that was not the case. I walked into the office, accompanied by the principle, Garrit's teacher and a guidance counsel at the school. The counsel sat down facing me and uttered words I'll remember until I die: "Your son has autism spectrum disorder."

I have experience some serious highs and lows in my lifetime-- losing friends and family, adopting 4 beautiful, amazing children, and being told I have cancer, again, amongst others. This new piece of information hit me with the same level of impact. Inwardly I am a very emotional, very passionate person, which can be both a good and a bad thing. However, in times of crisis, I know how to keep it together. This was such a time. I didn't overreact I didn't cry or go nuts. I said, "Okay, now what?" I don't know any other way to handle situations like this other than to immediately accept where you are, figure out where to go, and get moving.

That said, and having ADD myself, It wasn't long before my mind started racing. On the first lap I nearly crashed and burned as countless visions from 9 years of frustration and anger ran through my mind. I was overcome with an immediate and overwhelming sense of guilt, horrible painful guilt only a parent of a child he loves more than life itself could possible know. At the same time, about ten different pieces of the undecipherable puzzle that was Garrit fell into place. I didn't know what ASD meant specifically, but I knew that answers were coming--answers I'd thought I was years from finding were now, right on the horizon.

All of my children are unique in their own ways, but Garrit is VERY unique. Garrit did things that befuddled me, which, in and of itself isn't odd for a nine-year-old. But the degree to which Garrit marched to his own drummer seemed very unusual. Most remarkable, the depth of emotion Garrit felt and expressed went far beyond what I'd witnessed in many adults. Sometime I was so over taken and proud that MY son could love things so deeply, so unconditionally, at such a young age. At other times, I was frustrated and angry that he could stare me in the eyes, watch me speak, and completely ignore everything I had to say. It was maddening, it was stupefying and, at very least, it was incredibly confusing.

Over the years I have had my own medical battles, that have resulted in me spending months at a time in various hospitals. This meant that a lot of my "parenting" was done compliments of Sprint. Congratulations, good nights, happy birthdays, admonishments and many other parental duties were carried out over fiber-optic telephone lines. While I am certainly not the best dad in the world, I will never stop wanting and striving to be. I can remember one day in Chicago, sitting at a red light with Garrit in the car. He was asking me about Pokemon cards. He kept asking, and I was in my own deep though, until he finally unbuckled his seat belt, tapped me on the shoulder and said "Dad! Why aren't you listening to me?" I was thinking about how I wanted to change my interior layout of a project I was working on. It was December 28th, and the due date was only weeks away. We have all made mistakes in life, all I can do is learn, and grow from them

The thing about asperger's is that its tough to phone in. To really understand it you have to be face-to-face with it every day. You have to wake up with it, eat breakfast with it, take it to school and try as hard as you can to find the person underneath it. I knew long before the diagnosis that something was not right, but it didn't matter.

Over the past 9 years, I have experienced a life time of growth. I am sometimes asked if I miss being child-less, if I am sad I missed out on some of my teenage years, and my young adulthood that so many gays experience and enjoy. But, I don't miss a single thing about that time. I don't regret any of it. That, of course, is a direct result of my kids and the education they provide me with on a daily basis. My kids have forced me to look at myself in plain daylight with no filters, to assess who and what I am, and what I stand for. I know I didn't like what I saw upon first glace, so since then I have worked hard to make noticeable change, which I am still working on, and will be forever.

I cannot imagine a minute of the past 9 years of my life not having my amazing, world-changing kids in it, and I pray I will never have to see that in my future. I am (WE ARE) facing another journey I never knew I would have to go on, but as with every other journey we've ventured, we can do this too, and we can survive it, and we will become stronger, happier people because of it. I am eternally grateful, and will proudly announce to the world if I ever get the chance, that Garrit is my son.

Joe Lieberman's worst nightmare.

2011-04-01T17:59:00.000-07:00

At the very impressionable age of 3, my daughter loves Grand Theft Auto. Before Child Protective Service bestows upon me the prestigious honor of father of the year, allow me to explain. Video games have been around Elsie since the day she was born, so I was not surprised when she showed an interest in them at the early age of two. I started her off where I began my electronic entertainment career: the original Nintendo Entertainment System. She built up her hand-eye coordination and took the bridge out from under Bowser in no time. Then, one day, she got a glimpse of me playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and asked if she could play. What happened next was quite an eye-opener.

With light up, vibrating controller in hand, she started to press each button individually as she tried to figure out what their functions were. Soon she asked, "How do I get in a car?" I pointed and told her which button to push.

I urged her on to take the car in front of her which was waiting at a red light. She quickly looked up at me with disgust and refused, stating that the car was already owned by the person driving it. Her response totally surprised me, so I decided to sit back and observe how she chose to interact with this highly controversial game without the aid of a rotten-minded adult.

She finally entered an unoccupied car and began driving. She was very mindful of the other cars and pedestrians. She didn't know the rules of the road, so she ran red lights and turned down one way streets int he wrong direction. However, she did stop at intersections if a group of cars gathered there waiting for the light to turn green.

At one such intersection, she attempted to brake, but she was traveling too fast. Instead of plowing into the rear of the car ahead of her, she swerved to the right and popped up on the sidewalk. In doing so, she accidentally ran over a woman walking towards her oncoming car. She apologized profusely. I reassured her it was only a game, and after a minute of explaining the game was make believe, she grabbed the controller for another round.

Only seconds later, she saw a policeman jump out of a patrol car to pursue a criminal of San Andreas. Excited, she asked if she could drive the police car. I reminded her it was only a game and it was ok to take the car. As she drove the squad car, I pressed the button to turn on the lights and siren. She asked very excitedly if she could get the bad guys too. With a smile, I activated the "Vigilante Mission." It was as if her imagination had come to life. She was taking down delinquents left and right. As expected, the dangerous work of an officer brought an ambulance.

She hopped out of the car and into the ambulance. As she put the crime fighting behind her, she wondered aloud if it was possible to take people to the hospital. I showed her to push R3, and shes off to save a few lives. She was having a blast racing from point to point, picking up people in need, and then speeding off to the hospital. During one of her life saving adventures, she passed a fire house with a big, red, shiny fire truck parked in front. She didn't want to let her passenger down, so she took them to the hospital and then asked if I could guide her back to the fire truck.

Getting behind the driver's seat of the fire truck awarded her with the most fun she'd had while playing Grand Theft Auto. With sirens blaring, she chased down the first red dot on the map, As she approached a car engulfed in flames she began showering it with the truck's water cannon. Fire after fire, she extinguished them all.

The rating on this game is obviously for mature users only. But more seldom then not, parents raise their kids based on some standard scale. My child is this old, and should therefore be able to handle this amount of stimulation, or should be this advanced in school, or speech, or social skills. Every child is so different and, as parents, it is our responsibility to cater to their individual needs. I understand not every kid is like Elsie, but if we would listen and pay attention to our little ones, we could determine on our own what they are and are not ready for. They might even surprise us and find the light in something you thought to be so dark.

2011-03-24T18:19:00.000-07:00

Geoffery just told me I am a "Designer Mutt:" I perfect combination of all the differnt things.

Thats cute.

Puff Puff

2011-03-19T23:58:00.000-07:00

New High Perspective: "Enjoy life. Life is too short..enjoy that shit. Some of you just need to smoke some weed and see if it doesnt improve the quality of your life. I know what your saying...If you have a good job, by all means make your paper boo boo...but if you dont have a job, and your not smoking pot, I dont know what the fuck you are doing with your life...I really dont. Dont give me that shit about it being a drug. Its not a drug..its a plant..it just grows like that...and if you should just so happen to set it on fire...there may be some effects. Thats not the same as drugs..drugs you have to do something to it. You have to add baking soda, water, stir it up....I dont know the recipe I'm just saying... I dont even know why its illegal. Asprin is perfectly legal but if you take 13 of those little friends, it will be your last headache. As long as you have been alive, you have never heard of anyone over dosing on marajuana. You might have thought he was dead...he's not dead! He's gunna wake up in 30 minutes hungry enough to eat up your whole kitchen...Thats the side effect...Hungry. Happy. Sleepy. Thats it!" Thanks Katt Williams

The Marathon.

2011-03-18T19:19:00.001-07:00

Anyone who knows anything about me knows I havn't been the most fortunate pawn in the game of life. I was born, ill, to a drug addict. I somehow survived my infanthood in the ghetto with a crack head. I was abanonded, then passed around from home to home where I was beat and raped day after day, year after year. I was so emotionally repressed, I was had nothing inside of me. No brain, no heart, no soul..just the weak shell of a child...a life clearly ruined by circumstance. Then, just as I was giving up on life, out of no where, I was adopted. I finally had a chance at a future with some stability and healing...but just as fast as came...it was ripped away, and buried in the ground...and then drown in alcohol.

I had to leave home at an early age...and I had to figure it out on my own...

And when I was getting it together again....Cancer.

I have been sick my entire life. I have had cancer for 10 years. 10 fucking years. I cannot do this anymore.

I spoke with Jeffery tonight where I compared my life to running a marathon. Except every step I take towards the goal makes the goal move furthur away.

I dont understand how anyone can ask me to keep running. I dont know how anyone can call me selfish for not wanting to do this anymore.

The medical consiquences of all this treatment are forever...and the longer it goes on, the worse it gets.

Why should I have to keep living like this...so sick..so depressed...so tired..so absent?

Why cant I stop and live the next couple of years happily, without so much pain?

The doctors told me I have a 60-70% chance of remission. But god knows I've not been the luckiest person in the world.

Heres some facts:

Hodgkin's Disease has a 90-95% remission rate.
Once in remission, hodgkins has a less than 3% chance of relapse.

I have had 3 relapses and I am still not in remission. With those stats, why should I belive I will fall into that 60-70% majority catigory.

I am so tired.

Maybe I was suppose to be gone a long time ago. There were so many times I could have (should have?) just given up and given in... but I am so god damn stubborn...

Maybe someone is trying to tell me something. Maybe I am not meant to be alive today.

If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would still be fighting this disease 10 years later, I never would have started treatment in the first place. I can say that with certainty.

If the doctor tells me I have to do this for even one more year, I know I wont be battling with my head or heart...I will just quit treatment and live as long as I can, as happily and painlessly as possible. But no one can tell me anything.

Maybe I am not suppose to be alive today.

But then again...

Maybe I am. Maybe I am suppose to be around to help someone else...to be bigger than me...to influence and inspire people. Maybe theres a reason I survived all these odds, all these statistics. Maybe I should keep going to treatment, and keep fighting this...it's just such a difficult battle.

Decisions

2011-02-26T17:32:00.000-08:00

I was once one decision away from shitting in a bucket.

I apparently made some good choices...and some bad ones...but today is a new day..and tomarrow is another first. . . I can make this work...

Do you trust me? Can you support me?

2010-03-13T08:56:00.000-08:00

I am at a cross roads.

I need to make some major decisions, but don't ask me, because I'm not going to talk about them just yet. I need to make some decisions and I need to make them for ME.

I dont care what your opinion is. I dont care about your feelings on the subject. And I don't care if you think I am selfish, or stupid, or crazy.

What I need is for you to support me. Support me no matter what. I dont care if you disagree. I dont care how sad, or desperate or helpless or angry it makes you feel...because this is about me.

I need you to trust me. I need you to trust that I am making the right decision. Trust me when you want to reach out and grab my shoulders and shake some sense into. Trust me when I tell you that I am NOT losing my mind.

I am sure you wont understand...but please realize that you dont HAVE to understand....

Support me as I move through this. Trust that I am doing the right thing and support and trust those who are affected most.

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast......

.....and eventually lose someone you love.....

So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back

PSA: Cinnimon Rolls are Dangerous

2010-02-23T08:31:00.000-08:00

Just so you all know, it is extremely difficult to eat a cinnamon roll and look cool and put together a at the same time.

I have a hot nurse....sorry Ricky...but its true.

He brought me a cinnamon roll for breakfast. Now i have a conundrum. Should I pull it apart piece by piece and get icing all over my fingers...then inevitably lick them clean, appearing to be a filthy-flaming-finger-licking-fag...OR attempt to take a big bite and end up looking like some sort of manchild with a face smeared with sugary paste.

I decided to wait til he left......like the fat kid in highschool who eats lunch in the girls room.

That is all.

Homophobia is HOT

2010-02-22T08:11:00.000-08:00

You: Two guys in your 30s, both wearing gray pinstriped suits. Possibly lawyers based on your conversation.

Me: Man in my 20's, also wearing professional dress.

Scene: Red Line Train, headed South, towards downtown: back when I still had a budding career.

Action: I enter a crowded train. The only seats available are the middle sections of the three-seaters. I walk to the end of the car and say politely, "May I sit there?" Guy #1 immediately moves over into the middle seat to continue his conversation with Guy #2.

The problem: I realize when I go to sit down that Guy #1 hasn't actually moved all the way into the middle seat. He is still about 6" away from Guy #2. This means I have to squeeze into 3/4 of a seat. I try not to breathe too deeply. It's a good thing I don't have a newspaper to open or I'd accidentally smash Guy #1 in the face while turning the page. But I keep my elbows to my sides and scroll through emails. Occasionally I shift but Guy #1 doesn't budge. I resolve to go to Bikram yoga more often. You know, to lose all that water weight that's bulking me up.

My realization: You were clearly concerned about allowing your thighs and shoulders to touch those of your friend. This is wise and I was being insensitive. A straight man should NEVER allow himself to have fully clothed, completely public, non-sexual body-on-body contact with a same-sex friend. Everyone knows that gayness is more communicable than swine flu.

My proposal: Let's have a threesome. Might turn out you LIKE dick. Email me and we'll get it on.

Jobs that I am not suitable for.---#100 Food Service

2010-02-18T11:58:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking about my job. I love my job. I'm great at my job...I have tons and tons and tons of schooling on how to perform at my job. This however, leaves me a very one sided employee. I cant do much else. I've decided to add a whole blog segment of jobs I'm not qualified for. Maybe by the end I'll have 100. I could probably name a million though.

First Job. I need to share with you my experience of attempting to cook a meal for my best friends birthday last year. By the end of my (sorry) tale, I am certain that you will be in agreement that any job involving food preparation is about as unsuitable as it gets for me...

Our story begins when, having been asked by my friend what we were going to be eating on her birthday, I foolishly blurted out something along the lines of 'I'll cook something special for you...'

Now, I'm not entirely sure where those words came from (my current working theory is that, for the briefest of moments, I was possessed by the spirit of Rachael Ray) but I regretted them as soon as they came out of my mouth. You see, I just knew that my traditional specialty of jam on toast just wasn't going to cut it for birthday celebrations.

And thus, on the day of the afore mentioned birthday, while my friend was at work I threw myself into the task of scouring the internet for good recipes - with my only guidance being a request for a 'cheese based dish'.

So, when I stumbled upon the recipe for Grandma's Cheese Pudding, I figured I was onto a winner. Not only was it cheese based (check!) but it was also (in my opinion) well within the scope of even my, hopelessly limited, culinary capabilities. It said you needed a 2.8 litre dish to make it but, since I didn't have one this big, I made the executive decision to simply halve all the ingredients.

A quick dash to the shops later and I had got all of the ingredients save for breadcrumbs. My supermarket doesn't sell breadcrumbs - and, apparently, just breaking up some pieces of bread (in a similar method used to feed ducks) doesn't count. So I sought advice and, after some crust slicing, oven baking and grating, I had a plate full of breadcrumbs. Of course, not having any scales I had to estimate how many I had but I figured there must surely be enough and moved onto grating cheese (which also went, I must say, swimmingly).

Perhaps I wasn't so bad at this cookery thing as I thought. Which was obviously the point at which the spirit of Rachael Ray decided she was no longer needed and drifted back to whence she came, leaving me in charge of bringing the milk to the boil and mixing it in with my ingredients.

One liter of boiling milk later, I pour it over my breadcrumbs and stir in my cheese, only to find that I have a very watery (well, actually milky) gloopy mess. Even to my untrained eyes, this looks very wrong indeed. I recheck the recipe. Bugger. I have halved all the ingredients except milk. There is now twice as much milk as I need mixed in with my breadcrumbs and cheese.

At this point - with only an hour or so until my friend was schedualed to arrive (expecting Grandma's Cheese Pudding - I'd made the rookie mistake of telling her what I was cooking) panic set in. I tried to pour milk out through a strainer but I'd made it in such a big bowl that I was losing as much of the breadcrumbs and cheese as milk. So, after using a ladle to rid myself of some of the excess milk, I decided that time was pressing too much and that I needed to get it in the oven pronto.

Grandma's Cheese Pudding is in the oven. Twenty minutes tick by. Friend arrives with expensive wine. It smells nice (check!). We sit down and I position myself in a chair so that I can surreptitiously keep an eye on the dish in the oven; only to see that it is growing at a not inconsiderable rate. The mixture is rising like a cumulus nimbus cloud. I'm not sure it's meant to do this. I keep my friends attention focused in the opposite direction. It's really starting to get big now. I begin to worry it will grow too big for the oven at its current rate of growth. The story of the magic porage pot stirred uncomfortably at the back of my mind...

But then, with a ping, it was ready. I breathed a small sigh of relief and went to get it out.

Only for the cumulus nimbus to slowly deflate, leaving behind a yellowish mixture that I discovered wobbled like a jelly. Feeling fairly certain this was not meant to be the case, I made my excuses and slipped it back in the oven for another ten minutes. At which point it was browning quite a bit at the edges but still wobbling like a jelly in the middle. Well, it's as near as dammit, I thought and prepared to serve it up for dinner.

Which was the point that I discovered that, instead of cooking Grandma's Cheese Pudding (which sounds impressive, you must admit) I had actually spent all afternoon - and nearly an hour of cooking time - creating an oven omelette.

Too much milk, too little breadcrumbs = an oven cheese omelette, and not a particularly good omelette at that (although I'd never before considered the possibility of cooking an omelette in the oven). So, after all my slaving and panicking, I served my friend two slices of birthday omelette and swore that I would never, ever, be so foolish as to think I can cook again...

I am most unsuitable for a job in food service.

Our Problems... :)

2010-02-13T08:23:00.001-08:00

I did not research these, have no idea how true they are. From what I've observed of our politicians and their aides, I have no doubt that they are 100% authentic. Please enjoy, no matter what the validity. (from an email)

Why our country is in trouble

A DC airport ticket agent offers some examples of 'why' our country is in trouble!

1. I had a New Hampshire Congresswoman ask for an aisle seat so that her hair wouldn't get messed up by being near the window. (On an airplane!)

2. I got a call from a candidate's staffer, who wanted to go to Capetown.. I started to explain the length of the flight and the passport information, and then she interrupted me with, ''I'm not trying to make you look stupid, but Capetown is in Massachusetts .''

Without trying to make her look stupid, I calmly explained, ''Cape Cod is in Massachusetts , Capetown is in Africa ''

Her response -- click.

3. A senior Vermont Congressman called, furious about a Florida package we did. I asked what was wrong with the vacation in Orlando . He said he was expecting an ocean-view room.. I tried t o explain that's not possible, since Orlando is in the middle of the state.

He replied, 'don't lie to me, I looked on the map and Florida is a very thin state!'' (OMG)

4. I got a call from a lawmaker's wife who asked, ''Is it possible to see England from Canada ?''

I said, ''No..''

She said, ''But they look so close on the map.'' (OMG, again!)

5. An aide for a cabinet member once called and asked if he could rent a car in Dallas . I pulled up the reservation and noticed he had only a 1-hour layover in Dallas . When I asked him why he wanted to rent a car, he said, ''I heard Dallas was a big airport, and we will need a car to drive between gates to save time.'' (Aghhhh)

6. An Illinois Congresswoman called last week. She needed to know how it was possible that her flight from Detroit left at 8:30 a.m., and got to Chicago at 8:33 a.m.

I explained that Michigan was an hour ahead of Illinois , but she couldn't understand the concept of time zones. Finally, I told her the plane went fast, and she bought that.

7. A New York lawmaker called and asked, ''Do airlines put your physical description on your bag so they know whose luggage belongs to whom?'' I said, 'No, why do you ask?'

She replied, ''Well, when I checked in with the airline, they put a tag on my luggage that said (FAT), and I'm overweight. I think that's very rude!''

After putting her on hold for a minute, while I looked into it. (I was dying laughing). I came back and explained the city code for Fresno , Ca. is (FAT - Fresno Air Terminal), and the airline was just putting a destination tag on her luggage.

8. A Senator's aide called to inquire about a trip package to Hawaii . After going over all the cost info, she asked, ''Would it be cheaper to fly to California and then take the train to Hawaii ?''

9. I just got off the phone with a freshman Congressman who asked, ''How do I know which plane to get on?''

I asked him what exactly he meant, to which he replied, ''I was told my flight number is 823, but none of these planes have numbers on them.''

10. A lady Senator called and said, ''I need to fly to Pepsi-Cola , Florida . Do I have to get on one of those little computer planes?''

I asked if she meant fly to Pensacola , FL on a commuter plane.

She said, ''Yeah, whatever, smarty!''

11. A senior Senator called and had a question about the documents he needed in order to fly to China . After a lengthy discussion about passports, I reminded him that he needed a visa. 'Oh, no I don't. I've been to China many times and never had to have one of those.''

I double checked and sure enough, his stay required a visa. When I told him this he said, ''Look, I've been to China four times and every time they have accepted my American Express!''

12. A New Mexico Congress woman called to make reservations, ''I want to go from Chicago to Rhino, New York .''

I was at a loss for words. Finally, I said, ''Are you sure that's the name of the town?''

'Yes, what flights do you have?'' replied the lady.

After some searching, I came back with, ''I'm sorry, ma'am, I've looked up every airport code in the country and can't find a rhino anywhere."

''The lady retorted, ''Oh, don't be silly! Everyone knows where it is. Check your map!''

So I scoured a map of the state of New York and finally offered, ''You don't mean Buffalo , do you?''

The reply? ''Whatever! I knew it was a big animal.''

Now you know why the Government is in the shape that it's in!

Could anyone be this DUMB?

YES, THEY WALK AMONG US, ARE IN POLITICS, AND THEY CONTINUE TO BREED.

I don't write it, I just offer it for your consideration. Like manure, you just gotta spread it around.

A Palm Tree and an Outhouse....Florida needs some excitement.

2010-02-13T08:18:00.000-08:00

In Dunnellen, FL., a sudden, notable and tragic event happened that will change that town forever. A palm tree and an outhouse made the headlines on the local internet newspaper. They have reported that the tree fell on the outhouse sometime this past week.

Now this wasn't just any outhouse. This outhouse was a three seater. I never knew there was such a thing. Anyways, I guess some people were pretty upset about the whole thing. Seems it dated back to 1903 and was the last of its kind.

The outhouse was located at a Realitor in the historic district in Dunnellon.

The tree was a mature palm tree and it is believed the tree was infected by a fungus called ganoderma. The fungus usually attacks older palm trees. The infection is otherwise known as, now wait a minute....are ready for this....."BUTT ROT." How ironic. No I'm not kidding that is actually the common name for the infection.

In any event, I think it's pretty crappy that something like this had to happened. HA!HA! HA!

A Furry Family

2010-01-29T14:24:00.000-08:00

My sisters been having a hard time...

She is trying to move....

But she has a collection of differnt types of animals....

She contacted her absent father for help and his only suggestion was to get rid of the "baggage" (animals) and that will make everything much easier. On my request, she forwarded his email to her where he tells her she doesnt have a big enough home for her animals, and that she is being selfish and only thinking of her own personal desires to keep her animals, not what is best for them. He also says that they would be happier with two parents and two kids and a big house. He said her animals were starved for attention, and everytime he comes over, they are so excited to see him because he scratches them. Her response to him was moving to me....so moving that I had to post it...anyone who has ever loved an animal will understand why I felt this was so important. Anger aside...the message is clear.

Dad:

My dogs are NOT starved for attention. They comes to work with me daily, sleep in my bed…and they react happily every time ANYONE (your not special) comes to see them, because they are happy dogs. So fuck you. This is the one and only thing that I get very very very angry about. You have no right to judge me on how I take care of my dogs, I made huge sacrifices for their happiness and well being, just like a parent would for their human children.

My animals do not need a big home. I know what is best for them. What is best for them is to not be passed around the world from home to home without stability. This IS my family. And my family, although they walk on four legs, stays together no matter the circumstances. Human families stay together no matter how tough things get, and the parents of those families are viewed as strong, devoted and loving individuals…why is this different? My family cant stand up for themselves, cant take care of themselves, cant advocate for their own well being. If they are being mistreated, or neglected, or are unahppy, they cant call home and ask for help…so the ONLY way to ensure a proper, comfortable home for them, is to keep us all together. I don’t expect you understand my intense emotional attachment I have to my animals, nor do I expect you to understand why I am so committed to keeping everyone healthy and safe and with me, but I do expect you to respect my feelings on the matter, and to stop the negative judgments.

M

Wow....

Dear Designated Outside Contractor Food Supplier:.

2009-11-22T15:57:00.000-08:00

Dear Designated Outside Contractor Food Supplier:

I must give you high marks for the excellent selection of above-average foodstuffs in our cafeteria. The portions are sensible, the service is wonderful, and the prices generally reasonable, except when it comes to snacky bits. $1.25 is not market rate for a bag of M&Ms. A brace of PopTarts at $1.29 is overpriced by almost 40%. This sort of madness drives me to our building's vending machine emporia... which in turn are driving me to madness, and to authorship of this screed.

Who is the crack-smoking numbnuts incapable of competent repetition in the maintenance of a vending machine?

I'm not talking about keeping the damn things online (although the snack vendy just around the corner from the cafeteria is suspiciously "out of service" frequently). I'm also not complaining about the slings and arrows of outrageous Fort.: the bag of chips stuck against the glass, the HoHos clinging, mockingly, to the wire spool exp'lled them. These are merely the manifestations of bad karma which we all experience, the dark cloud which only reveals its silver lining when additional coins are inserted to knock free said HoHos with the resounding thunk of a descending MilkyWay bar. Satisfaction, and twice the snacks.

No, my complaint, thunderous, and my indignation, righteous, is aimed at the methadone sampler whose job is simply to restock the machine with snacky bits and change. Let us start with the change, for as everyone knows, change is good.

If it were me, which it is not, I would value every snack in multiples of 25 cents. Acknowledging that candy prices have risen ridiculously since I was a lad*, surely chips could be 50 cents, candy bars 75, and the Big Hangover Cures (PopTarts, Pound Cake, Danish) a dollar. This sort of price management would mean Quarters-only change. The US Quarter-Dollar being the only reasonably sized and weighted coin o' th' realm, it makes sense to only stock the change mechanism thusly. But no. This being The Big Fancy City, you will have your premium, won't you? 85-cent candy bars. Now you have to involve dimes and nickels... hell, why not just invite the pennies? Or do you have a problem with coins of color?

Having all this Numismatic Affirmative Action going on just results in a bloated system* filled with jams and errors. Many times I have found the vendy on the second floor demanding exact change. Many times I have been so craving a Twix that I have crammed in a dollar bill, here, take it you fiend, keep the extra 15 cents, it's worth it! And been denied. Then there's the fifth floor vendy, which simply lets the dimes fall through, like a hot lesbian sitting alone in a bar. "Nope," says fifth floor vendy, "you can go. My candy is not even for sale."

And that's even assuming the stupid labels are right. I've noticed they're on a little wheel... so that your Depleted Uranium Cranium simply has to turn the price to match the price programmed into the machine. Why then, do the vending machines take on a slot machine air when I buy my Butterfingers? Why is the price 85 cents on one day, and 95 cents on another? Sure, one day it was 45 cents, but that was the day I helped the old lady cross the street AND I think someone else just forgot their change. Probably because they were injured bashing their skull into the glass in frustration.

While I'm discussing labels, why is the burden on me to determine the row and number of my selection? The cafeteria machine, you know, the one that rarely works? Several of the labels are missing... specifically E3, F5, and H0. And why is there a "zero" column, anyway? Are you planning a Vending Expansion that will jeopardize your supply of positive whole numbers? Or are you just showing off your integers, but think negatives would be audacious?

The fifth floor vendy even has some labels misapplied. Yes, I should be able to deduce F3's position between F2 and F4, but it has a E3 sticker on it and goddamn it, I eat out of vending machines... I'm probably hungover and need coffee. Throw me a fucking bone! There is nothing less savage than spending your last 85 (?) cents on a 3Musketeers, only to be rewarded with Good N Plenty.

Why does bottled water cost more than soda?

Isn't water a component of soda? Doesn't it cost more to process that water, add cancerous qualities and caramel color to it, and bottle it under pressure? Whither the price of sugar? Doth it not be high?*

Hey, you vendy stocker that puts the "GED" in "Moron", does it occur to you that the reason the Reese's PB Cups sold out so fast is because people like them??? Did they not teach you that in the late-night infomercial? Replacing them with Nature's Own Laxative Bar will, in fact, mean you have less stock work to do, but it rather defeats the purpose. Show a little initiative! Get on the five-year plan! Cripes!

Finally, O Ye Who Vend, I verily say WTF about the four (four!) "chilled candy machines" on various floors and in various hidey-spots. First of all, those machines use double the energy, 24/7, of the old-school glass-windowed pinball-machine vendors, just to keep it chill, yo. Second of all, there isn't a window, so I can't see for myself what you're out of... I have to wait for you to dis me with "MAKE ANOTHER SELECTION". Third of all, now all of a sudden you want a full dollar for those M&Ms... that's like 3 cents an M! And fourth of all, chilling candy bars makes them taste nasty, asshat. It's probably the nougatty chemicals or the separating cocoa butter or whatever, but it's serious desperation time when I cough up a dollar for crappy crap food. And don't just advise me to eat the chilled Skittles instead. Skittles were never meant to be jawbreakers. I could load those things into my Colt and pop a Skittle in yo ass.

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Headquarters Building. There is a bar to be met here, and I'm not talking about the one in the management lounge. Let's get it in gear and raise efficacy in unattended snack deployment to acceptable levels. Someone could get hurt.

* A problem that will no doubt be solved when Ron Paul becomes president and we return to the gold standard.

Decapitated Dolls

2009-11-22T15:42:00.001-08:00

My Daughter likes to pull heads of her dolls. The therapist said we should let her, so we do. Some of their heads may be re-attachable...probably not though. Free to good home.

Travels

2008-10-29T21:37:00.000-07:00

Someone asked me today what my favorite travel destination was. Traditionally my answer is Italy..its my immediate and conditioned response to the question, but really...I can't answer it truthfully because I have no idea where you should go.

Traveling I think, has less to do with seeing things, and more to do with experiencing them.

When I graduated High School, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, so I decided to take some time and see the world with some of my brothers. We had a bit of money saved (not as much as we thought we would need) and we packed some gear, our bikes, and caught a flight to Europe. We spend three months there, just doing whatever we felt like, and it rarely had anything to do with what we were suppose to see. We didn't have a planned itinerary or a list of requirements. Dint get me wrong though, we saw a lot. A whole lot. But when I think back to those months, I mostly remember the friends we met along the way and the good times that we shared together.

In Italy we saw the coliseum in Rome and the canals in Venice, but what I really remember was a weekend spend in Bani, this out-of-the-way town in the southern part of the country that no one has ever hear of, with some students we happened to meet. They took us to this little bar where a local band was playing and even though most of them didn't speak a word of English, and out Italian was limited to menu items, we ended up laughing all night long. After that they showed us around Lecee and Matera, and little by little we all became great friends.

The same type of thing happened in France and in Germany. We stayed in hostiles when we had to but most of the time when we showed up in a city, we would somehow meet someone who would offer us a place to stay for a little while. We found odd jobs to pick up extra spending money and when we were ready for someplace new, we would just take off. At first I thought it was so easy because Europe is so much like America, but the same thing happened when we went to China, Tanzania and Thailand.

But I was younger then, and so much different then I am now. Just like I was different at the end of that trip than I was at the beginning, and I'll be different tomorrow than I am today. And what that means is that I can never replicate that trip. Even if I went to the same places and met the same people, it wouldn't be the same. my experience would be the same.

To me, that's what traveling should be about. Meeting people, learning not only to appreciate another culture but to really enjoy it like a local, following what ever impulse strikes you.

So how could I recommend a trip to someone else if I don't even know what to expect? I told that lady to make a list of places on index cards, shuffle them, and pick any five at random. Then just go...and see what happens. if you have the right mind set, it doesn't matter where you go or how much money you brought, It'll be something you remember forever.

My Coworker Farts

2008-05-07T17:35:00.000-07:00

I have a co-worker who farts. Well, not in the conventional sense. She doesn’t fart, but her shoes do.

Apparently Dr. Scholl’s makes a product called Massaging Gel Insoles that are supposed to provide added support and comfort to your feet all day long. Slip them in your shoes and you’re Ginger Rogers.

The problem, she says, is they’re made of plastic. Plastic makes your feet sweat. Sweaty feet make farting noises when you walk. We always know when she’s coming because she sounds like a fart machine. Farty fart fart.

Doesn’t anyone test these things in the real world before putting them out on the market?

I would make an awesome product tester:

1. If I worked for Dell, I could have told them years ago how stupid it was to stick front side USB ports underneath a big plastic panel that you have to lift up and then search around for the ports. The uplifted panel shields light from the area you’re poking around in, plus the ports are fixed at a 45 degree angle. Some of my clients at work ripped the damn things off permanently and it’s still hard to insert a thumb drive.

2. If I worked for Charmin, I could tell them that their Ultra Strong version of toilet paper doesn’t stand a chance in hell of being flushed down the toilet on the first try. It’s the consistency and thickness of paper towels, and no one with half a brain would try to flush paper towels. Stick with the Ultra Soft brand if you want to save a thousand gallons of water.

3. If I worked for any computer manufacturer, I would have told them how hard it is to read which is the DVD drive and which is the CD drive. Nice job printing which is which, embossed in black writing on a black background.

4. If I worked for TV manufacturers, I could tell them that people need about five buttons on a remote control, an ON/OFF button, two for channel-changing and two for volume. If it’s a DVR controller, a few more. I do not need half the buttons on my current controller. I can’t find the ones I need. Oh, and it’s the size of a mailbox. I almost need two hands to use it.

5. If I worked for Infiniti, I would have told them that the trunk latch and the gas cap release are too close together. I’m either opening my truck at the gas station, or opening my gas cap door when I need to unload groceries.

6. If I worked for a bedding company, I would have told them to make comforters the way they used to be made — so they’ll fit in your home washer and dryer. For God’s sake, at least put a label on the package that says “You’ll have to drag this beast to a laundromat and spend your Saturday afternoon pumping quarters in a jumbo washer because that’s the only one big enough, and then you’ll have to drag it half wet to your car because it’ll never get dry, and you may drop it on the way because it weighs fifty pounds and it’ll get nice and dirty again.”

So there. Will somebody please hire me as a product tester? And Dr. Scholl’s, you need to do something about your farting insoles.

Christmas Time

2007-12-18T08:03:00.000-08:00

So, I've been sick. Very sick. And am facing the reality of spending Christmas alone in the hospital...but at least I can bring my dog. Thank god for thearpy dogs. Christmas always means alot to me, and I've been doing alot of reflecting latley about it.

Animals played a big part in that first Christmas scene. You know the songs:

In "Away in the Manger, "the cattle are lowing" In the "Little Drummer Boy," "the ox and the lamp kept time." You can add more to that list on your own, I'm sure. But one of my favorite carols has always been "The Friendly Beasts."

Jesus, our brother, kind and good,
Was humbly born in a stable rude;
And the friendly beasts around Him stood.
Jesus, our brother, kind and good.

"I," said the Donkey, shaggy and brown,
"I carried His mother up hill and down;
I carried His mother to Bethlehem town."
"I," said the Donkey, shaggy and brown.

"I," said the Cow, all white and red,
"I gave Him my manger for His bed;
I gave Him my hay to pillow His head."
"I," said the Cow, all white and red.

"I," said the Sheep, with the curly horn,
"I gave Him my wool for His blanket warm;
He wore my coat on Christmas morn."
"I," said the Sheep, with the curly horn.

"I," said the Dove, from the rafters high,
"I cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry;
We cooed Him to sleep, my mate and I."
"I," said the Dove, from the rafters high.

Thus every beast by some glad spell,
In the stable dark was glad to tell
Of the gift he gave Emmanuel,
The gift he gave Emmanuel.

The only problem I have with that song which I love? Where are the dogs and cats? From a very early age I pictured dogs and cats at the first Christmas. Why not? Especially dogs.

I admit it: I'm a dog person. You may have heard of "Dog Theology" vs. "Cat Theology." In Dog Theology . . . . "You feed me. You pet me You shelter me. You love me. You must be God!" In "Cat Theology" . . . . "You feed me. You pet me. You shelter me. You love me. I must be God."

A Far Side cartoon once depicted a scientist announcing a breakthrough in understanding cat language: "They say only two things: 'Where's my dinner?' and 'Everything here is mine.'"

This morning I want to change my dog-mongering ways and begin the last few weeks in the year with a cat story. You may have seen the story I'm about to tell in visual form, because it was all over the television screens a couple of weeks ago.

At the very same time the Santa Ana winds returned to southern California, swamping flood waters inundated western Washington State and submerged Interstate 5 for five days. Camera crews captured a lot of dramatic rescue stories. But of all the selfless acts of neighbors, friends, and total strangers lifting stranded victims from the waters, there was one insignificant incident caught on camera that showed just how hard it is to be the "good guy" sometimes.

While filming the flooded farmlands a tv camera crew spied a lone refugee--a large grey cat perched on top of an old metal out-buildings. The flood waters had completely surrounded this cold and shivering cat. For whatever reason, the TV crew paddled and waddled forward to rescue the kitty. The cat took one look at this splashing gang of strangers with blazing lights and blaring bullhorns and saw his doom.

As they tried in vain to corral and catch the cat, one camera recorded the kitty's "escape" to higher ground. First, the cat leapt an amazing distance to the next ragged metal building. Then, still in a panic, the cat proceeded to climb the sheer, smooth, aluminum siding straight up for at least twelve feet-until he reached the roof peak, and was "safely" away from all those who had thought they would "rescue" him.

Now in total darkness and utterly defeated, the camera crew left. A check of the same site the next day found the flood waters had receded, and the superman cat had disappeared.

Sometimes we will do anything, including the impossible, just to avoid being saved. All lifeguards-in-training are strictly schooled to NEVER hit the water without a flotation device. This is not so much to use it in rescuing the drowning victim as to insure that the person they are trying to save won't succeed in drowning them!

It is not just the "drowning" that put up such a fight. You see, being saved requires that we relinquish our own ability to save ourselves….

So with that....I will end this rant...and know that I will alow myself to put my complete and total trust into the doctors who are trained to save my life. Theres nothing more I can do.

2007-12-06T18:02:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa

2007-10-25T19:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Santa,

This christmas my list includes what I'd like for others to have, not because I am selfless and giving, but because if these people had what I wish for them, my life would be so much better. So Santa, when you get this please keep in mind that i've been a very good girl this year - and by that I mean I have put up with a lot of crap from a lot of people so be generous and make everyone on this list's christmas dreams come true:

The angry mullet girl in my office would really like a new haircut. She would also like lithium, and to have her entire wardrobe set to flames.

The ex-Village People backup dancer from my spinning class would like some shorts that fit, and a shirt that covers his man-tits. And if you're feeing really generous, a membership to a new gym.

My ex-boyfriend/other daddy of my babies would like speech lessons. If I hear that mother fucker say "odviously" or "surburbs" or "flustrated" one more time I'm going to ring his neck through the phone. Thank you, public schools for producing such a genious.

The guy in my office who whines about having to make a pot of coffee needs a blow job. His angry emails scream sexual frustration, and I've seen/talked to his wife ergo I fully understand his plight. But really, for everyones sake can you please find someone to help him out? He's not that bad looking....

The guy who lives with me wants a new alarm clock. One that doesn't go off every 12 minutes randomly blaring buzzing and music, and it would probably be a good idea for someone to give said guy lessons on how to use that alarm clock, as most likely it is user-error causing the problems with the current one. *please note the phrase "who lives with me" is used with a bit of poetic license, as there has not specifically been a label put on our cohabitating relationship just yet, hes still technically visiting. We don't want to rush things, after all hes only been here for more than 4 months...but I digress...

My sister-in-law needs a life....something to distract her from constantly sending me emails about everything wrong with everyone else in my family. What part of disfunctional didn't you understand when you married my brother? The pot-smoking, homosexual, train-wreck brother (not me, the other one) was not something he sprung on you after the wedding - so why do you act like its such a surprise now?

Tha above sister in law would also like a tube of lipstick and a hairbrush. Oh what the hell, throw in some new overalls to replace the ones she's worn every day since she was pregnant with my now 9 year old neice.

Please bring my neighbors a divorce. The scream at eachother for 4 hours every sunday night like clockwork, and frankly the people at my office don't appreciate what I look like on Mondays after getting only 2 hours of sleep.

My twins's karate instructor would like some duct tape. That is because he needs to put it over his mouth before he throws another sales pitch at my child about signing up for some new karate related nonsense that will cost me more money. In case you didn't realize it asshole, my kid doesn't have a job so all of her extra curricular activities are funded by yours truly and if you think for ten seconds you can convince me to give you more than the $150 a month you have already bilked me out of, you are sorely mistaken. The only reason I'm willing to throw the cash at you in the first place is that you are quite hot and I like seeing that part of your chest that the uniform doesn't cover. Perhaps if you'd be willing to teach the class shirtless and in shorts we could talk...but until then, my checkbook is closed.

The old guy I used to date on wednesdays would like a new cell phone, one that does not contain my number. Perhaps you could also find a way to explain to him that in retrospect, I realize that I only went out with him due to some self esteem issues I was having at the time and now the thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl. Maybe tell him I said thanks for teaching me that even lots of money can't make an unattractive, mean spirited person any more appealing.

The hot, tall, younger, wanna-be soul mate turned gold digger who broke my heart last summer during the cooling-off period with public school guy above would like an STD - either that or some sort of disfiguring disease or injury.

Ok now I'll throw in the basics: world peace and an end to war and poverty would really be swell. Lets face it though, if the good folks in the Bush administration can't fix that stuff you sure as hell can't. So don't worry your chubby little head about that and focus on my list. And get rid of the elves - those dudes freak me out.

How Not to Write a Resume

2007-10-23T21:31:00.001-07:00

Sooo...My boss told me to post an add for an assistant on Craigslist and I was floored by some of the responses. So....Here's a public service announcement on how NOT to write a resume.

Don't be offended if you see yourself in here, but please do get some professional help. There are people who will do this for you, and you clearly need their assistance.

---

Cover letters are not optional, people. No, I didn't ask for one. You know why? Because they're the default. At the very least, write a paragraph in your e-mail to me so I can see that you aren't a monkey accidentally forwarding your owner's resume.

----

Objectives are stupid.
Clearly, your objective is to land the job, or else you wouldn't be applying. But if you have listened to the idiots who've written books about its necessity (notice they work for themselves, and haven't been hired anywhere in a while), at least keep it short, sweet, and related to the actual job for which you're applying as opposed to the generic tripe that has come through my desk the past four hours. Such as:

"Objective: To obtain a secretarial/recseptionist prossition where I can utilize my skills in customer service while demonstrating a customer first attitude yet utilizing my wide variety of administrative skills by pushing and advancing the office entirely by giving organization and any assistance as needed all still while gaining any and all available knowledge within the office environment"

First of all, the position isn't for that of a receptionist or secretary; read the posting. You're already down two points. Second of all, if you're going to throw buzzwords like "utilize" about willy-nilly, at least don't do it twice in the same sentence. Next, make sense. "...by pushing and advancing the office entirely by giving organization and any assistance as needed..."? Seriously? Is that supposed to make sense or be in English? Lastly, utilize the comma. I'd rather you overuse this little friend of ours than underuse him, especially if you're going to make a huge-ass paragraph only one sentence.

"Objective: To work my hardest to achieve goals in the near future."

*insert buzzer sound here* I'm not even reading the rest of that resume.

"Objective: To obtain full-time or part-time permanent employment with a stable business."

Very tailored to our company. I hear McDonald's is hiring, too.

"Objective: To obtain a position in a company that will best utilize my skills in data analysis and information technology, as well as expand my knowledge of National Disclosure Policy; a position that challenges my abilities and allows for opportunities to grow with the company."

Points for the correct use of a semicolon, but if I don't even know what a national disclosure policy is, then my company isn't going to be able to help you expand your knowledge of it. Also, we're not an IT company, nor are you applying for an IT position, so tailor that down for me, will you? Stick it in the skills section. (More on those moronic lists shortly.)

"Objective: To gain the proper skills and knowledge to run a professional business."

Do we look like an MBA program? And if you want to run a business, why are you applying for part time assistant positions? How about applying to be an assistant manager somewhere?

----

I don't care if you were king of the chess team.
How often does it need to be said that if you've gone to college, I don't want to know about your high school? Especially if it was over ten years ago, folks.

"2001-2003 B.A., Strayer University". This may just be me, but even at a pay-for-your-degree school, how do you achieve a B.A. in just two years? And what is it supposedly in? There's no field of study listed.

"Xxxxxx University, Bachelor of Science, Sports Management. GPA: 2.12." A B.S. in Sports Management (snicker) and you still only had a 2.12 GPA? You're taking phys ed for college credit. The least you can do is get more Bs than Cs.

----

That pesky attention to detail.
When I specify that I need someone with attention to detail, that means lots of misspellings and non-words like "a maculate list" are not going to gain you any points. An immaculate list, perhaps?

"...your posting on Craigslist.com." It's actually craigslist.org.

"During this time I am searching for employment within a company that can help me earn hours and experience within a school setting and to also help build my administrative skills further. I am currently seeking salary in the range of 25k-35k and 40 hours a week." We specified $10-15 for 20 hours a week. Oh, and we're not a school. Kthxbye.

"Period [of employment] 9/15/04 - 3/28/06. Reason for Leaving: Other Job opportunity" Yet, that job opportunity isn't listed on his resume. Hmm.

"In response to your advertised position, Advertising Rep, please find attached a copy of my resume." While I appreciate the effort that went into changing his subject line to "Memeber Asssistant," you first gotta spell things correctly and then follow that all the way through, buddy. Also, titling your resume as "August 2006" isn't getting me all warm and fuzzy, either. I'm glad you've been unable to update your resume for 14 months.

"[Singular Company Name]s" and "Members Care" from the same person. Shes likes addings the Ss, nos?

"I am a Professional who leverages 10+ years of Executive assistance..." You'd think she'd know when to capitalize and not capitalize words, then.

"Trained employees to use OPTIX software in order to gather data on in coming and perspective students." Are perspective students like philosophy students? And since when is "incoming" two words?

---

If you're claiming a skill, actually have it.
For instance, when your skillset includes "filing/editing" but is followed by "Photo Shop" improperly spaced, that means you're not very good at the first one, and you probably don't use the second often enough to know how to spell it. Therefore, you're probably an exaggerator, meaning I can't trust anything else on your resume. Bye-bye.

"Telephone Skills". What does that mean, that you can operate one? Good job. So can a three year old. If you mean one of those multi-line, complicated telephone *systems*, then yes, that is something to put on your resume -- if you were applying to be a receptionist in a busy office. You're not.

"Office Procedures". What the hell does that mean? How is that a skill?

When your resume looks like two boring run-on paragraphs and a list, all of which is centered on the page in the most rudimentary fashion, don't list "graphic design" as one of your skills. Please spare me.

"Treat people with respect." Shouldn't that be a given? Also, why is that your second most-important skillset? Did you have to work very hard at it?

----

Stop throwing in complete bullshit just to make it sound fancy.
The following is a list of why you should never throw words together if you don't know what they mean (the long-winded objective from above could also be put in this category).

"My ability to learn quickly is a key essential."
"My numerous areas of expertise and professional work related skills are highly superior in many office related skills."
"Being so detailed and goal oriented provides me with the ability to have outstanding organizational skills which enthusiastically allows me to succeed well within all goals set."
"My background and my education are the met qualifications in this job description."
"Enclosed you will find my resume for your viewing and review purposes." this is an email...btw...attached...
"Assisted to directorate of Member Services..."
"I am a very talented part-time college student..." (Do I want to know what you're talents are? Because this sounds like the start of a different sort of CL ad, the kind that end with "looking for a sugar daddy to help me pay for books.")
"Enabling to multi-task with different projects in an amount of time."
"Assisted to Customers needs and questions."
"Having customers leave with a wonderful experience and quality insurance." (And no, he wasn't selling insurance, either.)
"I am multi-tasked, organizer, knowledgeable of computers, fast skill learner, prompt, warm and friendly woman." (Hubbinawha?)
"I saw your posting on Craig's List and was interested in the position if it is currently available." (No, we filled it within two hours of posting it. What kind of stupid question is that?)
"I was responcsible for sceduling performers from around the country to perform at my bi-monthly coffeehouses."

----

Other miscellaneous details

"(301) xxx-xxxx (Phone)" Really? That's a phone number? I'd never have guessed.

There is absolutely no reason that someone who graduated high school less than four years ago needs a three page resume. None. I graduated seven years ago and worked in two completely different fields, and mine's still under a page.

"2001 - 2001", then later "2006 - 2006", no months listed. Man, those were some great eras.

If you're currently a teacher, there is no need to mention your two-month stint at a concession stand six years ago. Promise. And for the same person, if you put that you were a 2nd grade teacher from September 2006 until February 2007, that makes me think you got fired, because February was last month. We're in March now. Either you were fired, which is not going to bode well, or you didn't read over the resume carefully before sending it to me, which means you lack the needed attention to detail. See above.

A friend had the unprofessional e-mail address issue with the "get high with me @" guy a couple months ago. Today's is a l33t-speak "sky's the limit," but spelled "skiis," which took me three minutes to figure out wasn't some reference to cocaine. And compared to these other asses, she's actually got one of the better resumes, so it's a shame her e-mail address shows she's a moron.

If you are claiming the management of operations for a home office as a previous position, you need to a) add a cover letter, and b) explain in your cover letter why you want to now work part-time for little money at a low-level job.

"Very hard working even when no one is."
Just because your previous job had lots of slackers doesn't mean that we are, so cut out the holier-than-thou attitude, 'kay?

Do you hate my eyes? Because why else would you put your resume in 8pt. font? The blocks of unbroken texts are not helping you, either. You know what? I'm tossing this one already, and I'm only three lines into it.

Survival of the Fittest

2007-10-23T09:07:00.000-07:00

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.

Happy Valentines Day...You Have Cancer

2007-10-14T09:01:00.000-07:00

I was looking over my first x-rays today...back when I was 17....I can see my lymph nodes and the little spots all over em....cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer....

I am not super human, I am not invincible. That was hard for me to realize.

I AM NOT SICK.

My first chemo, I remember waking up thinking....I got hit by a truck somehow.

I AM NOT SICK

I don't want to die.

I AM NOT SICK
I AM NOT SICK.
I AM NOT SICK!

Theres no doubt about it..I am sick.

But this is not about that.... This is about finding a cure, about hope, happiness....

My cancer is a full time job:

Save My Ass Technologies Inc.

The doctors were working for me. What are their strenghts, weaknesses, what can they do to keep my business alive, and THRIVING.

Finding a treatment plan I was comfortable with was almost impossible....but the good news was...my cancer was slow growing.

I have come to the recent conclusion though...that I cannot listen to anyone else when they tell me what my probability of success is....You will get better quickly, it wont come back once its gone...and yet..here I am.

Before cancer Hijacked my life, I was single, living downtown, and pursuing an architecture career while in school. And thankfully...my fun, crazy life did give me one thing I absolutely couldn't survive without.....health insurance.

I took a road trip to New York. Hoping the new doctors there would have the magic cancer curing pill...or at least give me some real incite on what to do...I didn't know...I was scared..I had NO IDEA what to do.

New York Sucks:

Rewind: Back in Chicago.

I felt at this point

Slow moving, stage 4 cancer. They told me to watch and wait. Wait for what? There is no sage 5. I didnt want my cancer to take the next step...so I did.

Enter: The Alternative Health Fare

Like Alice in Cancer land, I felt as if I was falling through the crazy rabbit hole, but couldn't bring myself to believe that the cure to cancer was in a crystal.

But Doing NOTHING was so un empowering..

So I became a full time healing junkie, willing to try anything...

Like:

Gentle healing massage, Chinese herbs, sacred healing mud, more healing massage, anger therapy, trampoline therapy, Dance therapy, Visualization...
and amidst my healing, I started to have some fun.

But back to reality.

Welcome to...The Alternative Healing Bookstore.

Maybe my magic cure is in what I eat. So..I started eating macro-biotics...and if you dont know what that is, neither do I, so don't ask. BUT, the theory is if I eat the correct things I will open my bodies natural healing Shaka's.

My morning used to start with coffee, and a power bar....now, Cale, carrots, and rice. Now time for my morning scrub.....and my power walk, then lunch of matzo balls... No processed food, no meat, just weird vegetables, fruits, and grains...lots and lots of grains. Extreme? Yes...but when I was doing something to help myself...outside of my doctors, I felt in control, strong...Healthy.

Whether my type a approach was working or not was unclear, but one thing was certain, I was lonely. No time for dating, social outings or anything. Too much time spent preparing meals and keeping my Shokras open. I just wanted to be normal...
and so.....

I had a beer.

Remission.

I was normal. I did it, I beat it! Celebrate, Party...NO MORE CANCER, Have kids, move on...Thank god. I'm done.

Relapse.

Remission.

Relapse.

Remission.

HAHAHAHA FUCK YOU CANCER!!!!!

Relapse. And Relapse is where I stand.

fuck.you.cancer

I felt really fucking frustrated. I don't think its fair that I have to do this...But I don't have a choice..I have to..and that's not fucking fair.

B.C: (Before Cancer)
If I could retrace my footprints, could I find the time when everything changed? What was the day like? Was it rainy? Or was it pretty out? Did I fly too close to the sun? Step on too many cracks? How do I go forward if I don't go backwards? For one day, I am going to let myself believe that I can start over again. Maybe its because I drank the wrong water....

Like Most Young People, I had been so focused on my life, that I hadn't given my death much thought. Like a random picture in a attic box, I felt as if I would some day soon be forgotten.

"Your confrontation with death is the key to your spiritual life."

Cancer is a metaphor: Fear is the Cancer. Everyone has cancer of the mind.

That's what my spiritual advisor said. True or not I don't know..but that's what he said.

Am I damaged goods? I need SOMEONE who makes me feel normal. Someone..who likes me, with or without cancer. No Someone who LOVES me.

But anyway...thats it for now....I know its incomplete...but so is this fight, this battle..I am still doing it, Im still fighting...and I finally..just now, found my hope again.

Some Day:

I will not be scared to face the play ground anymore. I will hug and hold my babies, and I will not let go. My immune system will be ok...I will be able to fight off germs and diseases.

I will not be scared of the play ground anymore.

I'll never say cancer is a gift, because I would never give it to you, but cancer can be a catalist, a teacher. We all have something about ourselves we wish we could change, sometimes you can, and sometimes you cant, the important thing is to try. 7 years later, I am still fighting this disease, but I am proud to call myself a warrior. What started as a desperate search for remission, became a story of friendship, love and growing up. Life is messy and brilliant, georgious and stagering, crazy and sexy...just like cancer.

OOOOH MAAAAN

2007-10-13T19:34:00.001-07:00

10 Reasons Gay Marrige Should Be Illegal

2007-10-13T14:13:00.000-07:00

So I read this somewhere a long time ago...I dont know where it came from originally but it makes me laugh.

10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage is Wrong

01) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

02) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

03) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

04) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

05) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

06) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

07) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

08) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

09) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

Seriously? A Table saw at 4am?

2007-10-12T20:21:00.001-07:00

Dear Neighbor,

When I went to sleep last night at 11pm. Nay, when I went to bed last night at 11pm I heard, very clearly, the intermittent hammering coming from your basement, 15 feet and a privacy fence away.
Can’t say that I was pleased, but I had no idea the Black & Decker nightmare you had in store for me.
I managed to drown out the sound of the hammer long enough to drift off to sleep, alas I was awakened at 4 am by the sound of a… what’s that? No, it can’t be. A table saw?

Sir, I am a general contractor’s son and know, make no mistake about it, what a table saw sounds like. I was also able to identify a high-powered (bordering on a dentist’s wet dream) drill you insisted on using when you weren’t busy with the aforementioned hammer or table saw. And while I am certain it’s not your fault that I left a shoe in the middle of my own floor, I place the blame squarely on your shoulders, fair neighbor, for the gaping head wound (thank you window sill corner) and concussion I suffered when I went ass over apple carts across my bedroom in an effort to find out just what the hell was going on over there.

Maybe it’s the concussion, could be the sleep deprivation, but here are the thoughts that went through my mind over the course of the next THREE HOURS (I didn’t call the police because I fear, above all else, turning into my mother):

1. You’re building a dungeon. Power tools in the middle of the night? Creepy old house? Basement? Tell me did you already have your victim chloroformed in the corner, or are you still just stalking him? And for the record, I will bite your precious the moment I put my eyes on him. Period.

2. You’re building a better mousetrap. Or maybe just the biggest mousetrap EVER. Or quite possibly 9,000 better mousetraps, at the regular size.

3. You’re building a popsicle stick Taj Mahal. Gentle neighbor (I saw your sensitive ponytail), I think we can all sympathize with the panic that ensues when one has completely spaced a school project due first thing the next morning. But I have to admit that I think using a table saw for balsa wood is overkill. What? Your index fingers and thumbs weren’t strong enough to break the sticks in half? Then I don’t think you have the dexterity necessary to safely use a table saw, drill, hammer or, for that matter, a remote control.

4.You’re building a Y2K bunker. It’s 2007, I think you’re safe.

But the strangest thing you did was this morning at 8 am. While in the shower I heard you yell at your dog to be quiet. Huh? My conclusions are as follows: You’re a hearing-impaired, insomniac, do-it-yourself imbecile with no concept of irony. This does not bode well for the life of our neighborly arrangement. However, if that dungeon has my name on it, I may have bigger hurdles in front of me than a few bags under my eyes.

More Beautiful

2007-10-10T22:55:00.001-07:00

If I could use Sign Language to express this through the internet, it would have a much deeper more profound meaning. The word "beautiful" in sign laungage is the most fluent, calming gesture one can make....and for those of you who know it, sing with me...

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful....beautiful Elsie.

Lost.....

2007-10-10T14:31:00.000-07:00

I can solve a Rubik's Cube.

An Old Journal Entry

2007-10-09T21:28:00.000-07:00

I wrote this years ago...I'm just remembering.

"How many memories of someone do you have to have for you to have enough to be sad. To Remember. Get the fuck over it Justin. Tim hung himself in his study lounge. Dont cry Justin. I didnt know Tim too well they say, sounds like a great guy.

You didnt know? How could you not know?

What if you wereone of those people who didnt know.
What if your sad because everyone else is sad.
What a sad thing.
But then what if you know how it feels to be watching American Wedding with him and hear him lean overand ask you, So whats the craziest place that youve ever had sex?

What if you went to a musical with him, so he could ask out one of your best friends named Anne? What if you know what helooks like nervous and excited with his arm around his soon-to-be-girlfriend in the back of a camero?
What if hes called you past midnight too many times to count. What if you decorated Lake Forest in red ribbons with him every year? What if you went to a concert with him and when Rufus Wainwright came onstage, you burstinto hysterical laughter because he started head-banging?
What if you knew that he was contagious and then you (for the first and lasttime in your entire life and you promised youd never tell anyone ever)started head-banging to Rufus Wainwright with him?
What if you know the way his voice would trail off when he was upset?
What if youcould distinguish between his sad-laugh, mad-laugh, confused-laugh, and his hardy ear-piercing natural laugh that he always seemed to followwith YEAHHHHH, ALRIGHHHTTTT!!!
What if youd participated in mudfights with him..
What if you know the sound of his voice when he starts to cry

Shit: What if you * knew* the sound of his voice when he had started to cry?

Andhe called you three weeks before crying and he needed someone to talk to so badly that he called and he cried and he hadnt talked to you for 6 months before then but you welcomed the call and you told him you cared about him when he cried about his girlfriend and recited song lyrics the way Tim Hutson always did....living his whole life through song lyrics and even when he was in the most pain, because he cant tell you what he feels in any other way. And while he was talking to you it didnt even occur to you that he was crying for help but you knew he needed it and after about two hours you said

Wow its really good to talk to you, Tim

and you didnt know how glad youd be you said it until later,
but you know he didnt know because he COULDNT have known or he
WOULDNT HAVE done what HE DID

I SAID IT BUT HE STILL DIDNT KNOW

i.said.it.but.he.still.did.not.know.

and what if YOU WERE (I was) the ONLY ONE who KNEW.
I KNEW I KNEW I KNEW that he was not...

AND I JUST FIGURED (why.would.i.just.figure? that) he was TALKING to OTHER PEOPLE about his problems, his feelings, his inconsolable sadness.
I KNEW IT AND HE SAID IT
FOLLOW YOUR HEART
and he just said, I figured I should.

BUT YOU HAD NO IDEA what he was THINKNG- only that he was UPSET but you figured it might be best not to...
...not to push too hard.

Timgave me quite a few CDs he had burned during the course of my crazy ride with him. He introduced me to all sorts of songs but one entire CD stands out in particular. We walked up to me one time a year before this all.... He put his massive Nalgene bottle on the table next to me (which was replaced in later years by that gallon milk carton thathe would fill with water) and he dug around in his backpack forsomething, singing (very loudly) You look like you and thats just beautiful! Thats beaauuutifullll! You smelllllll like youuuu. Hef ound what he was looking for, grinned, and set it down next to myFrench fries.
Justins Beautiful CD.
It was an entire collection of songs that he said were beautiful- the kind of songs that make you look around and thank God that you are alive. He told me over buzzing phone cords late at night that I was poetic enough to understand their beauty.
Yes, I was close to Tim.
He hadnt spoken to me in 3 months, but I returned his tortured phone call in the middle of the night three weeks before. I knew he was sad.

I told him I cared about him. I told him that we should talk more often.

I saved the message he left me, and Tim Hutson is living and laughing inside of my little yellow Nokia.
But hes living and laughing in a lot of other places, too.
The most beautiful thing about the memory of my beautiful CD is not the title. Its not the concept, or the titles of the songs themselves, it doesnt even lie in the notes when I play the music. The beauty isnt carried in the melody, or even in the CD itself. - I
t was that all that beauty was a gift to me from someone more beautiful than all of the music he sang.
How many memories do I have of Tim Hutson? fifty? Eighty or more? Probably.
Yes,Ive head-banged with Tim and I know the sound of his voice when he starts to cry. So for all of you who have thrown your heads back and cried, His friends and family are in my prayers! It must be so terrible for those people!:
You have no fucking clue what you missed.
And I feel SO SORRY for YOU.
because I cannot
-(stretchback remember. Concerts, mud fights, singing. He screamed so loud andlong. Calls at 3am when we just rolled our eyes and Tim, we just canttake you anywhere. Sexual comments and straws up his nose with granolabars in his pants. Sick Tim! You HAVE GOT to CLEAN this CAR!)-

think of a single person

more beautiful than Timothy Hutson."

New Blog

2007-10-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

So..I was inspired by Nathan. I'm starting a blog. A look at life through my eyes. A single father, a cancer survivor, a cancer patient, an animal lover...but most of all....just me. This is a look at who I am..outside of my kids dad, and my doctors patient. We'll see where..if anywhere..it goes. So welcome to me.

I thought I would add my most recent cancer blog...here it is:

this takes a long time..its coming