Thank you!

It’s been a long time my friends. I wasn’t even sure if I remembered how to log into my account, but as you can see, I got it. What has me writing after all of this time, you probably AREN’T asking yourself? Well, I had an experience last night that flushed out some old emotions and memories that I thought I needed to address. I had the pleasure of attending the practice night of the This is My Brave show (https://thisismybrave.org/). To say I was moved would be an understatement. If you don’t know what This is My Brave is, here is how they describe themselves.

A live presentation of touching essays, original music, and poetry will be performed by a dozen individuals living with―or loving someone with―a mental illness. The power of the human connection through the telling of personal experiences will grab hold of the audience for the show’s ninety minutes and beyond.

I was there because my Brave wife is speaking and I went for moral support and to tape her so she can give her best. The stories were amazing, sucking you in and I didn’t want them to end. If you know me well, then you know that people fascinate me. My friends tease me about my real crime books I read and I think my choice of TV shows causes my wife to sleep with one eye open. I’m fascinated with how people can do the things they do, or what causes them. But basically, I love to hear people’s stories. I listen to several Podcasts that are just that, real life stories. If you like that kind of stuff, I recommend Risk, The Mortified Podcast or Strangers. Last night, well, these were real people in our city, not on TV or one of my podcasts. These were people you might see every day. These people were us. Mental illness is everywhere and it is time we start treating it with the same vigor that we treat Cancer or Diabetes. It’s real, and people suffer, especially with the shame that society has put on it. Nobody should be ashamed of their mental illness; it’s just that, an illness. I don’t ever remember being ashamed of my mom or dad when they were fighting cancer. But there are problems with trying to treat a mental illness, and I can tell you from firsthand experience, it is frustrating and, pardon my language, fucking stupid. Insurance companies don’t cover treatment. Government officials don’t think it exists, or if they think it exists, they sure as hell don’t show it. I’m not going to get political, but the governor of our state has closed mental hospitals in our state, so much that we are short on beds for those that need them. Now our jails are filling up with people who aren’t criminals, but need supervision and jail is the only place open. OK, enough of that. So listening last night, brought back memories of when Marcy was hospitalized in Minnesota, and what life was like. It reminded me of the things that failed me/us. Insurance companies, organizations and systems failed us. But more importantly, it reminded me of what things DIDN’T fail. Friends, family, neighbors and strangers with a kind heart, did not fail us, and I wanted to thank them. Our friends provided food, support and financial support, which quite frankly saved us from bankruptcy, thank you. Our neighbors brought us food and helped drive kids around so I could be where I needed to be, thank you. Heck, even my office provided me with a laptop so I could work from home and the president of my company pulled me into his office and said to do whatever I needed to do, and he meant it and backed it up. My co-workers covered my ass when I was coming in late and leaving early so I could pick up and deliver kids, thank you. I was sent text’s, received phone calls and visits, just to be sure I was ok, thank you. It was tough for me, because I was raised to do it on my own, but I couldn’t, so thank you. There was a lot of pride swallowing done during that time, and I thank you. The one time I posted my frustration on Facebook, which I don’t normally do, I was flooded with texts and instant messages checking on me, thank you. My ex in-laws called me to check on me, which really didn’t surprise me, knowing them, but still, they read my desperation and offered help, thank you. I’ve been blessed in my life to be around people that care about people. I couldn’t ask for anything better. Then there is my family. How would I have survived without my family? I wouldn’t have. That was a dark and scary time in my life. It was lonely and difficult and every day I wondered if I would survive, both physically and mentally. I was exhausted. I was done. But my family kept asking. They kept cheering. They kept helping, so thank you. Every night, I put the boys in bed, looked at their faces and knew I could do it. I knew things would get better, and they did. And that was the main story line from last night. Keep working, keep pushing, keep talking, and don’t be ashamed.

Where do I begin? I feel like I have so many thoughts in my head that I need to share, if for nothing more than getting them down on “paper” for me to reflect on later. I use this blog for that a lot. I don’t write very often anymore, but I do go back and read some of my old stuff, to remember or to humor myself. I guess I’ll start with the freshest thing on my mind.

If you follow me on Facebook, and why wouldn’t you, it’s full of useful information and recipes, then you know a short time back I pleaded for help with a young girl that we had been made aware of. She was alone, homeless and in search of a better life. My heart breaks for those lost souls that seem to want to get back on track, whatever that means to them, and just can’t seem to find the help to get there. Some people aren’t interested in getting on track, they feel their track is just fine, and for those, that’s great. But as a human, I feel that is my duty, no, responsibility, to help someone if I can. Does that mean that all help offered will be accepted and the lost will find their way? Not even close, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try. The situation was presented to Marcy and I to help a lost soul, and we took up the challenge. It turns out, it’s not always easy to find help for those that don’t have the money to pay for it. (Trust me, I know from experience) So Marcy set out to find a program, a ministry, anything to help this girl. She was frustrated with the roadblocks and the lack of room for people like our new friend. After many phone calls, she was able to locate a ministry, that I actually had served for many years ago, and they had a bed. We just had to get the girl there for an interview to see if she qualified. Long story somewhat short, she was accepted and Marcy delivered her to their door so she could start the change in her life. A week later, Marcy and I picked her up for lunch and had a long conversation about how things were going, the steps she had taken in that short week and the steps that were next. We were all encouraged and I felt that she was in the right place at the right time. Have you ever had the feeling, in the back of your head, that things just weren’t quite what they seemed? I had it from the day I met her and we spent 3 hours together, talking about her past, her present and her future. This was before we found the program, so it was new to me and I was shocked by her stories. They made me want to help her even more, but that thing in my head said, “Be cautious.” We kept our distance, but tried to encourage her to take advantage of the help, and do what she needed to get to her goal. She was getting ready to work on her GED or diploma, they hadn’t decided which yet. That was a big goal for her. She wanted a job, where she could earn the money to have a “normal” life. I found her intelligent, spiritual and open. But this was a girl who had been on her own, was a bit more streetwise than me, so we stayed at arm’s length and waited for the program she was in, to do what it could do for her. We sent flowers and a card to try and encourage her, and let her know that there were people who cared and who were rooting for her. The other day we learned, she had left the program and was back on the streets. I was saddened, but that voice in my head kept asking, was she going through the program to make a change in her life, or to see if she could exploit the program? Did she leave the program because she couldn’t do it, or figured out she couldn’t exploit it? I guess I’ll never know. I can’t understand why, when you say where you want to be, that you aren’t able to make the decisions and choices that get you there? People are different and we each have our histories that have led us to where we are today, and I get that. But I just can’t see why you would choose, to me, what seems like the harder life. But then again, maybe she took the easy way. Life and responsibility are hard, maybe just surviving is easier.

Now that I have lightened my heavy heart, let’s talk about maybe the dumbest thing I have done in quite some time. I registered for college. To most people, signing up for college would be looked at with 100% positivity, and they should. And I should, but I still have that high school experience telling me that I will never be able to finish this. I was never what you would call “book smart” in school. Possibly because I never opened any of the school issued books. Now, since I’m paying for these books, perhaps I will give them a gander. I’m actually pretty excited to start, and prove to myself that I can do it. My first class is a required class about succeeding, I think in college, but it may be in life as well. I’m pretty sure I don’t need this class, but it’s required and worth a credit, so off I go. My other class is Psychology, which I have an interest in, so I thought I’d try it first so I would increase my chances of finishing. The added pressure I have put on myself is to get all A’s. Not just for the ego part of it, but my company will pay for 100% of the class if I get an A and less as the grade goes down. If I can get all A’s, then my degree will be paid for, minus books, and that’s a pretty good deal. There aren’t that many things in life at my age that will challenge you, so I’d like to come out on top of this. Sure, you can challenge yourself by doing crazy things, like marathons’ jumping out or off of tall things, but let’s be honest, I have a better chance of getting my PHD than you have of ever seeing me do one of those things. I hope to have good news in a few months, like how I got A’s in my first two classes, but if you don’t hear from me, it didn’t go so well.

I love people.

One of the things I get to do for my job, is an occasional trip to exotic places, like Ware, MA or Conover, NC.  OK, maybe exotic is a stretch, but they are lovely places.  I have warehouses in those towns, so I go there and verify that the material we think is there, is in fact there and in good condition.  I enjoy this part of my job, because it gives me the opportunity to meet the people I deal with everyday via email or phone.  Now, to get to those places, involves flying there and visiting at least two airports.  Those airports are loaded with, lets say interesting, people.  My trip started with an hour and a half delay, due to non-functioning exit lights.  It seems that properly functioning exit lights are required by the FAA on all flights.  I guess I can live with that rule, even though if we crash, there will be plenty of light from the fireball that appeared immediately after we landed/crashed.  The flight was to Charlotte, NC, which for me, made it a direct flight.  For the rest of the plane, Charlotte was merely a connecting airport, and now at least half of the plane was going to miss their connecting flights.  They were not happy.  Me, I was disappointed that I got up at 4am to be at the airport on time, when in reality, I could have been one hour late and still been early.  There wasn't a lot going on in Des Moines, but there was one guy that was puzzling me.  The waiting area I was sitting in for US Air, is right across the hall for the waiting area for Delta.  I saw a guy walk up to the US Air area, stare at the flight board, which clearly stated US Air to Charlotte, NC and the time.  He then proceeded to walk across the aisle to the Delta waiting area, which clearly said New York, NY.  I think you will agree that those do not appear to be even close to the same.  I'll give you that they are both on the east coast, but that's it.  He sat down in the Delta area.  After the announcement was made that our flight was delayed, I saw him walk across the aisle and get in line for our gate attendant.  Oh, he must be on our flight, just waiting in the Delta area.  I've done that when the area for my plane is full, or the case when I was in Minneapolis and there were only 3 seats in my area, which seemed to be poor planning considering we had a whole plane waiting to board.  He stood in the line for about five minutes while the guy in front of him was being repeatedly told by the gate attendant that he had to go down to the main terminal to change his now worthless ticket, since he was going to miss his connection.  The second guy was not hearing it and kept standing there telling the lady that he WASN'T going down to the main terminal and back through security, and she needed to help him.  Well my guy got tired of waiting, so he went back to his seat at Delta.  He sat there for about five minutes, then gathered his things, and walked over to US Air and got in line right outside the boarding door, to board the plane that they weren't boarding yet.  I watched as he stood there, for what reason I don't know, for about 5 minutes, when he either realized they weren't going to board him just because he was in line, or he just got bored.  Now he comes and sits right next to me, where he proceeds to twitch and fidget for another 5 minutes.  He then walks back over to Delta, without his luggage, to talk to the Delta lady.  He then comes back to US Air and gets back in line to talk to the gate lady, who is still arguing with the guy from before.  He waits for awhile, then comes back and collects his luggage and goes back to Delta and sits down again. Now I can't wait to see what is next for Sir Walksalot, but unfortunately, the exit lights are fixed and we are boarding. The flight went well, except for the cramped bathroom which I posted on Facebook. We landed in Charlotte and I had something happen to me that has never happened to me before, and I bet it never happened to you either, or anyone you know. I had checked my bag, so I went to the baggage claim and I waited by the chute. As I waited, I realized something. I was the only person from my flight waiting for a bag. Just me. My bag came out, and only my bag. I thought that maybe the other people just hadn't made it to the claim area yet, but nope, I was the only person on the entire plane that checked a bag for Charlotte. That's a first. On my way to the baggage claim, I watched as person after person, loaded up on one of those moving sidewalks, that wasn't moving. I'm guessing they didn't see that it wasn't moving until they got right up to it and by then, it's too late so you might as well walk on it, but it has groves in it so their suitcases were making all kinds of racket all the way down the terminal. It was lunch time, so we drove the hour to the town we are staying in, and found a place to eat that had TV's so we could watch football. Did I mention it was a Hooters? Perhaps I shouldn't say it, since it isn't a place my wife wants me to visit. I see no reason to outcast the restaurant, just because there are scantly clad women working there. I'm under no illusion that any of these 20 something year old ladies is even slightly interested in a poor, 45 year old, married, father of three. Somehow, I don't feel I fall into their dream dates category. I will say that I think when two guys come in to eat and watch football, that they have no idea what to say to these two guys who aren't hitting on them one bit. Our waitress, who was more than qualified to work at Hooters, kept stopping by to talk to us, but wasn't really saying much, so she just kind of stood there. Perhaps she thought if she stood there, showing her job qualifications, that we would start the hitting on, or perhaps it was just a ploy to increase her tip. Sorry, but I know the game and I'm not playing. I did stuff my face so much that as I type this, nearly 3 hours after lunch, I still feel stuffed. I'm supposed to meet my workmate at 8pm for supper, so maybe a salad is in my future. Funny thing about the east coast, 8pm is a acceptable time for supper. I learned that from my New York travel mates years ago, when we would meet in the lobby to go to supper at 9pm. I think that's bad for you digestion, isn't it?

Let me be clear.

I want to be clear.  My comments about how I'd rather have my kids bring home the award below, than a sports trophy, by no means is a shot at sports trophies or the parents/kids that attempt to earn them. After reading my Facebook posts where I made those statements, I was concerned that my statements my be taken as a shot at trophy winning kids. I meant nothing like that. I myself have been know to put emphasis on winning trophies, as an adult, that I didn't win as a kid. In fact, as a kid, I never even played on a sports team, so my chances of winning any kind of sports award, was zero. However, when I was a kid, not everybody got a trophy, or medal or even a ribbon. With my athletic ability, the chances of me getting anything more than a participation ribbon wasn't very likely. The only ribbon I ever got as a kid was for actually building my pinewood derby car, that advanced to the finals of my heat, only to get its not existent doors blown off by my friend Doug, whose car broke the sound barrier that day. My car finished last, but I will say I was highly handicapped by my stepfather who couldn't help me, because he couldn't work a saw to save his life. As an adult, I began playing volleyball and fell in love with it. OK, to be honest, my first love was the beer we all drank after the games, but eventually, I got to be a decent player. Not good by any means, but passable. I was fortunate to play with very good players, who in turn helped me look less crappy. I was fortunate to be on these teams, that helped me earn my first trophy. Over the years, they helped me acquire several more trophies. Now, here is the pathetic part, I paid for my trophy. Oh I don't mean with my fees to the league, I mean the team I was on won a first place trophy and I was so desperate to have a trophy, that I took the one we won to a trophy making store and had them make me another one, so I could keep it. That was how badly I wanted one, and I got it. So I hope I have cleared that up. I have nothing against trophies and trying to win them, I just feel an award for academics or for volunteer work, is more valuable. Let me explain my view, and you can agree or disagree, and that's cool with me. The odds of a kid going pro in his favorite sport, are extremely low. That doesn't mean that a kid shouldn't continue to strive, or go for their dreams, but you might want to have a plan B, is all I'm saying. Mason, is not an athlete. He has played sports, and due to his asthma and his complete lack of desire to play sports, he hasn't exactly excelled. However, he is smart and has a heart of gold. So when he told me about winning the award, I was extremely proud of him and was glad to see a kid with little to no athletic ability, get recognition for doing something good. To me, an award for your character, is way better than an award for your physical ability. As I say that, I realize that I have never won an award for my character. I guess that shouldn't surprise me, but as I typed it, stung. That might be because there just aren't that many awards for character. Yeah, lets go with that.  That all being said, here is the letter we received from Mason's school.

Dear Parents/Guardians,

On behalf of the students and staff at Stilwell, we would like to thank your son for exhibiting the kind of positive behavior that helps to make Stiwell Junior High a great place to be.

Every month students from each team are nominated by staff members to be featured in the Celebrating Stiwell Students program.  Students receive a coupon for a free lunch or a la carte menu item in addition to having their photo and accomplishments posted in the display case at school.

Mason was nominated for this honor because he does an exemplary job of following Stilwell's 3 Cornerstones (do your best, do the right thing, and treat others the way you want to be treated).  He is very polite and respectful to all students and staff, turns in his work on time, tries his hardest at all times and much more.  Mason is a positive role model here at Stilwell.

We are very proud of Mason for receiving this recognition; it is greatly deserved.  We hope the experiences he has at Silwell continue to be positive ones.

Sincerely,

The E Team

Now that is a good letter to get regarding your kid.  I hope to see a bunch more like that.

Boo

Let's talk about haunted houses. Do you like them? I do not. Why you may ask? Well, I don't like to have the crap startled out of me. I won't say that I don't like to be scared, because I don't think Haunted houses are scary, they just try to startle you. And that, they are good at. It doesn't take much to startle me. In fact, I sometimes jump, and perhaps let out a little squeal, if I turn around too fast, only to find my wife standing there. Of course, I can't prove that she didn't just appear there, which would make my heart rate increase justifiable. I didn't hear her walk in, but then again, after years of concerts, most with a close proximity to speakers the size of townhomes, I don't have the best hearing anyway. I can remember the first haunted house I ever went too. I was living in Springfield, VA, and the haunted house was set up in a building with a lot of rooms down a hallway. Each door was set up too look like a jail cell door. As I came around a corner, I saw the jail cells and thought I would be smart and hug the back wall, away from the arms reaching out through the bars. As I slid my back against the opposite wall, I felt a hand grad my back and a scream. I'd like to think that the scream was from the now visible prisoner, but we all know that scream came from my 10 year old mouth. What I soon realized was, that the jail cell and prisoner I had tried so hard to avoid, was actually a mirrored reflection of the same prisoner that now had ahold of me. That was a dirty trick, one I would never forget. That gauntlet of reaching arms from 6 or 7 jail cells, emptied into a room with an assortment of bowls that you could put your hand in so you could feel what eyeballs, intestines and brains felt like. I later learned that the "eyeballs" were peeled grapes and God knows what the other two were. That trip made an impression on me. As I got older, I no longer feared the people in the houses, but I knew their ultimate goal was to make a grown man cry. I've also realized that I don't function well in the dark. I don't like to be in pitch black, that is why I pay my electric bill on time, every time. I'll go without water, I can pee in my backyard, but I will not go into my basement at night without lights, it's not natural. The last, and I do mean last, haunted house I was in was probably 20 years ago. I went with a group of friends, who for some unknown reason liked haunted houses, at a local grocery store that was known for their yearly scary basement. The trip started pretty well, I was on the lookout for the upcoming predictable jumping from behind the curtain, or arm grabbing me from behind a wall, but there were new obstacles that I hadn't encountered before. The first was, in that pitch black room I mentioned before, a room that seemed to have no exit. After a few minutes of feeling around the walls, and suddenly realizing that my friends were now all gone, I began to panic. Where had they gone? Did someone take them? Good, those assholes are the ones that brought me here and I don't want to be here anymore. As I contemplated balling up in the fetal position and whimpering myself to sleep, I heard one of those so called friends say "Mark, crawl." I yelled back, "That's what I was going to do." Well, I didn't want her to know that I almost gave up on life itself, merely because I was left alone in the dark for about 30 seconds. Now, on my hands and knees, I began to feel the wall at knee high, until I found the next portal to hell that my friends had all ready passed through. I found it, but soon realized that the crawl space was made for someone who is 4 foot 2 inches when standing, which I am not. I am 6 foot 4 inches, and crawling with that height, still makes me taller than whoever built this thing. So now I'm half crawling, half slithering in the dark, to the next section that I want nothing to do with. I keep moving, following the laughter of my friends who are obviously drunk or mentally unstable, for what seems like a mile. I hear my friends voices getting closer, so I know it's just a matter of time until I punch one of them in the face and claim it was an accident, in the dark. I finally bump into one of them, but something weird has happened. Apparently, the crawl space was only a few feet, but I continued to slither not knowing that I could stand up. As I smash into the calves of my friend, she says, "You can stand up now." Well isn't that helpful, thanks for the info. Now on this trip, I had been leading the line, not by choice, but by default, because I was the only guy. If they knew how nervous I was, I think I would have been stripped of my guy title and banished to the end of the line, which is the second worst place to be. After all, some of the scare people wait for the line to past, jump out in the back to scare you forward faster into the next trap. I was trampled many times because of this tactic. Since I'm now at the back of the line, I have a decision to make, do I stay back there, or do I whine my way back to the front. It's a lose, lose, situation, but I opt for the leader of the death march and work my way forward. We are in a hallway that is barely wide enough for one person, but a man determined can collapse his skeleton like a rat and get into spaces 1/4 his size. Now as the leader, I plug on, praying that we will soon be in a group of people complaining at how short this haunted house was for the money we paid. I'd be right there with them, vowing to NEVER come back to this waste of money, when in reality I would pay double if they would turn on the lights and come get me. It's still dark as night, and I have all ready smashed into so many walls trying to find my way through that I can barely see through my glasses that are now bent and smudged, partly from wayward fingers from other wall gropers and partly from the sweat that is forming on my fear riddled face. I'm moving along well, when my hand goes into a wall crevasse, and I feel a face. At this point, I'm not sure what to do. Do I acknowledge that I know he/she is there and possibly beg him/her not to scream at me, or do I just move on, knowing he will jump out at the end of the line, thereby causing my friends to rush forward pushing me right into the next scare position that will cause me to squeal like a girl, again. I go with the acknowledgement that I knew they were there, in hopes that they will just let us pass and wait for the next group. Yeah, that didn't happen. As soon as I revealed their hiding place, which apparently infuriated them, they screamed, scared the shit out of me and my friends STILL rushed forward, but instead of us getting away from this new scare person, now I'm in the arms of said person. This is no time to be romantic. I wiggle my way free and head off to the next section. The next section had what I would call a low beam. The 4 foot 2 inch person who built this death trap might think that it's just a low ceiling, but to a 6 foot 4 inch person, this is a head buster. I whacked my head on the padded beam nearly knocking myself out, but most certainly knocked myself backwards into the crowd of people that had formed behind me. I regained my footing, lowered my head and plowed forward, only to step on a soft squishy part of the path that caused me to tumble forward and fall to the ground, only to have the now panicked crowd trample me on their way out the exit into the night air. I'm alone, in the dark, in the haunted house, with scary people near me, but I don't know where. To say that I got the hell out of there, would be an under statement. I burst through the door, leaving the hellions behind, probably laughing at the big doofus who was battered nearly to death by his friends, and wonder why it smells a bit like urine on the squishy park of the trail. So as the ads start popping up in the newspaper, on the TV or on the radio, tempting you to plunk down your hard earned money to wander around in a haunted house, remember this. That place is flooded with urine and tears from people like me, and you my friend, just paid to walk in it.

Yes I'm back, you can all relax now.

Back by popular demand, or perhaps just a couple people inquiring about something completely unrelated, I have decided to try and start writing again. It has also been requested of me to post on my Facebook page when I do write, so they know when to come take a gander. That being said, let me put out a disclaimer for those of you that are visiting this site for the first time, drawn by my titillating Facebook post.


Disclaimer:
1. I am not a professional writer. I am a horrible speller and thank God everyday for the person who invented spell checker. I was not an English major is college, because I didn't go to college. Well, that isn't totally true, I took a college course for about 3 days when it hit me, I don't like school and I'm borderline retarded.

2. You will find slightly less than accurate grammar, punctuation and information on this blog. Please do not use this blog for your Masters Theses, you will fail and be banned from your school campus and website.

3. This blog has "colorful" language at times and isn't recommended for anyone over the age of 2 years old. If you are older than 2 years old, and still reading this, you're on your own. The writer of this blog and the whole Blogspot family, will not be held responsible for your hurt feelings or your offended nature, from something you read on this blog. Get over it, they're just words and you should take no offense to anything I say. I'm some random dude in the middle of America with 6 readers and no political aspirations, so this should never be a "skeleton" in my closet. I sometimes say "politically incorrect" things, see the word retarded in #1, so if you are sensitive to words, then read no further.

4. I do not feel that I'm better than anyone, so if you say to yourself, "This ass thinks he better than me," then you should stop reading my blog. You have missed the point. This is purely entertainment, mainly for me, but hopefully you get a laugh or two from something I have written, even if it's about you. I WILL point out my dumbass moves, as I will point out yours as well, if I see it. I will change the name to protect you so you don't get a visit from the FBI, CIA or any other letters. If your name was, say, Kevin, and I was telling a story about you, I would change your name to Kevine. That way, you stay anonymous and your feelings don't get hurt.

I'll leave it at that, see if I get any comments on the disclaimer, update if necessary, and publish the final draft. You will all be asked to sign a release, stating that you have read the disclaimer and will abide by its rules. Then I will have my lawyer draft up a contract and certify mail it to you. You will then need to get a notary to witness you signing the form and mail it back to me. I will then compile a list of "authorized" readers and post that as well. You then will be allowed to view, read and comment on all posts. Anything you say, can and will be used against you on a future post. Just kidding. Not really.

Now lets get started. Since my last post, I have gotten two years older, and no years wiser. I still do the same stupid things I did two years ago. I still drink too much Coke, although it is less. I still have a diet that should have killed me years ago, and see no chance that will change until they either pronounce me dead or tell me that if I eat one more cupcake, my head will explode. Even that might not remove cupcakes from the menu. I hate to admit it, but I had two cupcakes for breakfast the other day, and it was neither the first nor last time that has/will happen. Not proud of it, but if I'm anything, I'm honest about my poor choices. Now if you are friends with me on Facebook, then you know I saw a guy shit in the bushes the other day. I have written about it, spoke about it and even acted it out, up until the final act, I skipped that. You might be asking yourself, "What is the fascination with a grown man, dropping his pants in clear view of a major road, backing near a bush, and making dookie?" I'm glad you asked, because there is a very good reason for that. OK, maybe not a good reason, but a explainable reason. Really, not even an explainable reason, just a reason. That reason is, people fascinate me. Pure and simple, people amaze me at what they will say or do, right in front of other people, and think nothing of it. That is one thing I really like to write about, so be prepared for that. If you are a person that likes to say and do things that amaze people around you, be prepared for your name to show up here, Kevine.


It has been suggested of me that I should write a book. My take on that is, the only people who would read a book that I had written, would be my brothers and sisters and my other two avid readers. The problem with that is, since I would give all of my brothers and sisters signed, complimentary copies, that would leave my sales potential at 2 books. I'm pretty sure the money I would have to pay someone to correct my grammar, punctuation and just incoherent sentences, would be way higher than the amount of money I would make on sales of two books. I'll stick with the blog and see if I can get my readership up to five, then we will checkout the book writing potential and I can dream of ways to spend my new fortune of $.37.

Well my lunch is over, so I'm getting back to work. Here is a teaser on my next post. Haunted houses. Love them or hate then, they are coming on line now for the Halloween season and I've been to a few. Until next time....

So you think you had a bad day....

I know it has been a long time since I have posted, but to be honest, I didn't feel that my sleeping, eating, working and housework were interesting topics for you to read about. I just returned from a work related trip to Akron, Ohio, and as usual, shit happened to me that I thought I would share. First up, my flight from Des Moines to Chicago. The plane had two seats on each side of the aisle, unlike my normal plane which has one seat on one side and two seats on the other. I love these planes, if I can get on the single side, so I don't have to deal with a seat mate. Why you may ask? I'm sure when you travel, you end up with a super model, GQ stud or just a fascinating person sitting next to you, so you can chat the time away and arrive at your destination before you even knew you took off. That isn't my luck. I am constantly being seated to the oddest people that happen to inhabit this earth. Don't take this as "I'm better than they are" kind of attitude. I've never felt I was ever better than anyone. Perhaps it's a low self esteem or perhaps it was my upbringing of accepting everyone for who they are, regardless of their quirks. That being said, we board the plane and a lady who appeared to be in her 50's sat next to me. Now my goal when I fly is to get my headphones on as soon as I can, get my book out and get into my own relaxing zone. As soon as the flight attendant said you may resume using electronic devices, I stuffed the ear buds in and cranked some Skillet. The lady next to me decided it was time to break out the snack buffet she had packed in her carry-on. The variety of her selection was amazing. There were all sorts of bags to be opened, and un-fortunately, all kids of smells for me to inhale. I tried to take a peek to see just what exactly would be the item/smell that would cause me to vomit, but I neither recognized the food or was able to read any of the labels. Some of the items appeared to be some sort of nut, and others appeared to be dead sea creatures. I'm guessing that was what was making the smell. She actually offered me a chocolate, which I declined. Now I'm getting into my music and book, but realize that my leg is being peppered with nut/sea creature escapee's from her mouth and hand. Most were hitting my leg and bouncing to the floor, but several were just sitting on my leg. Now I'm not interested in her getting the food off my leg, but I don't want it on there either. I decided to "shift" in my seat and send the offending droppings onto the floor. So I did. Out of the corner of my eye, I see this woman is kind of, twitching. Not in a being electrocuted way, but enough that I was beginning to be concerned. I could hear through my ear buds that she was making some noises as well. I kept an eye on her, in case she decided to pass out or start really freaking out, but after a few minutes, everything calmed down and I wasn't forced to rear naked choke her out of my misery. You know I watch MMA and have wanted to try a few moves I've seen without the possibility of getting my ass kicked, and I think I could take her. I'm pretty sure I could. But alas, I was still unable to break out the moves and she quietly got her book, something about how to freak strangers out, but I could have read that wrong. The rest of the trip was uneventful, except that my bag decided to stay in Chicago for awhile as I continued on to Akron. It is a lonely feeling when everyone gets their bag and walks away and there you stand with nothing. I filed my missing bag claim and headed to my hotel. Now I love staying in hotels, but like everyone, I'm always concerned if my room is actually clean or not. As I looked around for a power outlet for my computer, my search lead me to behind the couch. Now I know what is behind my couch when I pull it out, but I assumed a hotel couch would be a bit better. I was wrong. Some if the things I saw back there were coffee creamer lids, a straw, and this sweet number.

I know I didn't need to put it on for you, but who could resist. I'm not sure if this vest belonged to a hotel worker who decided to take a little break with a maid and my room was the love nest, or if this was a honeymoon room and the clothes went a flying. There was a pair of socks back there as well, but I decided that the vest was as far as I was willing to go. I can not explain the dumbass grin on my face in the picture, or completely explain my awkward gaze straight ahead, instead of at the camera. You may have seen it posted on Facebook, but the view from my room is well worth a second look.

My week in Akron was one of the most exhausting visits I have made while working for my company. I know I'm getting old, but the amount of walking and climbing was a bit more than normal. I'm lucky that I work with fantastic people and everyone works hard to get the job done, so you never feel like you are pulling more of the load than everyone else. Gee, I hope they feel the same way about me:) My trip was over, so it was time to head home, again through Chicago. On my layover in Chicago, I found a gate in the far corner of the airport where I could again, put in my headphones and maybe get a short nap before I had to get to my gate for the final leg of my trip home. As I sat there and started to drift off, I heard a muffled sound that I wasn't sure what it was. I tried to ignore it, but it was consistent and getting louder, so I pulled an ear bud out to see if I could figure out what it was. As soon as I pulled the bud out, I knew it was someone crying. I listened as the woman continued to sob. I was trying to figure out what the issue was, was she apprehensive about the flight? She was about 2 feet away from me and talking on her cell phone. It has now been several minutes and it has become clear to me that she is alone and very upset about something that was just relayed on the phone. She kept saying "No, no no" and now my curiosity was peaked. She got off the phone, but her breathing had me concerned that she was going to pass out. Have you ever seen something going on, and you want to help or offer assistance, but not sure how or if you should? That was where I was at this point. As I debated as to whether I should approach her, two women saw her crying and did it for me. I heard them ask if she was ok, and I heard the four words no parent ever wants to say. "My daughter just died." Oh my God, I just heard a woman I don't know, utter her worst nightmare. I was stunned. My first reaction was to yell out "No" right along with her, but I certainly didn't want to draw anymore attention to this poor woman than she all ready had. I heard the ladies ask her what happened and she said, "I don't know, my mom just called and said she was dead." My first thought was, why would you call someone who was on their way home and give them this horrible news while they are among strangers and far from home. But the more I thought about it, I realized that maybe the mom was in shock as well, and never thought that the news could or should wait until she landed at home. Then one of my co-workers pointed out, that since Facebook and Twitter have become such a "I want to be the first to break the news" kind of thing, that someone who knew might have posted the news and this poor lady would have to read it on a "Friends" wall. I guess we can all say how we would have done things, but there is no good way. There isn't a way that will make it any less painful. As I sat there in that terminal, so far away from my three boys and longing to give them a big hug, I felt helpless. I couldn't help this lady and I couldn't squelch my own sadness by holding on to the three things that mean the most to me in this whole world. I felt like my plane would never get there for me to get on and get home. I choked back tears, for her and for my fear that I might get that call some day as well. We've all been in those near accidents where you know if something just a bit different happened, you might not be reading this. Or you might be without one that you love. That all came crashing down on me that afternoon and I couldn't get home fast enough. We can't keep our kids safe all of the time. And we can't keep an eye on them 100% of the time they are awake. So what do we do? Well, we teach them to stay out of the street and not to talk to strangers. We tell them not to eat stuff they find in the street and to choose their friends carefully. We tell them to do well in school and say no to drugs, We tell them to wear their seat belts and to not throw rocks or sharp objects at their brothers. But the most important thing we tell them is that we love them and the things we make them do or won't allow them to do, isn't because we are trying to be mean. No, quite the opposite. I do the things I do because I love you so much, that my heart breaks just thinking about you not being in my life. And if that makes me over protective, or paranoid, then so be it. I'm not willing to take that chance, that I will receive a phone call, in an airport, that my life has just changed for the worse, and there is nothing you can do to change that. If you have kids, give them a hug, tell them you love them, and turn off your phone.