Randumb Thoughts: The I-forgot-to-write-a-99th-blog-before-posting-the-Century Club-so-you're-now-stuck-with-this-half-assed-attempt edition.

Apparently, you can’t have a 100th blog entry unless you first write a 99th. As a result, I will be forced to delay telling you about the rowdiness that was the Century Club until I post another blog. Without giving too much away, I can tell you that four of us attempted to achieve this milestone and that I went to sleep pretty early after I was done. That’s all you get for now. But, in order to fulfill my obligation of using that story as my 100th blog, today I will give you yet another dose of Randumb Thoughts.

The funny thing about Christmas is that even though we had no get-togethers at our house, we still cleaned really well beforehand so that it would look nice on Christmas morning. Why do we do this? After just 3 minutes of opening presents there were enough boxes, bows, piles of wrapping paper, little twist ties that attach toys to the back of the box that only someone with childlike fingers can untwist, and various other parts and pieces laying on the floor that you can’t even tell your house has ever been clean. Next year, we’re not cleaning until after Christmas. Screw that – after New Years.

I was going to complain about how absolutely spoiled my son is with all of the toys he got for Christmas and the fact that we have absolutely nowhere to put them, but just now the hum of the 46” plasma HDTV that we received from my freaking awesome parents rung in my ear a little and I realized that I’d better just be quiet.

I also received a bathrobe for Christmas. I haven’t had a robe in years. I also don’t think that I’ll be taking it off anytime soon. In fact, I’m enjoying it and wearing it so much during my little vacation here that I’m only a joint and a white Russian away from becoming the Dude.

Suddenly, I feel the need to go bowling.

I turned 34 today. Coincidentally, my waist has also gone up in age. I’ve been playing catch up all of my life and I’m hoping that within the next two years (dear God, let it be only two years) my age will finally exceed my waist size. I’m sure the Chuckwagon and birthday cake that I’ll be consuming tonight isn’t going to help facilitate that in the least.

I tried snowboarding on Christmas day. That didn’t work out so well. I also did a little bit of sledding and had a ton of fun until I decided to be Super Sledding Guy and did a little running jump onto the flat plastic sled. Ideally when you do that you’re going to land chest first and really get some momentum going to carry you swiftly down the hill. Unfortunately, landing hips first does not give you more speed but instead takes your breath away and makes the twig part of your twig and berries hurt for about the next hour or so.

The DirecTV guy had to come over yesterday to install an HD receiver and satellite for our new TV. I knew we’d be getting a new satellite but I incorrectly assumed that they would simply replace the one that resides on the side of our house. Unfortunately, it had to be installed on the roof that is very steep and still very much covered in snow. That wouldn’t have been so bad had they sent someone who was capable of doing that, but instead they sent over somebody with a case of gout so bad in his knee that he could barely walk. I know it was gout because as we were sitting in the living room waiting for the satellite to program he told me about it. All about it. I didn’t care. I just wanted my HD signal.

Speaking of birthdays, my present from Carol has miraculously appeared back in the living room. It's wrapped this time and is no longer just hiding under a pink blanket, but the torture is just the same. I's been out there now for three days. I'm not sure if she was always this mean or if she learned it from me, but she is as awesome as she is evil.

You know what? Screw it. I’m done. It’s my birthday, it’s 9:30 in the morning and I should be playing Star Wars: The Force Unleashed 2 on my Wii instead of writing some stupid blog that no one cares about anyway because it’s not the one about the Century Club. Everybody have a great day and look back here on Friday 12/31 for the blog about the Century Club. Once I watch the video I’ll have a better grasp on what happened, but I don’t think I can look at alcohol quite yet. Give me another day or so.

Take care

Thanks for reading.

Twas the Night (a horrible Christmas poem)

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Everyone was asleeping, I was on the couch soused
The stockings were laying on the floor all askew
Along with some beer cans and pork rind crumbs too

The boy was nestled all snug in his bed
While visions of Toy Story danced in his head
Carol lay in her PJs tuckered out from the day
As I thought of the reasons that had made me this way

It started Thanksgiving when the story was told
That Ben had flushed Norah’s socks down the commode
Up, up to the bathroom Carol ran like a beer
While I played pool in the basement still nursing my beer

That night I tried shopping for some Black Friday deals
But a two hour line had me back on my heels
So I shopped the next morning, oh the stuff I did buy
But $45 for Lincoln Logs ain’t gonna fly.

The view from our roof as I hung up our lights
Gave a sense of dread to a man fearful of heights
Once again I got stuck, but who should appear
But Nikki, our neighbor, who I begged to come near

With my extension ladder, so lively and quick
She rushed to my rescue like good ol’ St. Nick
More rapid than eagles the jokes they did bark
By calling me Griswold, most notably – Clark

First Dunn, then Werth. Now Lee and Gonzalez
On Crawford, on Berkman, on Jeter and Martinez
Free agents I wanted and prayed much to heaven
But my Cubs gave ten million for a .197!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly
Came the winters first snowfall with winds that did drive
While driving to get Ben the scene was macabre
Heading north to Troy in my Buick Lesleighbre

And then, in an instant, I was blinded by snow
I was scared to stop and even more scared to go
As I drew in my breath and left all things to chance
I just made it through without soiling my pants

Now I’m all bundled up from my head to my toe
Because temps, with the wind chill, are seven below
And of course, overnight our house had lost power
Barely had enough water to take a hot shower

My eyes-how they twinkled! My bald head how merry!
My cheeks were like roses! My nose like a cherry!
My droll little jaw was clenched tight like a vice
And my ass was all bruised from falling on ice.

The butt of my smoke I held tight in my hand
Standing freezing outside while dreaming of sand
As I pondered what present Carol purchased for me
That was under a blanket instead of the tree.

I got chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw this, in spite of myself.
And I laughed, and I laughed, in insanity fits
When the ass up at Midas said my car was the pits

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And then charged me a fortune, that son of a jerk
And extending my finger from the clench of my fist
Drove my still broken car off his lot while right pissed!

This new Christmas Season hasn’t been so much merry
Through much fault of my own it’s been very hairy
But as I looked toward my lawn, still clutching my Stag
I saw that guy Santa and his present filled bag.

It raised up my spirits and warmed up my heart
I stood to go greet him but fell right apart
The table I fell on could not bear the weight
Of a piss-drunk hack writer who’s poems weren’t great

Too much beer had a drank to drown my Christmas sorrows
And I soon passed out cold, not to wake until morrows.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight:
“Happy Christmas to all! That Scott guy’s alright!!”

Merry Christmas to you all!!

And as always, thank you so very much for reading.

The End of an Era

The BAC Quad Cinema in Belleville has been unoccupied for many years now and even though the concession stands pop no more popcorn and the movie projectors have remained dormant, I always felt a sense of comfort while driving by and remembering what a fantastic movie theatre it had once been. I pass it every morning on the drive to work and remember the various movies that I have seen there: Wayne’s World, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Adventures In Babysitting, Crocodile Dundee, Dick Tracy, Casino, The Empire Strikes Back, No Holds Barred, Pulp Fiction, and Batman. I know that there are many more films (classic or not) but as I get older the memories become as dusty as the pile of rubble that I noticed over the weekend while driving by. That’s right; they’re tearing the old theatre down.

I knew it was going to happen eventually as the building was as good as condemned and no one wanted to put up the cash that would be necessary to renovate it, but somehow I expected a little more pomp and circumstance when it happened. After all, this building was a monument of my childhood. It is one of the last remaining vestiges of my youth and the west side of Belleville that I grew up in and centered my universe around. Surely it deserved a more proper burial than the unsympathetic arm of a rumbling Caterpillar ripping it apart brick by brick, wall by wall, and theatre by theatre. I don’t know if I quite imagined the planned implosion that the old Arena in St. Louis was granted over 10 years ago, but I really hoped that I would have known when they were going to begin this demolition so that I could have stopped and admired this cornucopia of memories one last time.

Or maybe I could have just walked through the back lot. After all, that is where I became a man.

No, I didn’t lose my virginity in the back lot of a movie theatre (that story will NEVER be told in this blog. You’ll have to wait for my book for that one) but I did experience that one moment that every guy will always remember. In the back lot of that movie theatre in the dawning days of spring in 1991 I, Scott Hopfinger, kissed a girl for the first time.

Now I’m pretty sure that I had kissed a girl before on the lips, but for the life of me I can’t remember who or when. I know that the only girlfriend I had had up until that point was Wendy but we still joke today about how we dated a few times through grade school and I didn’t even get to cop a feel, much less get a kiss. So I’m perplexed as to who I may have kissed prior to this, but in my mind I’m certain that I had. So, if whoever I had first kissed prior to this story is reading this, I apologize for forgetting you. On the other hand, maybe if you had made it more memorable I wouldn’t be in this situation. That’s right, I’m blaming you.

Anyway, up until then I had never full on kissed a girl before but I knew that it was going to happen on this particular night and I knew that it was going to happen with tongue. I knew this because I had discussed it with my buddy Aaron beforehand and he was going to make sure that I did. See, Aaron was incredibly good looking and had a sort of surfer’s charm about him which made him irresistible to girls. Growing up with him I never really sensed that Aaron was good looking as he was just my buddy who would watch USA Up All Night with me while trying to get a glimpse of the boobies that would never appear. Once we reacged dating age, however, the poor guy had to practically beat women off with a stick. As a result, he had experience in this whole kissing thing and he was doing his best to impart his wisdom on me.

At the time, Aaron and I were lucky enough to be “going out with” two lovely girls from Queen of Peace grade school and had plans to meet them at the movies that night for a viewing of Edward Scissorhands. I put “going out with” in quotations because that’s what we called it back then. Essentially, it consisted of meeting at the mall or the movies (where Aaron’s and my parents would take turns picking up or dropping off – of course), holding hands, and talking on the phone over the course of the week. In all actuality it sounds a lot like the dating I did when I was older with the only difference being that the effort to get the girl to hold my hand turned into an effort to get her to hold something else - but that’s WAY beside the point. I probably should have been thinking about that back then, but I am slightly sexually retarded and was perfectly content on just getting a little tongue back then. Ah – the simpler times…

At the time I was dating a girl named Courtney who went to Queen of Peace grade school. To protect Courtney’s identity and save her from any embarrassment though, we’ll call her “Shelly” from this point on. That seems fair to Courtney. Anyway, “Shelly” and I had met at the mall one weekend afternoon after my buddy Ryan had dragged me along to hang out with his girlfriend Marcie and her friend. As soon as I saw her I was immediately in serious like as she was extremely cute. I don’t think we talked much that day as I was essentially scared of anything without a penis and didn’t have the modern day remedy of alcohol to cure it, but at the end of a day spent walking around the mall and eventually holding hands, however, I had asked her if she wanted to “go out with me” and she accepted. I officially had a girlfriend.

After that we got in the habit of talking on the phone regularly after school and getting to know each other. Luckily for me, the girl that I had on that one random day at the mall devoted my entire future to turned out to be a wonderful person. She was intelligent, funny, and very easy to talk to. My initial physical attraction eventually turned into an emotional attraction (well, as much as a 14 year old boy is capable of) as well and I was very happy with my girlfriend. And as any guy with a girlfriend is apt to do, I soon drug Aaron into the relationship world by having him come to the movies with “Shelly”, myself, and “Shelly’s” friend Christy and they began going out very quickly after that.

I don’t quite recall how many times we had been out or how many movies that we had seen, but I do remember that between Ryan and Marcie, Aaron and Christy, and “Shelly” and myself, we probably went to see Edward Scissorhands more times than any human being should. It’s not that it isn’t a good movie, but there is another movie theatre in Belleville that used to show movies for a dollar and Edward Scissorhands was the movie of choice at that theatre for a good three months. And, being non-working guys who relied on an allowance or the straight up generosity of our parents, dollar movies were greatly appreciated. Not only were we paying for ourselves, but we also paying for our lady friends as we were both trained in the arts of the gentlemanology at an early age.

Despite seeing it numerous times at the other theatre (which rhymes with “stinkin’”) we somehow decided on this night that we should go and see Edward Scissorhands for full price at the BAC Quad. I’m assuming it is because I was staying the night at Aarons and that we could easily walk back to his house after the movie, but I could be mistaken. All I know is that Aaron had been dating Christy for a much shorter time than I had been dating “Shelly” (probably like two whole weeks!!) and he had already kissed her, yet I was still fumbling with my ever-present grace and confidence and had not yet even come close to appraoching that event.

I knew that I wanted to and I knew that I really should, but I had no idea how. I had had plenty of practice kissing thanks to the good graces of the Debbie Gibson poster that hung in my room, however, the poster did not kiss back and I had no idea whatsoever what I was going to do once another person’s tongue was in my mouth. As a result, I held off on this monumental occasion for as long as I could. Aaron, however, had different ideas and told me that this was going to be the night. Somehow, I believed him.

Throughout the movie “Shelly” and I did our normal routine of holding hands and smiling back and forth, but I could never pull the trigger and lean in for a kiss. I wasn’t even sure if she wanted me to kiss her as I didn’t recognize “the look” back then, but I was really hoping that she was up for it tonight because as soon as I was able to build up the testicular fortitude to actually do it, she was going to get kissed. I barely even watched the movie as a) by this time I had it memorized, and b) I was constantly waiting for an opening where I could lean over and kiss her without making a complete ass out of myself. Well, if you’ve been reading any of my blogs so far you know that there is no way that part “b” was going to be able to happen.

The movie started and ended and all I had managed to do was hold her hand – again. And it wasn’t like love wasn’t in the air as I had looked over at Aaron and Christy many times throughout the film to see them making out. For some reason, though, I just couldn’t pull the trigger and lean in for my much anticipated first kiss. Eventually the credits rolled all the way through and I figured that I had a short window to do this prior to the theatre lights going up. I looked over at her and waited for her to turn to me and make eye contact. It seemed like it took forever and with every passing second I was both bursting with anticipation while simultaneously losing my nerve. Finally, she turned toward me and without warning I slowly moved in. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there, but I was making my move and I was gonna kiss her and kiss her good – and then the lights came on. SSSSHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!

Like a coward, I backed off while pretending that I was just adjusting my bottom in the seat that I had been sitting in for so long. It was actually quite smooth and I give myself a lot of credit for hiding my lack of a man sack so flawlessly. Inevitably, it was time to go and more than likely the girls would have a ride waiting for them outside of the theatre when we got there. I had missed my chance and was feeling like a complete and utter failure. As we walked from the theatre to the lobby though, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Christy reached into her purse and pulled out a quarter to call her parents to come and pick the two of them up. And, given the time it would take her parents to get their coats on, get in the car, and drive to the theatre, I was given about a 15 minute window with which I could save this night from being a complete loss. I was going to get my kiss.

After Christy made the call, the four of us walked around the back of the theatre to the empty lot. There was literally nothing back there except for gravel, spots of grass/weeds, and light posts. I had no idea at the time, but “Shelly” and I were being set up. We all began walking around together before Aaron and Christy separated themselves from us to go have a little make-out session of their own. “Shelly” and I were left sitting on the concrete base of a light post to do what it was that I came there that night to do and from her shyness and lack of eye contact, I could tell that while she may not have been a part of this set up, she was well aware of what was going on.

In the distance Aaron and Christy were standing very close together talking and kissing and then kissing and talking before kissing some more. I know this because while I was supposed to be manning up and kissing MY girlfriend, I was too nervous and was watching the only other activity going on in the entire lot. “Shelly” and I were making very, very small talk but that was the extent of it. I was scared to look at her because I didn’t want her to see the inner torment that I was going through, but at the same time eye contact was necessary for my next move. Try as I might though, I just couldn’t do it. There was no way I was going to get rejected at this point, yet I still was hesitant to try it for fear of making an ass of myself. Five minutes passed, then ten. Soon enough, Christy’s parents would soon be there and I will have missed my second chance of the evening. I sucked.

Finally, “Shelly” said that we had better move to the front of the theatre so that Christy’s parents could find them when they got there. Dejected, I stood up and began walking towards Aaron and Christy (who were still kissing) so that we could get them too. As was customary, I grabbed “Shelly’s” hand and we started walking together, but something was different about this hand hold. There was something passing from her hand to mine that said “now is the time. Do it now. It’s okay.” I didn’t know quite what to do with this feeling but I knew that it was strong and that it was right. It took a couple of more steps for me to fully get up the courage to do it but after I had gathered myself I stopped, used the grip that I had on her hand to pull her towards me, and planted the beginning of my life as a man firmly upon her lips.

Now I would like to say that I was a good kisser and that this was the most romantic moment of our young adult lives, and it very well might be, but the truth is I pretty much tongue raped this poor girl. No thanks to Debbie Gibson I had no clue what I was doing and basically shoved my tongue as deep into her mouth as possible. I don’t even think that there was much of a kiss involved as it was more me swallowing her mouth whole. In fact, I’m not even sure that we had the sweet kiss on the lips before they parted and the tongues came out. I’m pretty sure that I just went in open mouth with tongue a-blazing and swallowed the innocence right out of this girl. I was 14, inexperienced, a horrible kisser, but I was now a man. And you know what? It was awesome!

Needless to say, that was the one and only time that I kissed the lovely “Shelly.” My third quarter report card came home a few days later and I was essentially grounded for the rest of the school year due to piss-poor grades because I didn’t do homework and didn’t feel the need to fill out my spelling workbook when I was fully capable of acing every spelling test that I took. As a result of this, “Shelly” tired of waiting for me and we agreed to go our separate ways. I don’t remember if I cried when we broke up or if it even registered with me that the next kiss I get might be a long way away. I do know, however, that on that fateful night behind the BAC Quad cinema in beautiful Bellevegas, IL “Shelly” had provided me with a moment that I will always remember for the rest of my life. Thanks Courtney, um, I mean “Shelly” : )

On that note, I realize that as of today the BAC Quad cinema will be no more. They had already begun the demolition on the final section this morning which I witnessed on my way to work and I am anticipating that when I drive by at 5:15 this evening that all that will be left is a pile of rubble. The good news is that they will be building an additional screen or two for the adjacent Drive-In movie theatre, but it just won’t be the same. I will miss the beauty of the theatre. I will miss the building that used to decorate a rather desolate section of Belleville. And, I will miss the comfort that I felt knowing that it was always there just waiting for the right person to come in and fix it up to the point where it could create memories for a whole new generation of Bellevillians. Unfortunately, that never happened. Today is a sad day.

But hey, I did get some tongue that night!!

Thanks for reading.

The Torturous Ways of the former Carol Q

As of 7:30 this morning there is a large blanket-covered box in my living room that contains my birthday present. I am not allowed to look at it or touch it and it is driving me insane. Seriously insane. My brain may explode before I’m able to open it.

It all started last week when Carol posted on Facebook that my birthday present had been delivered by UPS and that she was upset because it was broken in two spots. Immediately my brain began to turn over and over thinking of any item that I had mentioned as a possible Christmas/Birthday present that could be broken in two places. Since I had asked mainly for clothes, Wii games, a life-size cutout of Lindsay Lohan, and world peace (of course), I couldn’t really imagine what she could possibly have gotten for me that could break. I pontificated on it for a few hours, but without even seeing the box I was really just grasping at straws. But, Carol loves to torture me and by simply posting that comment on Facebook she knew that it would drive me nuts thinking about what she got me. She is evil like that.

Eventually, I forgot about the entire thing and really paid it no mind. As much as I love Christmas and opening presents I love to be surprised as well. The detective in me wants to look at every wrapped box under the tree and, without touching it, attempt to guess what it is. I will walk through an entire day in a haze as I think about what could possibly be under that tree in those boxes, but If someone were to try to tell me what was in them I would stop them immediately. As much as I want to guess and be right, I love the surprise of opening the present and seeing what’s inside. In fact, as a kid I never even once tried to look through my parent’s house to find where the Christmas presents were hidden and what they were. Okay, I might have tried once, but I had to stop because I didn’t want to ruin Christmas morning for myself.

This present, however, is a different story. While we were eating dinner on Wednesday night we heard the doorbell ring and Carol ran to the living room as she saw the UPS truck on our street. Because she wanted to get back to the table to eat, she simply set the box in the living room, draped a large pink blanket over it, and let it sit for the duration of our dinner. Knowing that it was a present for me, I kept teasing that I was going to go into the living room and look at it. Carol, however, knew better than that and trusted that I wouldn’t go anywhere near it for fear of ruining the surprise. She also knew though that having my birthday present out in the open like that would drive me insane. I wouldn’t look at it, but I would really want to. Really really want to.

That evening after we put Ben to bed I had to avoid the living room entirely. It wasn’t because Carol hadn’t yet put the present away (which she seemed in no hurry to do), but because I had been in there earlier, seen the shape of the box, and my mind began racing again. I knew that there was something in there that could have been broken in two spots, but given the size of the box I couldn’t think of anything in there that could break. I now had three big pieces of the puzzle: 1) the size of the box, 2) it was a breakable item, and 3) my preexisting Christmas list, yet I could not even venture a guess as to what was in there. I knew that if I sat in the living room watching TV with the torturer herself I would do nothing but look at that box and think of what was inside.

The good news was that I would be able to go to work on Thursday and she would have a chance to either wrap it or move it to another place that wasn’t in my direct sight all of the freaking time. The bad news is that due to the icy road conditions on Thursday, that didn’t happen. Ben’s school was canceled and I was going to work from home all day while simultaneously entertaining him. Now, if I had bought a present for Carol and had left it sitting under a blanket in the living room I would have been kind enough to remove it from its very accessible location prior to her spending an entire day at home. Do you think Carol the Hun would be kind enough to do that for me? Nooooooooooo! Rather than at least moving it into another room where I wouldn’t be forced to stare at all day long, she instead left it right where it was and set up a series of booby-traps so that she would know if I had touched it or not. Damn her! Damn her to hell!

All day. ALL DAY LONG I was forced to be in the same house with that thing just sitting there taunting me. Mocking me. Now, if the present were wrapped and under the tree or in a closet somewhere I would find it acceptable. That is the normal course of action that you take with a present that you don’t want someone to see. I accept the sanctity of the wrapping paper and the paper thin force field of trust and honesty that it provides. What you DON’T do is leave the freaking present out in the open for the recipient to look at all day long and wonder what in the hell could be inside. You just don’t do it. It’s not fair! And as much as it drove me nuts I knew that all I had to do was to walk over and take a peak under that blanket and I would know for sure what it was putting my anxiety to rest. But I just couldn’t. And I won’t.

Hopefully when I get home tonight the present will either be hidden or wrapped and under the tree. That would be the kind thing to do. My lovely wife, however, is probably enjoying my struggle too much to want to do the kind thing. In fact, after reading this she will more than likely leave it there all weekend just to get under my skin. She may even leave it there until the night before my birthday when she’ll conveniently decide to wrap it up and present it to me the next day. Or she may even just say “screw you, the blanket is the wrapping paper” and leave me under extreme duress for the next 12 days. She can be so very, very cruel.

The funny thing is that this cruelty is one of the many reasons why I love her so much.

Thanks for reading.

Icy Roads and Anthony Michael Hall

Due to the icy road conditions today that are forcing me to stay at home with my now educationally-deprived child, I will share with you the tale of one of the greatest driving feats ever performed. It is great not only because of the dexterity, skill, and quick thinking that it took to perform it, but also because I lived to be able to share it with you today. I may have to take frequent breaks while writing just to compose myself, but you would never know that as reading really has no pauses (unless they’re self-imposed by the reader having to use the bathroom, grab a quick smoke, or actually doing some work while at the office). To help you there, I will let you know when I am taking a moment to compose myself so that you may share in my emotions. Yes, my blogs are now becoming interactive.

We begin our story with a little bit of background. Before I was driving the luxurious 1993 Buick Lesabre that I currently grace the roads of the bi-state area with, I was the proud owner of a blue 1999 Saturn. This was my first (and so far only) new car that I owned and even though it wasn’t as glorious as some automobiles out there, I loved it and it served me well for many years. I was also living at the time in a POS house on 11th street in beautiful Bellevegas with my then girlfriend Carol (we slept in separate bedrooms, of course *wink-wink*) and our good friend Dan. The house was ugly and reeked of lies, but it was cheap and we had a lot of fun in it. Additionally, I had just started working at the airport in Cahokia, IL and was quickly discovering that I hated it there. Really, really hated it there.

Anyway, I had gotten in the habit those days of making a stop at QT on the way to work to pick up a large cup of QT French Vanilla Cappuccino and whatever various sundries that I wanted on that particular morning. It was just a few blocks down from the house and offered a quick entrance to Route 15 which would take me a majority of the way to work. It was a trip I had made numerous times and could probably have made with my eyes closed had I ever tried.

On this particular morning, however, there was a small difference. Actually, it was a big difference. A big, icy difference. Overnight, we had been the not so grateful recipients of some snow and a lot of ice. Luckily, the ice came first and the snow piled on top of it, but ice is ice and regardless of how much snow is packed on top, it’s still slippery underneath. Now, I’ve never had a problem driving in snow or ice before (well, except for the time that my car did a complete 360 while driving at about 40 mph on Highway 255 with another car directly in front of me, but that’s a whole different type of story altogether) and I really didn’t expect to have any problems that day. I was neither fearful of the drive nor was I overly cautious when it came to navigating the road or snow. This was just going to be an ordinary drive to work.

As I made my way to QT, I noticed that even though there were very obvious rough patches here and there, the roads were basically fine for traveling purposes. There were some snow spots on the streets but they were glaring white due to the newness of it and also because of the bright sunshine that day. As long as I could avoid those spots, this drive would be a piece of cake. I made it to QT, poured myself a cup of ambition, and made my way back out to my car to continue the trek to the job from hell.

I pulled out of QT and made my way towards RT 15 with no problems whatsoever. I wouldn’t say that I was overly cocky about my driving skills on such a day, but I was definitely confident that I would have no problems at all. I did drive slightly slower due to my need to avoid snow patches that might be harboring ice underneath, but for the most part I maintained a decent pace and would be arriving at work only slightly tardy. I had this driving in the snow and ice thing licked.

Have you ever heard of black ice?

I had heard of the existence of black ice on many occasions but had never really experienced it before. I knew what regular ice was as I had slipped and fallen on it many times in my life, but I had never seen black ice before and only knew it as a myth. Luckily for me and my forever expanding list of life experiences, I was soon introduced to black ice and the horrible effects that it can have on a 4 door sedan travelling at slightly faster than safe speeds on an apparently safe road.

The second I hit the black ice (which sounds much different when you say it than when you read it, plus I would never hit a group of black guys because frankly, I don’t hit that hard and unless they’ve provoked me I would have no reason to do so) my car began to move in a direction that I was not so comfortable with. I’ve slid on snow and ice before and have even done some pretty magical things behind the wheel to correct myself when that occurred, but this was different. This wasn’t just a slight shimmy, this was a full on ass-end-of-the-car-being-swung-on-a-swivel slide.

I knew from all of my studying during driver’s education that slamming on the brakes was the worst thing to do, so instead I lightly tapped them and attempted to correct my steering in the opposite direction of which I was sliding. Actually, I may have turned the steering wheel into the turn to fix it, but I’m not sure. Off the top of my head I couldn’t tell you what to do, but in the heat of battle I’ve always done it the right way and have no car accidents on my record to prove it…so far.

Anyway, regardless of what I did with the steering wheel or how lightly I tapped my brakes, I could not stop the car from spinning around. It was slow spin, but a spin nonetheless and before I knew it, my car had done a complete 180 degree turn and I was…

(composure moment)

now driving backwards at a reduced rate of about 25 mph on a major road full of traffic. I was officially scared shitless at this point but didn’t scream or panic. The reason that I was able to restrain myself from giving the Route 13 scream (reference previous blogs) was that I was now realizing another situation that had elevated my fear to an entirely different level – we’ll call it Fear II.

Fear II is slightly worse than Fear I because Fear I lets you know that you’re somehow screwed. Fear II lets you know that in addition to the pain or anguish that you are more than likely experience from Fear I, you are now only going to have it compounded due to a secondary factor. The secondary factor in my situation is that not only was I driving backwards at a fairly good rate of speed, but I was now face-to-face with the car that used to be behind me, and still kind of was, and he was going slightly faster than I was. I was about to be the victim of the first head-on rear-end collision in modern history.

(another composure moment. Just give me a second)

Luckily for me, my natural instincts and cat like reflexes were on full alert and I made a quick decision to turn my steering wheel slightly to navigate my backwards car to the shoulder of the road. Like I said before, I’d driven this road many times before and I knew that there was plenty of room on the shoulder of the road for both my car and my recently soiled pants (Fear II will often convince your bowels that they no longer need to operate in a socially acceptable manner). I looked at the driver in front/back of me and the look of terror on his face (He was only at Fear I) was indescribable. I did notice, however, that he was slowing down and, as a result, was getting farther and farther away from me so the fear of being hit by him was decreasing by the second. Additionally, my car was slowly moving backwards to the shoulder of the road so I began to relax little. I was going to make it out of this alive.

Do you know how in horror movies the girl is usually being chased by the axe murderer (Fear I) and as she runs through the house/forest/campsite she sees all of her mutilated friends and realizes that not only is she going to die, but she is going to die in the same horrific fashion as they did (Fear II) until she is somehow able to knock the killer down and make it to whatever abandoned automobile that is available to her and then once she is inside she relaxes a bit because she knows she’s going to escape safely until the moment when she realizes that either the keys aren’t in the ignition or that the car won’t start and the killer pops up at the window holding the murder weapon and a pissed off expression because she almost got away and then how they usually get a close up of the victims face expressing an entirely new kind of shock altogether? Well, that’s Fear III.

I quickly experienced Fear III as my killer and his murder weapon passed by my car as I veered onto the shoulder of the road. Like I said, I relaxed slightly and knew that I was going to make it out alive but somehow, in my case, a different killer arrived. This new potential killer popped up at my car window in the form of a steep embankment off the shoulder of the road that I, but neither my car nor inertia, very much wanted to avoid. Unfortunately for me, the laws of physics won and the stop that I was planning on making on the shoulder of the road didn’t quite happen the way I wanted it to.

Fear III is a funny thing. It can elicit a variety of reactions including, but not limited to, screaming, crying, drooling, loss of bodily functions, and most commonly, prayer to a higher being that you may either speak to on a daily basis or only in instances such as this. I, however, experienced a very different kind of Fear III. As if I was in the movie “Final Destination” I became convinced that my time had come. Even though I had escaped death by ice patch and head-on rear-end collision, I was destined to perish that morning and something was going to get me – and that something was going to be that hill. I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t even pray to my higher power (Anthony Michael Hall for anyone who’s curious). I simply sat back, held on to the steering wheel, and waited stone-faced for the eventual flipping of the car and the sounds of bending steel and breaking bones.

But it never happened.

I don’t know how or why, but in the midst of my car sliding down that steep embankment, it just stopped. I wasn’t sliding at a great speed by any means, but the embankment should have allowed for me to keep sliding and flipping regardless of speed. Maybe it was because my car was light. Maybe it was because of my fantastic driving skills, instincts, and cat-like reflexes. Or maybe it was because the portrayer of such great characters as Farmer Ted, Brian Johnson, and Gary Wallace was watching over me that day. Whatever it was, I didn’t care. My car had stopped and I was alive. Alive and uninjured.

As I got out of the car to assess the damage, I stepped carefully out the door in order to avoid the car sliding again and me moving to the always fatal but never fully described since no one has ever lived through it - Fear IV. The car seemed pretty stable though and I began walking around it to see both the damage to my vehicle and what had caused it to stop. What I saw was absolutely amazing. Not only was there not a scratch or dent anywhere on my car that wasn’t already preexisting, but the thing that stopped my car was not even fathomable.

I like to think that it was the great AMH that stopped the car and saved my life that day as that is far more believable than what I actually witnessed. Out of the ground and placed firmly against the rear bumper of my car was a stick. I would like to call it a tree, but that would be an insult to trees everywhere. In fact I may have even insulted sticks. Sticking out of the ground was a branchless, leafless, barely even an inch in diameter twig that apparently stopped my automobile from an inevitable crash down a large embankment into a sea of trees with no give whatsoever. I desperately wanted to touch the twig to see how firmly planted in the ground it was, but I also did not want to test fate and upset the one thing that could be the difference between the price of a tow and the price of a new car. Eventually, I took the situation for what it was and decided to make my way up the hill and to the road to flag down some help (my cell phone battery was dead - of course). After a bit of time I made it home and decided that going to work just wasn’t going to be an option for me that day. The ice had won.

The story continues on from there with funny occurrences of me trying to climb up the hill while in my slick soled dress shoes, a kind woman picking me up and driving me the long way to my house taking a total of 30 minutes in the snow rather than taking a back road which would only have been three blocks total, and the 70+ year old man that the towing company sent to hook up my car even though he had had three heart attacks in the past year and couldn’t even lay on his back to attach the chain to my car for fear of not being able to get back up. All in all it was an adventurous morning as this all happened before 9:30.

The goal of this tale is three-fold. First, I wanted to let you know that the mythical black ice does indeed exist and should be feared. Second, I wanted to instruct you on the different stages of fear and how they affect people in their daily lives. And third, I wanted to let you know that due to my belief in the awesome powers of the great Anthony Michael Hall, the only things that I lost on that cold, icy, winter morning were a little bit of urine and a few drops of my delicious QT French Vanilla Cappuccino.

All hail Farmer Ted.

Thanks for reading

The Announcement

I have made quite possibly the dumbest decision of my entire life. Well, maybe not THE dumbest decision – that might go to the time that I made out with the girl with the large adams apple and 5 o’clock shadow after going on a 7 hour brannigan, but my friend’s suspicions were never confirmed as I passed out prior to getting far enough with her/him to know for sure. But that’s beside the point. The fact of the matter is that up until about a month ago

I’d been wrestling around with different ideas on what to do for my upcoming 100th blog. I thought that since I reached 100 and that my readers have faithfully followed me along for this ride that I should do something special to mark the occasion. If writing this blog was financially beneficial to me in the least I would have loved to send you all money, but unfortunately the only compensation that I receive from spewing out this drivel is in the form of compliments and people telling me that they read it. And while I appreciate that very much, it isn’t going to get you any 100th Blog cash. Sorry.

When I started thinking about it I thought that maybe I should make a list, but what of? Should I list the 100 greatest songs of all time (which would be fact and not opinion based on my impeccable taste in music and the fact that I’m brilliant)? Should I list the 100 greatest movie quotes of all time (You’re stewed, buttwad)? What about the top 100 (as there are so many more) reasons that I am awesome? While I like those topics and very well might write those blogs in the future, they just didn’t seem worthy of a special occasion blog. For my 100th I needed to do something different. I needed to do something awesome. I needed to do something that reflected the theme of so many of my past blog entries. But what?

Finally, one night while laying in bed (calm down ladies) it came to me. It was so obvious that I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it yet. In fact, I have no idea why I haven’t even tried it yet at any point in my life. I began working through the logistics of it and it sounded like something that I could do but it was going to be tough to complete. But who cares? This was for my readers! Luckily, my first calculations were wrong and I was WAY overstated as to what this was going to entail, but it was still enough of a challenge that I wanted to undertake it. I knew my readers deserved something big and I was going to give it to them (again – calm down ladies).

After some more calculations, I went to my friend Melissa (who is an expert in this field) and asked her exactly what this would entail. We did some quick math and discovered that even though I had been way off in my original calculations, this was still going to be an undertaking and would not be easy to do. I began to waver a little in my decision thinking that maybe this was dumb and that I could certainly come up with something better to do, but at that moment, Melissa offered her assistance. I had never thought about having someone do this with me as it was mostly me trying to make my readers once again laugh at my expense, but once she offered to join me I became very excited. I became so excited, in fact, that I immediately called and recruited my buddy Dan to join in our endeavor. This was going to be fun.

Now what, you ask, could I possibly be talking about? What could I possibly do that was so big? What I’m talking about folks is what I’ve talked about in many of my blogs. What I’m talking about has been the subject of many stories and the cause of much turmoil. What I’m talking about has added to many fun times in my life and subtracted from so many following days. What I’m talking about has made me dance with Playmates, vomit on various pieces of furniture, and made me avoid Olive Garden for the past 10 years. What I’m talking about, my friends, is drinking.

I know that I talk about drinking a ton and that a blog about drinking is really no different than what I’ve done in the past. But I must assure you that this is decidedly different. This will be like no other blog that I’ve ever written. This time I’m going to challenge myself. This time I’m going to set the bar high and try to fly over it. This time, I’m going to join the Century Club.

For anyone who isn’t familiar with the Century Club, it is a contest to see if you can drink 100 shots of beer in 100 minutes. Now, while 100 shots of beer may not seem like a lot to some people (it sure as hell does to me) it is, in fact, a shit ton of beer. Assuming that there are 12 ounces in a random can of beer and that each shot will be of the 1 ounce variety ( I had originally calculated 2 ounces per shot), that’s one beer every twelve minutes. Now I’ve easily downed a beer in 12 minutes before and have most definitely downed two in that time frame, but it doesn’t end there. After you’re done with that, you have to consume 7.33333333 more beers in that same fashion within the next 88 minutes – and that’s assuming that whoever is pouring the shots doesn’t over or under pour each one. Plus, while many people think they can simply chug a ton of beer right away and then chug more as the time expires, that is not the point. The point is to sit down with a multitude of shot glasses and drink one shot every minute on the minute for 100 minutes. And if you puke - you're out. That’s gonna be tough.

To test this out Melissa and I grabbed a couple of beers (did I mention that her expertise comes from being a bartender and that I went to visit her – at work?) and started the timer. We went through one or two beers based on this timing and immediately discovered that this was going to be tough. For one thing, choice of beer is going to be critical. I could easily go with a light beer in order to delay the intoxication for as long as possible, but then I would have to go to the bathroom WAY more often. And, if you have to go to the bathroom, you have to bring your next shot along with you so that you can drink it at the appropriate time. My choice of beer, of course, will be the one and only Stag. Yes, it will get me way drunker way earlier than I want to be, but I can a) hold off on peeing that much longer, and b) possibly avoid an even worse hangover the next day due to a lack of sugar in the beer (scientific fact). Plus, if I didn’t choose Stag after all of the glory that bestowed upon it, I’d look like a sellout.

Another thing that was going to be difficult would be keeping the timer going as we get progressively drunker. To fix this, we decided that a neutral place with a (semi) sober time keeper would be ideal. As a result, we decided that Jeff’s house would be perfect as he doesn’t drink beer (allergic to carbonation – pansy) and we could pass out on his couch if and when we needed to. Plus, he has a fenced in back yard so if somebody is heaving in the bathroom, the others could go outside to hurl without the neighbors staring.

Once the plans were set, more people came into the picture. Melissa asked Chris who seemed more than willing to participate (I didn’t ask him because I knew he would have to work the next day and doubted his ability to bounce back. He will prove me wrong) and I asked Sasha who has yet to give me a response. So, technically, we could be looking at five possible people doing this. This could be fun.

But how does this affect you and what does this have to do with my blog? I’ll tell you how and what. I am going to document each shot, one by one, from the moment that we start until the moment that we end. If somebody spills, you’ll read about it. If somebody throws up, you’ll read about it. If somebody has a big wet spots on their pants because they had to get back to their chair for their next shot before they were done peeing, you’ll read about it. To help me document this (and mostly to help me remember anything past a certain point) I will be videotaping the entire incident. It will not be pretty and it will not be smart, but it is a gift that I want to give to you, my readers, as a thank-you for your support.
The date of the extravaganza will be Monday, December 27th (I’m on vacation that week) but I HIGHLY doubt that the blog will be posted the next day.

I may need a day or two to recover.

Thanks for reading

Randumb Thoughts - The Holiday Season Edition

Something about the winter months makes me not want to do anything. I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want to go to work, I don’t want to watch TV, I don’t want to go outside, I don’t want to stay inside, and I certainly don’t want to write. But, because my fan base is rabid and if I go a week or so without a blog I start getting nasty emails, I will attempt to escape from the doldrums of my day and entertain you with a brand new batch of Randumb Thoughts (yes, I capitalize it now. I may even get it copyrighted. I’m that damn cool.)

In all honesty, I could give a shit about the royal wedding coming up between Prince William and the winner of the “I can put up with more of your bullshit than any other girl in England just so that I can one day be a queen” contest. Really, what do I care? I don’t know these people, I don’t live in England, the royal family has basically no real control over anything in that country, and I wasn’t even invited. Even if I were close friends of the family, I probably wouldn’t even go because I’m imagining the cost of a plate at the reception would be much more than I could afford to make up for in a wedding gift. “Yeah, thanks for inviting me. I took out a loan so that I could buy you a gift to put in your PALACE. I’m sure that you could’ve afforded to buy one of these for yourself and that you have at least three already somewhere in your PALACE, but here’s your original Monet painting that I bought for you. If you need me, I’ll be at the homeless shelter.”

If Christmas is a time of peace and love, why do I want to rip the head off of anyone in line in front of me at Target who is buying non-Christmas related items? “Hey jerkoff! There’s this place called a grocery store that sells mustard and frozen pizzas. From Thanksgiving through December 24th this store is only for people buying shit for their loved who don’t even need the crap, but because we’ll end up feeling guilty about not buying something for somebody that we love we’re forced to be here to ease our guilt and by buying these ridiculous items you’re only making the situation worse. Now get out of my freaking way before I shove my three rolls of Christmas Story wrapping paper straight up your non-holiday-appreciating ass. By the way, Happy Holidays Reverand.”

I ate veal for the first time yesterday. Screw you PETA!

I feel bad that I haven’t mentioned anything about my Class of ’95 get together over the Thanksgiving weekend. It was nothing “official,” but more of a gathering of anyone who got the Facebook message and who was going to be in town that weekend. We had a nice turnout and had a really good time. I was shocked and humbled by everyone who said that they read my blog and enjoyed it. I would thank you all by name, but quite honestly, I didn’t know your names in high school and I’m sure not going to learn them now. But seriously, I would like to give a personal thank you to Buddy, Hey You, Girlie, and Dude It’s Been Forever!

Regarding that night, I would like to say that I had the honor and privilege of hanging out with someone who was once voted “best ass” by some of their co-workers. You know who you are : ) Be proud!!

I just realized that I forgot my lunch today and am going to have to venture out into the cold to get myself something to eat. I would just skip lunch, but we have a corporate happy hour for the holidays tonight with an open bar. Sure, you may be thinking that I could just limit myself to a few beers but you obviously don’t understand the term “open bar.” Some people see it as a luxury but I see it as a challenge. I like to see how drunk I can get on the company dime while still putting forth a professional demeanor. I’m gonna place the over/under at 8 beers – unless there are shots involved.

I may use tonight and my alcoholic courage to finally present my Schooner Tuna approach for the next fiscal year to the CEO. I may be unemployed tomorrow.

Yesterday was the 30th anniversary of the murder of John Lennon. I was going to write an entire blog on John Lennon and/or the Beatles and my love for them and the effects that they’ve had on my life, but as you can probably tell so far I am not in a good mood and I couldn’t have done it justice. I’ll simply say that Mark David Chapman should not only be in jail for murder, but he should also receive an additional sentence for burglary because he robbed us all of one of the most musically gifted individuals ever put on this earth. RIP JWOL.

I think I’m going to need to bust out my Andy Williams Christmas Album this weekend to break me of this sour mood. Hearing it usually gets me in the Christmas spirit so maybe that’s what I need. Either that or 3 hours with Lindsay Lohan…

We had a holiday luncheon for my department yesterday and I wanted steak. Granted the majority of the items on the menu were only half the cost of the $27 filet mignon, but I tried to use my powers of reasoning, charm, and a little bit of The Force to get my way. When I mentioned to my boss that I wanted the filet she said no way because it was too expensive. I then brought up the fact that my co-worker Jim had called in sick that day and since they were planning on buying his lunch anyway, I could simply use what they were going to spend on him and add it to the cost of my lunch to equal the cost of the filet. Needless to say, but as rational as this line of thinking was I was denied and ended up eating the aforementioned veal instead.

My radio station is now throwing the occasional Christmas song into the mix and I don’t like it. If I wanted to hear Christmas music I would turn to one of those stations that my sister listens to that play Christmas music 24/7. Since I don’t want to hear Christmas music quite yet (give me a week or so), I should be able to listen to the greatest hits of the 70s and 80s without being hit with that horrible Paul McCartney “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time” song. You’ve done some great things Sir Paul. This was not one of them.

As an update to me quitting smoking a while back, let’s just forget we ever had that talk. Some things just aren’t meant to be.

Have you ever had the feeling that you’re being watched by someone who is expecting you to do the job you’re paid to do rather than sitting at your desk writing some stupid blog? Have you ever had that person come up to you and ask what you’re doing only for you to tell them to mind their own damn business because as of two minutes ago you’re on your lunch break? And have you ever had them tell you that they’ve been walking past your cube for the past hour or so and every time they do that you’re obviously not working so that you’ve technically already used your lunch hour? And have you ever told that person that once you’re a famous writer that you’re going to write an entire book about how they’ve suppressed your creativity and, as a result, suck? Me either, but I feel that it’s coming soon.

By the way, the Schooner Tuna thing from above was a Mr. Mom reference.

Thanks for reading.