i wanna wake up naked next to you,

...kissing the curve in your clavicle.

my wife is back, yay!

mom is still here for a few more days. when i have gotten a chance, i have mentioned my concerns about my mom to my wife. she concurs. but we still don't really know what to do about it.

in other news, i caught my mom tapping her toe and attempting to hum along to alkaline trio in the car when she thought i wasn't looking.

we were at the beach yesterday, and i finally got tagged by a decent wave and bounced off the ocean floor, heh heh. i love swimming out till i can barely touch bottom and riding the waves. it is so peaceful and serene. and while i have gotten smacked in the face pretty good many a time, and have had my sinuses rather forceably lavaged, i have never ended up nose over tail.

until yesterday. and truth be told, it was because i was coming back in from the deep part, and was actually walking, and looking at my wife and kids in the shallows, when quite suddenly, this monster fucking wave was hanging over me. if i had just stood there and taken it, i woulda been ok.

but i thought, i will jump up into it. bad idea, baby huey.

i hit it just right that it flipped me over. talk about salt water in the sinuses.

now, the funny thing is that the time up until i jumped passed quickly, and like the matrix movies or 300, suddenly sloooooowed down after the wave hit me. but my thought-process remained at normal speed (and crazy calm, i might add).

you are gonna get slammed against the sand.

me: yes, i know.

should happen any minute now.

me: yeah.

wonder why it is taking so long?

me: dunno, but i wish it would hurry up and finish, this salt water is driving my nose crazy.

agreed. ever notice how the water seems warmer where it breaks? wonder why that is?

me: no idea, i spo--

THUD!

us: (simultaneously) there it is.

i thumped my chin, did something to my arm (it was extra sore--but don't ask me how) and my neck is a little stiff today. also, holding on to one's progeny to keep them upright as the waves beat us both is incredibly hard on the knees if you already have a weak one.

i sure love the beach.

when we got back, we hosed the kids off in the driveway when the peaceful sunday afternoon was shattered by a shriek:

"my pee pee is stuck!!"

the lining on no. 1's bathing suit had gotten stuck to his, err, well, umm, pee pee, and he was rather flustered as to how he was going to remove his trunks.

the wife made sympathetic noises while simultaneously acting a bit scatterbrained. a quick shot of water, and my boy was free of his, err, fetters, and none the worse for wear and tear. till he gets old enough to read this. and realizes that anyone can. and notices that i am sharing it with all the girls he brings home to date. heh heh. (if my mom can tell the pee/bathroom floor story from when i was five to everyone, by christ, i am allowed to share embarassing stories about my kids to their potential girlfriends!)

for now, that is it, o my beloved non-existant readers.

darth sardonic

the plight of humanity...

for lady macleod specifically, and the world in general. and because i feel this particular post deserves a certain amount of class to lend it weight, i will refrain from swearing.

i first became aware of the plight of the tibetans through rudehead. he not only had a "free tibet" sticker on his bumper, but his dashboard as well. and later, when i bought the beaster and proceeded to cover it in offensive and sarcastic stickers, a "free tibet" sticker was prominently displayed.

but to discuss tibet, i need to travel back in time to the moment when i first became aware of the world at large, and the not-so-pretty things that happen in it.

so we head back to junior high, when i lived in constant fear of world war iii, the bomb, and bullies who would tease me incessantly. what, i often asked myself, was the point?

it began then, with pre-perestroika russia, who, i was convinced, wanted to nuke us into oblivion and enslave whatever remained of the human race living in what was once the united states.

but as i got older, i became aware of a much larger, more sinister, and, even worse, very real underlying current among us homo sapiens on this, the third rock from the sun: we feel an almost urgent need to overtake, enslave, and conquer. and the overtaken, enslaved, and conquered feel a primal need to fight back with whatever weapons they can find.

the irish were bombing the english. the people of the persian gulf were throwing rocks (i remember being awash in the sheer futility of these poor people as they threw broken bricks at advancing tanks, almost as if a fly had picked up a grain of sand and tossed it at me to prevent the descent of the swatter). africans were starving while the overlords let the food donated by other countries spoil on the docks.

i learned about ghandi. i learned about nelson mandela. i learned the underlying details of the vietnam war. i learned about colonization, mistreatment, raping and pillaging. i learned about gengis khan. i learned about alexander the great. i learned about hitler. i did a report on hiroshima. i learned about annihilation, holocaust, and genocide.

and it didn't stop, o fair and wonderful beloved non-existant readers. russia embraced peace talks with the us, and let go of communism, and still small countries were being taken over by bigger ones. the wall came down in berlin, and still people were being slaughtered the world over.

and the other big countries, the "heroic" countries that should swoop in like a big brother into the fray to pull out the underdog, to quell the bully, more often than not, stepped aside, gave the cold shoulder, turned a blind eye.

when does it end, o my beloveds, my droogs and only friends? who knows, i sure don't. but in the early days of man, i imagine the fighting was at a much smaller scale, over food, shelter, and mates. did the early man wake up one morning with the desire to take over every tribe he could reach in a day's ride? did he enlist like-minded friends, convincing them with paintings of grandeur and avarice?

and the list of countries that have, at one time or another, behaved to a smaller, undeveloped country (or worse, the "lessers" in their own country) in much the same manner as china does to tibet are endless: england, spain, portugal, korea, egypt, italy, russia, south africa, turkey, germany, greece, mongolia, and i dare not forget the u.s. of a., who enslaved africans for many decades, pushed the native people from their land and traditions and forced them at gunpoint into places wherein no man should dwell, followed by shoving our way of living down any throat unlucky enough to have opened to shout its desire to live as it wishes unharmed, unhindered, and free.

we, as a race, worldwide, have become arrogant. we have grown too big for our britches. we have burned our land, tainted our waters, and killed our brother with extreme prejudice, all the while smiling maniacally and declaring it is our "god-given" right.

and so, my beloved non-existant readers, the stalwart and strong, the faithful and kind, i am barely joking when i say that i believe we are due a plague, a cleansing, or even the third world war i dreaded so much, because we need to be knocked down. we need to be thinned. we need to be bombed back to the stone age, when our only desire was to remain warm, eat, and reproduce. our respective gods to whom we pray and by whom we curse are residing in their heavens, alternately shouting with anger and weeping with anguish for the atrocities we heap on one another in their names, or in our own.

and with that, i will leave you for today. i am in desperate need of some quiet time to release the emotions that burn inside my eye sockets (i really don't feel like trying to explain to my mom that i am bawling for the plight of humanity), and to remind myself that, despite all this, i still believe there is hope, and that i am the jaded, cynical optimist.

darth sardonic

p.s. a note to let anyone who should happenchance upon this post, i am not amassing the makings of large car bombs. i am not mailing manifestoes to newspapers. i am not building a bomb shelter and saving cans of food. i do not think of myself as a "weapon" to execute god's wrath. i am merely a mortal who tries to raise his family to be open-minded, but not blind; and who occasionally looks at the bigger picture around him and shakes his head in shame with tears in his eyes.

swill and nonsense

a note to myself really quick: i still owe lady macleod a post about tibet, as a microcosm for the entire human race, and my views about all of that.

so my wife is gone this week for training, and in a smaller way, i am reliving last summer. my wife invited my mom to come out and visit and help me with the boys. and i am grateful. mostly.

things you can do with your wife gone and your mom here: clean. drive around hitting all the tourist traps (including a few hours in antiques "malls" (read: cluttered, extremely dusty warehouses with shit piled willy-nilly and naturally overpriced)) . take the kids to their therapies (late) after having missed the school bus (my wife doesn't reset the alarm in the morning, she shuts it off completely). go to the gym (i had a weird thought the other day--it is important to me to not slack on my work-outs with my mom here, so i have been almost militant about needing to go to the gym. it occured to me that from my mom's point of view; the wife is gone, and every day i need to leave the house for a half hour to an hour while the kids are in school. if she didn't know me better (and more importantly, my wife and our relationship), she would no doubt think i was having an affair). take looooong showers (wink wink nudge nudge know what i mean know what i mean). be perpetually tired because i can't sleep at night and don't want to be rude and say "mom, you just dick around here for an hour or two while i take a nap and try to catch up." refrain from beating the kids. lose mind (oh wait, too late!)

i am getting worried about my mom. not like looking-for-hospice-or-nursing-homes scared, but in-the-back-of-my-mind-saving-it-for-a-rainy-day concerned because i see her being what might otherwise be considered absent-minded.

in the car on the way to take wife to the airport, my mom was telling some story to my wife:

mom: "oh, what was his name?"

wife: waits expectantly with an interested look on face.

me: "robin williams."

mom: "he used to do comedy, but lately he has been doing serious roles as well, and he is a really good actor."

wife: tennis-heading between mom and me, secret smile on face.

me: "robin williams."

mom: "he won some award for that movie he did with the two friends from boston."

wife: trying not to laugh, "robin williams?"

mom: "that's it! robin williams."

me: stares blankly.

she is also beginning to show signs of adult-onset racism.

"i think obama has muslim ties and i don't want him to be president."

"i got some foreign lady, and i could hardly understand what she was saying her accent was so thick."

"well, they keep sending all our jobs overseas, it's a wonder anybody's working at all."

and lots of others that i have completely blocked out, because i simply can't wrap my head around the fact that the woman who did the most for instilling in me a sense of universalism, and that we are all equal, and to not prejudge, and not stereotype could, at this point, say some of what she does. and i find i don't even know how to handle it.

for now, i will leave you with that, o my beloved non-existant readers. i am sure there was more, but my mind has more or less completely emptied on me and i feel the burning need for mindless entertainment.

darth sardonic

i am such a lameass

no. 1: "daddy, why do we have pee-pees an' butts?"

me: "so we can go potty."

no. 1: "why do we have school?"

me: "so you can learn to read and write."

no. 1: "why do we have potties in da house?"

me: "so we don't have to go outside to go potty."

in my (failed) first year of college, i often thought my roommate might be a vampire. he had early classes, so would be gone when i would wake up. if the day was sunny (which it was alot), i would throw the blinds up to bathe the room in sunlight. (i love the sun!) when i would come home from class, my roommate would be at his desk studying, the blinds pulled down tight and the room plunged into a dusk that made it hard to see at all.

it is an absolutely gorgeous day out today, so i run through the house throwing open blinds like a crazed maniac. by the time i return, the living room blinds are redrawn (i have a mental image of a piece of paper, eraser crumbs still scattered across it, and a blind penciled in where the original blind had been sketched. english is stupid). i ask no. 1 why he closed the blinds.

"i didn't want to get hot."

this from the kid who wears long-sleeved shirts incessantly. go figure.

a short short (and unfinished and likely to remain that way) short story i concocted the other day when i was bored:

"can i lay down with you?"

"huh?" dan opened his eyes, blinking hard against the sun, to see the owner of the female voice standing over him with a towel and a book.

"can i toss my towel down here next to yours?"

she was standing near his head, and his eyes noted the pink toenails before working their way up her long, tanned legs. she was standing with the classic soft s curve in her back that women employed to thrust the three things that they thought men wanted directly into vision, so his eyes were drawn next to her pudenda, wrapped unabashedly in a triangle of pink cloth, followed by the pink jewel in her navel, and then perky breasts, similarly clad in pink triangles, and finally full, pink lips and his own dual reflection where her eyes would normally be when the sun went down.

"of course, it's a free beach."

the end, sorta. maybe she flirts with him before robbing him blind? maybe he flirts with her before her huge biker boyfriend beats fuck out of him? maybe they fall in love whilst getting caught up in an international plot involving espionage and subterfuge, and rife with double-crosses? most likely, it advances no further than that, because dan is too shy to attempt a play, or even a good line, and she just wanted a quiet place to lay out without being bothered in the first fucking place, and dan seemed just the kind of quiet shy fella to leave her in peace.

why are the whos down in whoville in the old chuck jones cartoon singing to the late great surrealist, dali? i swear, they are singing "salvadore, salvadore, welcome christmas, bring your light."

as far as the interview goes, i couldn't have done it any better and still be yours truly. that is to say, i said a few things that most interviewees probably wouldn't, but then, i am not most interviewees, am i? they said i should hear back in a couple of weeks.

but i will tell ya, o my beloved non-existant readers, between my "impressive resume" and my old supervisor and friend putting in a good word, and me doing the interview to the absolute best of my own (skewed and warped) ability, if i don't get this job, it will be because the time/space continuum would otherwise be fucked and humanity as we know it would cease.

not much else to report so far at this, the last stop before falling into the ocean and being eaten by sharks.

darth sardonic

6-word memoirs

zirelda tagged me to do this post. the rules are something like this: six-word memoirs, a pic if you like, mention the tagger, pick five taggees.

and now, presenting:

my six-word memoirs

wait long enough, it will come.

people to tag: i seem to more or less tag the same people every time, so i am gonna try and tag people i have either not tagged, or people i haven't tagged in some time. that being the case, belle, jenny, dj kirby, queen vixen, and elsie button, consider yourselves tagged.

in other news, and well beyond my six-word limit, i tried on the clothes that i had intended to wear to today's job interview last night. now, i might be a punk, and for the most part, i tend to dress in t-shirts and jeans or shorts, workwear i guess you would say. but i do like to have on hand, a selection of dressier duds for the occasions when i might get to put on the clover a bit, and leave the house more nattily dressed, so to speak. i have absolutely no problem whatsoever with being the guy who "cleans up well." i do, usually, like to do it with a bit of a punk flair, so you wouldn't be likely to find your average boring gray flannel suit or whatever within the confines of my closet.

so when i heard i had an interview, i wasn't too concerned. i had cleaned out my closet quite a bit before moving (many of my thrifter suits had gotten too large for me, which is good, i guess), but i still had plenty of the proper attire.

or so i thought. to quote an old friend, dennis dancing, "you know what happened to thought? thought thought he crapped his pants and didn't." to which i would always reply, "what? what is that sposed to mean?" and he would say back, "exactly."

my wife deemed the pants i had intended to wear to the interview to be too slim-fit to wear in the presence of my potential future employers. (actually, what she said was i should wear other pants unless i intended to "wow" them.)

and none of the others were really appropriate.

now i had to dash off, last minute, to buy a pair of suitable slacks. i hate, and i mean fucking absolutely despise finding out things aren't going to work at the last minute. (so you would think i would have done my outfit-check some time prior, right? alas, i am a dim and daft motherfucker, which does, on occasion, lead to great posts.) the nearest store is tiny, and would have a small selection. if i had checked my intended threads sooner, we were out shopping earlier that day, and i would have had a plethera, a myriad, a veritable cornucopia of choices, and no doubt would've found something that would've suited both the need for diplomacy and my punk sensibilities at the same time.

as it was, i purchased a pair of plain front (pleated slacks make me look oddly proportioned, as if i had been created from cast-off parts from other people), charcoal gray haggar slacks. add to that a gray shirt (with just a hint of metallic look to it) and a black jacket, and i look goddamn-near corporate. my wife suggested i have fun with the tie.

and, o my beloved non-existant readers, i have many thrift-store ties, that are only suitable to wear when i intend to "have fun with the tie." i selected my "three stooges" tie (it doesn't have the three stooges on it, though i did for a very long time have one that did--i call it my three stooges tie because it is a 30's or 40's vintage tie, much like you see the three stooges wearing anytime they have one on in the old episodes. it is red, with yellow zeppelins on it, and a mite wide at the bottom. to wear it properly, i have to tie the knot with barely an inch of the other end hanging free, because the tie was intended to be worn at about the sternum level (these were the days when men wore some ridiculously high-rise pants!)) and the ensemble is complete.

so, here's to nailing the interview, getting the job, and telling you funny stories about the people with whom i work, right here, as always.

darth sardonic

rapscallions and strumpets

i live on a cul-de-sac, which will heretofore and forever be referred to as "the cove."

the majority of the inhabitants of the cove are, in their own subtley unique ways, alot like the wife and i. they are also very friendly. which means, if we don't already have something planned, our weekends are more or less booked.

and the wife and i are not complaining. first of all, it is nice to know that if we want, we can just grab our favorite drinks of a friday eve and simply step out of the front door and join the party already in progress.

the wife is always a hostess, and in the past and other places has invited many people over for dinner, so that she might cook and serve and such things that keep her sane and happy. in the cove, she is not alone. matter of fact, just last night, we were all congegrated in front of a largish table full of food brought from every corner of our little street, things ranging from london broil to thai green curry (my wife's), combined with jostling, laughing, drinking, the telling of stories and jokes, and the general ribbing that occurs among the more base members of society.

that is to say, they are very "come as you are" and "what you see is what you get," which has always sort of appealed to the wife and i, because we are very much the same.

but it doesn't really stop there. not only do we seem to be fairly evenly matched with the other members of the cove in spirit and general attitude, but the wife and i are not the only ones with a giving and open nature. mi casa es tu casa isn't something just verbalized on the cove, it is practiced.

we ran into good friends of ours that were stationed with us in alaska (he was my supervisor there) and he had an in with the powers that be that would be reviewing my resume, and after finding out i was applying for a job there at the dental clinic, made a point of stopping in and putting in a good word for me.

so today, i get a call. i have an interview to talk with these same powers that be on wednesday!

we just paid off our other car, and not having a car payment frees up even more money for applying to credit card bills.

the sun is shining, the breeze has a hint of sea salt, and i am sorta smiling, in my smirky, i-have-a-secret kinda way.

i was talking to a friend, and she said "you seem to be doing pretty well for yourself in florida."

and you know what, o my beloved non-existant readers? she's goddamn right.

we are.

darth sardonic

philip seymour hoffman

as you can imagine, daylight savings has been stomping our butt some here at the sardonic house. the kids would stay up later than normal, and not want to wake up in time to get dressed and catch the bus, and would be grumpy and whiney. wait, no, that was me. well, me and them. ok, all of us, actually.

this morning, however, signs of the turn around: no. 2 says, "i need unnerwear." me: "you didn't grab underwear?" wife: from upstairs "i gave him underwear." no. 2: "i no can fine it." underwear falls out from the pile of clothes. me: "here they are, they were there the whole time, just under something." wife: from upstairs "so he takes after his dad, then?"

me: "oh ho hoooo. starting in early this morning, are we?"

the other night, my wife made me watch mission: impossible 3. honestly, since the demise of tom cruise's ability to be objective about himself, which coincided somehow with his induction into the scientology hall-of-shame, and subsequent goofiness and such, i could give a flying fuck about anything he has been involved in, least of all the mission: impossible tripe.

let's face it, the second one sucked hairy donkey ass. in all seriousness, it was so *yawn* bad that the only part i can remember is tom "vitamins cure autism" cruise up on one wheel of a motorcycle whilst shooting. and i may remember that simply because it is the image that gets pumped down our throats anytime they flash a preview for the movie across our retinas.

i could go on and on. however, for the sake of keeping this short (too late), i will simply say this, and then get to the point: the third one wasn't that bad. a little closer to the feel of the first one, which i think was actually the brick over which tom tripped and began his slippery descent into extreme narcissism/jesus christ complex, but was still really good.

but fucking philip seymour hoffman. jesus h. fucking christ!! hoh man, was he evil in this movie. god! i have always felt philip seymour hoffman was a pretty fucking incredible actor. a quick rundown of some stuff he has done, cause i am sure you are sitting there scratching your melon and shrugging your shoulders:

the lovable, loud-mouthed, overweight red-haired redneck kid in twister. the heavy-set closeted gay kid who so badly wanted to tussle with dirk diggler in boogie nights (he was a bit single white female in that movie). the highly-strung suit-wearing bookworm that hated patch's guts in patch adams. the gay, pretend-to-have-feelings-to-sell-a-book title character of capote. and many, many more. these are simply the ones that stand out in my head, and to show the gamut that he has run a bit.

and in this movie, he was so snarky, so full of himself, so evil and twisted and downright maniacal that i actually thought it would be beyond cool (and might actually have raised tom cruise's image some, in my mind at least) if, when he was threatening cruise's character shortly after being captured, cruise would have said, calmly and coldly, "oh, but you have no idea what i am capable of." and swiftly, without any warning and all the time with the cold, methodical look on his face, proceeded to start removing appendages off of philip seymour hoffman's character while asking him what the rabbit's foot was. as it was, cruise offs him later in the movie, but i didn't feel hoffman's character suffered nearly a fraction of what he should have.

yeah, so. and no, i am not seeking help.

darth sardonic

ps. and something is seriously wrong with tom's left eye. when he tries to look intense, it opens about five times as much as his right, giving him the overall appearance of someone that has been recently-clubbed with a table leg. probably not what he was going for in a few of those scenes.

good-bye kiss

will i taste the salt of your soul every time i lick my lips? can you see the sun glint through the curtains in stark-white patterns as if heaven is aflame? a parade of the beloved with eyes of embers, across crimson plush to sing you to sleep. a gasp, a tear, soft cries commingled with musical notes, neither dirge nor allegro.

will you remember these times we've shared? each brush of our lips, touch of our fingers? the heart stops beating, so great the emotion that bursts through the chest like lightning. waiting in the next room to control our breathing, our lungs heavy weights around our necks.

in the end, i stand alone, in slanting rain like riddles.

darth sardonic

my oldest is a little intense...

no. 1 gets off the bus yesterday after school, and begins right in:

no. 1: "a is coming over to play."

me: "who's a?"

no. 1: "she is coming over to play, can you call her?"

me: "i don't know who a is, and i don't have her number, and i have never met her parents and they have never met me, how is it you think she is coming over to play?"

no. 1: "a is coming over to play. can she come over to play? can you call her parents?"

me: "no, for the love of christ! i don't have her number, which means i cannot call. and since i have never met her, her parents, and they haven't met me; it seems unlikely they will let her come over here in the first fucking place."

no. 1: "can i play video games? i need to play video games...."

this morning, i meet a. she is one of the other kindergarteners on no. 1's bus. as it turns out, i have met her mom. we had a brief conversation on the first day i took no. 1 to the bus stop that went something like this:

mom: "hi, did you guys just move here?"

head: no, i have always been here, even before you, it was just that i used to be invisible until the joker tricked me and lex luthor shot a lump of kryptonite up my bum and ever since then everyone has been able to see me. of course i just move here, for fuck's sake!

me: "yes, just got here a day or two ago."

mom: "where did you come from?"

me: "washington."

mom: makes face like she has smelled icky poo and says: "eeeeewwww!!"

me: "not really, i am from there."

mom: "eeeeeewwww!! wait, dc, or state?"

head: if i was from fucking dc i woulda said maryland, virginia, or dc, not fucking washington, god how i hate that as soon as i say washington everyone assumes that it is that tiny little fucking scrap of a shithole (most commonly referred to as our nation's capital) and not that huge fucking state full of apples and evergreen trees and mountains with snow on year-round and cool people and fucking microsoft and starbucks that occupies the whole fucking northwest corner of the country in which we live!

me: "state."

mom: "eeeeeeeeeewwwww!!!!"

and because i felt my grade level dropping rapidly, i declined to offer anymore information or views.

back to today.

no. 1: "this is a, daddy. now you have met her. can she come over today?"

a: stands there with a mildly perplexed look on her face.

me: "i dunno, buddy, i mean, that is up to whether she has things going on after school or what her mom says."

no. 1: "your mom says it's ok, right? you don't have anything going on?"

a: "well, i kinda--"

no. 1: "she can come over, daddy. we can play."

no. 1: more or less drags a by an elbow a little way away from me.

no. 1: "do you have video games? i like to play one called [annoying game with men in giant robot suits that beat fuck out of each other in a mind-numbingly and not very clever way]. do you have that one? it is my favorite. do you have games?"

a: "we err umm."

no. 1: "we can play video games. i love video games. we can play video games at your house or my house. daddy, can she come over?"

me: "ummm."

no. 1: "you can come over, and we can play [robotic penis compensators] and you can play too. my daddy says it's ok."

a: "well i aaahh."

no. 1: "video games are so fun."

a: looks like she is contemplating chewing her own arm off and bolting.

i take consolation in one thing: he won't date until he is like, 20.

if then.

darth sardonic

gainfully employed...

i have applied for a civilian dental assisting position at the base's dental clinic.

i hate, and i mean abhor, writing resumes (who doesn't, right?). i have eight years experience with the air force, assisting specialties that range all over the dental map. i am confident in my abilities without being cocky, and yet still quite trainable. so why the fuck can't i just show up and show you what i am capable of? or even sit down with a group of live people, and discuss what kind of experience i have. and we all know that i am not really one for talking myself up, which makes writing a resume even more difficult, because it is little more than that. i would much rather just show you what i can do and let you draw your own conclusions.

instead, i have to find my training records (that was fucking fun, luckily i had a fair idea where they were), and fax that with a resume over and include a copy of my current cpr card (?!!!!!?) and they would send over my application with the other six (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) who have already applied.

i felt the burning, aching desire to throw my arms into the air and give up. i would have to dig out my training records, write the resume from scratch, and i don't even have a current cpr card. and there are six applicants ahead of me. i am fucked, forget it.

thank christ for the other half of my inner monologue, the asshole:

"you want this job, right?"

"well, yeah, it is the perfect job for me."

"and you know you are more than qualified, right?"

"of course."

"then fucking get up off your lazy, whiney ass and get out there and make this fucking thing happen!! god, you are pathetic!!"

and i did something not like me, and that even surprised myself: i threw on a t-shirt and shoes and went into the garage and found my certificates. i sat back down at the computer, and banged out a resume. due to the time factor, i did it rapidly and efficiently, though maybe not as well as i might have if i had a few days. then i leapt in the car and sped to the medical clinic to see about cpr classes. that turned out to be a dead end (i only today found out about the classes, and won't even be able to attend one till saturday, but i am gung ho all the way!), but i faxed off what i had with a promise to get cracking on the cpr class asap.

because, as i told my asshole inner voice, "all i can do is my best with what i have been given and hope that it catches their eye. if it doesn't happen, then it wasn't meant to be (oh god, thy name is candide, hahaha)."

the other half of me grudgingly agreed, and even sorta patted me on the back when he thought i wasn't looking.

here's hoping that the effort worked, o my beloved non-existant readers.

darth sardonic

tidbits from a deranged mind

running on the beach is not as soul-freeing as chariots of fire would lead you to believe. it is good for the knees, but incredibly hard on the quads and calves.

if i left every spelling/grammatical error i made in these posts uncorrected, this blog would be virtually unreadable. and i am not even drinking.

while i joke constantly about being a lush and using the "bukowski method to fame and fortune through writing", i actually don't do very inspired writing when i have had a few drinks. and even when i do, the typographical mistakes are off the charts, and it is often difficult to piece together what i was getting at in the first fucking place.

i love the sun.

there is a picture hanging in our kitchen of the hale-bopp (spelling? i am too lazy to google it) comet flying through the northern lights from my time in alaska. every time i sit down to eat, it is crooked. every time i see it, i straighten it. next time i sit down, it is crooked again. it is trying to drive me insane. my ace in the hole is that i already am, mwah ha ha haaaaa.

my wife has been running at work (they do physical training together). her legs are crazy dark. i told her i bet she could go out at midnight in a bikini and come in a whole nother darker shade of brown.

no. 1 doesn't actually sit to eat. he leans against the chair like he expects, at any moment and of a sudden, his arch nemesis to burst through the door, and needs, as a result, the ability to dash away quickly for his own protection.

back soon with more insanity buried under the guise of the day-to-day.

darth sardonic