Tuesday, January 27, 2009

If you don't expect too much from me...

You might not be let down

sandrine gave me this: (and if you can't see it then i have fucked the whole thing up) a cool blog award. not sure how cool i am, but hey, i appreciate it.

signs you might wanna give up golfing and take up bowling: if you drive off the white tee markers, and when you are done, you are still on the tee box. if you drive off the tee box of one hole, and your ball lands on the fairway of an adjacent hole, through a screen of trees. if you spend longer than 30 seconds looking for your ball. if you break a window of our maintenance shop, which is about fifty feet off the fairway of 11 and about 120 yards away from the tee box. if you blame things such as mown grass, a fallen leaf, or the far-off noise of a chainsaw for you shitty golf game. if you spend more time drinking, bitching about the state of the golf course, throwing clubs, and kicking holes in the greens in frustration than you actually do golfing.

i saw fred's cousin today, twice. him's just a lil guy. four feet long. i took a pic on my phone, and then fought the urge to leap on him, clamp my hands around his mouth and then wrestle him for several minutes.

i have about three pages done on The Island of Misfit Toys. they are three wonderful pages, but still, only three. school and work and the kids have sapped my energy. but i have not given up.

i had even more witty nonsequitors to abuse you, o beloved non-existant readers, but they seem to have left me. i am sure they will come back when i cannot post, and then leave me again as i sit in front of my computer.

darth sardonic

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Sunday, January 25, 2009

an actual conversation...

an actual conversation and the accompanying thoughts (fueled by southern comfort and club soda) that occured last night:

me: (as i put toothpaste on my brush) "why is the baby oil out?"

(a complex tangle of entwined limbs on plastic sheets, cocks n cunts, mouths on mouths, hands gripping slippery flesh, moans hovering over a roiling see of shiny skin, all glistening in the dimmed lights...)

wife: " it's my make-up remover."

me: "gotcha."

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Sunday, January 18, 2009

a quick note...

no. 1 was in the psychologist's office the other day (appointments to figure out how to best deal with his adhd and behavioral issues) and as part of some test the therapist asks him "why do policemen where a uniform?"

no. 1 quickly replies, "well, they don't wanna run around naked!"

laughs all around, and when the therapist re-asked the question, no. 1 gave the appropriate answer.

damn he is a smartass. wonder where he gets it from?

darth sardonic

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Wednesday, January 14, 2009

My angel wings Were bruised and restrained

this post is sure to be angry and rant-like. just so's you know.

i had a ton of shit i wanted to do last night. i needed to fill out my paperwork for my gi bill, and fold and put away laundry, vacuum, shower n shave, etc.

it's a good thing i did my shower n shave first, cause i really needed it, i fucking reeked.

then i set to filling out the paperwork for my gi bill, that i was going to turn in today.

i needed to find a form that they gave me when i separated from active duty. so i looked in my ex-military paperwork. nope. then in the stuff i gathered together from my military days in order to be rejected for the dental assisting job here on base. nuh uh. then i looked in another folder with important documents. sorry, please try again. i went back through our files rabidly, like a poisoned man trying to find the antidote. then i went out to the garage and dove into the blue bin.

everyone must have some equivalent of the blue bin. the blue bin is where our keepsakes and shit that we don't really need but can't seem to part with end up. we almost never open it. in there, buried under my bombachos de gaucho and the "most improved" award i got my first year of x-country, beside my old scout uniform, i dig out all my air force files. i literally, no shit, have every piece of paper the air force ever gave me. except the one i need.

i look through again. i come back into the house and go through the files a third time. i text my wife, in dc for training, you know where my separation form is? which engenders a texting frenzy back and forth: nope, not there. not there either. looked there twice.

wife tells me to call, and i do. after which she tells me, "i'll find it when i get home on friday." but i wanted to turn it in tomorrow and get the process sta-- "it's only two days!" i looked everyw-- "yeah, but... i mean, it's you. i'll look, i know i remember seeing it." (the implication here is that i am incapable of finding shit, which is mostly true, but in this case, not really.)

how the sweet cherry fuckstain did i ever manage to get myself enrolled in two other major universities before my wife came into my life?!? let alone manage financial aide, buy books, etc etc? this is the same woman who not a week ago was chewing my ass out about getting a move on with the gi bill "because it's a lengthy process!"

she tells me to forget about it, not to worry, that she will find it when she gets home. i say, yeah, ok, it's not that big a deal, love you baby. and hang up.

then rip apart the files two more times, all the while cursing and fuming and about to lose my everloving mind.


fuck it then! fuck it. i have spent several hours looking for this accursed piece of paper, to no avail, and now i don't give a shit whether i am able to turn in the paperwork tomorrow, or whether or not the clothes get folded.

i fix a whiskey n coke and sit to the computer and log into one of the chats i like to frequent, where someone i have been talking to manages to say just the wrong thing to me and i say, "yeah, i guess" instead of fighting with her moronic ass and log off and go to bed.

i awake exhausted, peeved, grumpy, and hungry for blood today.

while j and i have been working trimming the palm trees, as you can imagine, we have been leaving numerous piles of fronds all over the course, which someone usually comes and picks up with the frontloader.

for a couple days it was n, a lazy, good-for-nothing cunt who thinks the world owes him a living, and who has absolutely no qualms about sitting around the shop for an hour doing absolutely nothing, or talking to some hapless person at length about something that occured to him last night. j says, "i think he is mildly retarded." if he actually were, i might cut him some slack.

in the course of those two days, he picked up four piles. meanwhile, j and i added about fifteen more to the number of piles needing to be picked up.

the next day, r was on the frontloader, and in an hour picked up more than n had in two days.

j and i had had it. we were fed up with n's slovenly work ethic and his lackadaisical attitude, so we had a talk with our superintendant.

and he had a talk with n yesterday. so today, n is telling anyone who pretends to give a shit that he doesn't wanna hang out in the shop cause of "two certain individuals." i should point out that me n j are the only friends n has at work, as well. everyone, and i mean everyone, agrees that he is a shitty worker, and that his attitude stinks, but apparently he thinks that everyone but me, j, n our superintendant is on his side, cause he has been walking this story around the shop like a hooker on a streetcorner.

well fuck his dumb ass! he wouldn't dare say shit about it to me or j cause he knows from experience that we won't put up with his idiocy.

however, i really wish he would've said something to me today, cause i am chock full of piss n vinegar and would've loved to be provided for a deserving target upon which to unleash it.

meh, fuck it. life is stupid sometimes.

thanks for tagging along.

darth sardonic

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Sunday, January 11, 2009

chewing nails and spitting bullets...

life has a tendency to blindside, coming at you sideways like a drunken sailor with blood on his mind.

i was cruising along, working, having a good time, and they tell me i can't enroll in school.

what?!? what the fuck?!? cause it has been so long since i did a placement test and it is possible that my classes from alaska won't transfer over and blah yakkity spanky blah.

right before christmas break so i can't storm in there like unholy vengeance and give them a piece of my mind (actually, i can't do that, i have so little of it left for myself!)

then last week, out of the blue, like a brick dislodged from an 8th story window, they drop on my fragile cranium that they are cutting back my hours at work.

well, motherfucker!! now i have to be in school so my gi bill will offset the loss i take in my paycheck and i can use the free time i suddenly find forced upon myself to write papers (and my second novel, which i am tentatively calling The Island of Misfit Toys, depending on whether rankin/bass will fuck me in the ass legally for stealing a name from their christmas shows while in actuality the book has nearly nothing at all to do with rudolph the red-nosed reindeer or yukon cornelius and yet at the same time, has everything to do with them) and do homework and study for tests, as opposed to lolligagging around and spending money i don't have on shit i don't need.

so as soon as humanly possible after the offices of the hollowed halls of learning (heh heh) open back up, the hint of candy canes and champagne still in the air, i am in talking to an advisor. yes, i can attend school. yes, my gi bill will (most likely) reimburse me for it. yes, i can get into the autocad classes i want to take. i will have time to retake my placement test sometime this semester, but yes, they offer it right here on the campus.

whew! breathe a sigh of relief, dash off into the sun and sea breeze with the rest of the day and my education and my life wide open before me.

fuck those lazy good-for-nothing motherfuckers at work who are shafting me out of hours to try and save a few bucks. sod them, the bastards. i will be just fine.

my wife and i even talk about me possibly going into the air force reserves so that my gi bill stretches further (the government would pay a percentage, or maybe even all, of my tuition) and for the most part, i am down for that. however, there aren't any reserve openings in my past job of dental assisting here at the base, so i would have to cross-train into something else (com was one of the possibilities, working on computers n phonelines n radars n god knows what), which means a few weeks or maybe even months somewhere else (texas, most likely) to learn the new job. it also means, if i do this, that there is a good chance that i will get to write a memoirs from the other side this time, being the spouse that goes off to parts east and leaves my wife to fend for herself with the chitlins.

now, this is conjecture at this point. not anything to get ourselves bent into a twist about just yet.

then sat night, my neighbor j, who got me the (jodido) job that is fucking me for hours, and with whom i am working on a winter project of trimming all the palm trees on fuck knows how many acres of semi-green grass and old duffers who should really drop golf and take up bowling, and who, by the way, was even madder than myself at my hours being cut, stumbles up to me, beer in hand, and says, "k wants me to let you know you got your hours back."

so in a space of a couple weeks, i have ridden a rollercoaster from angst, anger, betrayal, and stress to ease, acceptance, and relaxation (possibly even the potential to have even more money than i planned on initially) so fast as to leave me breathless. and i find myself on the other side, thinking an umbrella drink and a sunbathe on warm sand with a dippy smile on my gob and the bikini chicks passing by is in order.

thanks, as always, for tumbling through it with me, o my faithful and wonderful non-existant readers.

darth sardonic

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Thursday, January 01, 2009


i hope all of my non-existant readers had a great year. and a wonderful new year's eve full of drinks n laughs n kisses after midnight.

'08 was a great year, and '09 looks to be at least as good, if not better.

i have figured out which of the story ideas i have had trundling around in my head is going to be my second book. i won't delineate the particulars here, because i truly feel that not everything i write should predominantly begin its existence here, else why bother getting the books published in the first place? i mean, The Unfinished Work is at least 70% culled straight from this blog. that really makes it a bit like a "best of" cd that is 18 songs you already have on other albums with two or three new (usually shitty) songs you won't get anywhere else to try and convince you you need this album as well.

i will say, this one is going to be a work of fiction. not that memoirists aren't true writers, or not even extremely talented; they are, but i feel that if i really want to call myself a writer, i need to actually develop some characters, create a plotline that is more involved than a point a. to point b., think about what the characters i have created would actually do in the situations they find themselves in as a result of the plot line i have created, and still be able to make the reader laugh and cry, love and hate, feel great joy and deep agony the same way i might when i am pouring out my own personal feelings in a memoir.

and i think i have the plot and a batch of characters that will do this in spades.

just hope i can do them justice.

darth sardonic

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