Monthly Archives: November 2008

It was a grand day, a hot day, unusually hot for November and more so when you have on a tank-top, long sleeve t-shirt, jacket, gloves and helmet. Oh yes, I was covered in the safety department. Maybe more than past students (I think I was number 15) because there is a certain sense of nervousness you feel when it’s your sister that might break. Hot as it was, there I was with my hand on the throttle, figuring out where the gears were, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, in gear and out until I could do it by feel. These things are not marked, this is no fancy-pants bat-out-of-hell high-tech machine. This was all that is Vespa, plain and simple. Okay, Okay. . . this was not even close to all that is vespa, and this was probably the weakest, slowest thing my brother could find in his arsenal. Maybe the slowest thing he’s ever owned. The rest would leave me flat on my ass and end up on someone’s lawn. (Not unlike the elusive jetski, except scooters don’t float back and gravel tends to embed itself into your skin) I had 50cc’s of 2-stroke goodness and I was determined to learn how to ride the damn thing. As far as sibling lessons go, it went pretty well. We had no arguments or disagreements, he never lost patience with me and most important – I never got angry or upset with myself. There were no “cute” little tantrums because I couldn’t figure out how to balance and the only tears came at 10 or 12 miles per hour (I’m guessing that was my top speed) even though I was wearing sun glasses. Using a hand clutch came pretty easy and listening for the motor to tell me when it was time to shift came naturally too. The hardest part was actually putting it in gear. That sucker is not made for weaklings. When you’re shifting on the fly, trying to remember that you have to go backward past neutral to get to second and are trying really hard not to crash and break yourself, it becomes trying to turn the shifter (If that’s even what you call it). Other than that. . . it was amazing!!!!!! Why haven’t I done this before? What the hell was I afraid of? And all the other stuff – kick starting it, getting it on and off the center stand, pushing it around when it wasn’t on. . . not a big deal. The only thing that kept me from going out Sunday was that I couldn’t put on a shoe. (big, big ugly bruise on the top of my foot, completely unrelated, I hate it when those curbs just jump up out of nowhere!) Oh well, it gave my hand a chance to un-cramp itself.

I have to say there is a certain air of confidence that comes when you’ve done something you were afraid to even try. When you give up the safety net and just go, when you look out and see that you were missing something amazing, something freeing, when you realize the only thing you had to fear was you. Okay and hitting the pavement at 10 or 12 miles per hour then sliding to a halt by crashing into someone’s car. But whatever. I can check that one off my list and move on to the next. In the mean time, I will be working on the shifting, while scooting along trying to reach a new top speed of 15mph.

When it comes to driving I’m definitely in the defensive school of thought. I’ve never praised myself as being awesome, I’ve had my “what the fuck was that!?!” moments, (encyclopedia, silence – I kill you) but they don’t happen often (apparently just on freeway on-ramps when someone is watching). Whatever. That’s a different time and different blog. I think I have mentioned workin for the man and how this often bothers my sense of “there’s too much goddamn bureaucracy” and “there’s a law saying what??”, but in these times of jobs being what they are. . . until I actually have another, I’m stuck with the man and my brain continues its slow dissent into that place where the blondes from high school dwell. So there I was doin the usual stuff and things you know, real big stuff. . . when an email came with the official Driver Safety Program attached for my review and (best part) comment. Oh, oh yes. Typically just the upper management talking heads get this privilege, but as I am on the commission, as well as “liked and respected” by both the head of RM and the commission itself. . . it was also given to me. My old job as DUI chic doesn’t hurt, but still. I am younger than the next closest member by a solid 5 years, that’s like 12 in government years.

I’ve already read the draft a couple times and there’s some good shit in there. I’ve also been to several meetings that went absolutely nowhere because Dept A and Dept C have their priorities so far up their personal agenda’s ass, they’ve lost sight of the big picture. So needless to say there are some pissed off people around the table and well, my name shows up a lot as a stirrer of the pot. I’m gonna take the duel pass approach to this task. The first will be with the “what would I really do if I were in charge and it was my company and my money approach”. The second will be the “what would I want the people playing with my money to do”. Because essentially, that’s what it boils down to, unsafe drivers on government time cost us money. Oh, did I fail to mention this encompasses a large branch of local law enforcement??? Yeah. . . those are the guys that need some reigning in. Anyhow, every little thing that happens to the vehicles usually gets fixed, by the garage, with budget money, regardless of fault. We are self insured. We will do the go after their insurance company thing for big stuff, but what does that mean? (in case you aren’t playing along??) We the people, the happy citizens of our county pay for the damages. Dude in dept A scratches the side of the car, fixed. Chic in Dept C dents a rear quarter panel, fixed. And so on and so on. They don’t replace radio antennae or stuff like that but, is it really necessary to pay for a dent to be pulled? Should we have to fix every dink or dent? I am exaggerating, but not that much really. The afore mentioned law enforcement peeps incur a lot of cosmetic damage. Not always chasing suspects or pulling people over, some of it is just shitty driving. But they can’t be seen in a damaged car. And they aren’t the only ones. There are a bunch of other departments that are picky too. Hhhhmmm This does pose an interesting issue of safety. It will be interesting to see my would be revisions vs the talking headits.

So I have a fun task for a few weeks and some exciting pot stirring ahead. . . There are meetings about these things you know, being one of the few with no power to gain and no agenda other than wait, safety it will be fun to be the odd man out and what could be more fun??? I Knew that stuff would get a little spicier. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it’s a start. Now if could only find that cayenne pepper. . .

Ranting, ranting, wait for it… I know I’ve said it before and will probably say it a few more times (because I live in a damn college town) but seriously.. uggs?? Ladies, what is with wearing the fucking uggs as everyday footwear with cloths that that do not belong on the tundra. I was sitting at my new favorite hang out (probably because a girlfriend of mine can watch basketball in 8 feet of gloriousness and I have 15 beers on tap to choose from) and this little girlie walks by wearing pj shorts, a nice linen tunic style blouse, a scarf (kinda bohemian style) and beat down uggs. What!?! Beyond the why are you wearing shorts and small dead animals, why are you wearing your pajamas to a bar??? Did your parents teach you nothing?? Then we have the table next to us where the douchebaggery was overwhelming and the girls shared 10 brain cells between them. 3 out of 5 wearing something completely lame with their color coordinated (or not) uggs. One of them was wearing some sort of tennis dress, maybe she had played tennis.. but she shouldn’t have been wearing the dress and the uggs did not help. Oh, when did sweater condoms make a come back?? You know those sweaters that are kinda tight, off the shoulders, that look like you have to put it on your head and roll it down…is that cute? My distaste for uggs is not new. I can keep going but I’ll spare you.

And now for something completely different… as you know I pour beer on Wednesdays. This keeps me from killing people that walk though the door at my regular job and hand me fly pupae that they found in their carpet. It keeps me from actually turning into that friend that talks to you about the weird shit she saw that wasn’t actually there (okay, okay… lowrider dreams do not count. Shut up.) I like Wednesdays. I’ve met some super chill people and it’s the night I know for sure I will get to hang out my favorite car encyclopedia, thus ensuring an answer to any question I may have about a 1964 MGB. Even more gravy is his wife comes and I love her… she is amazing. Then on top of that is the music. It really doesn’t get better in an all around package to make your mid-week good. Last night however, could have exploded into psychosis on a stick. When you are a beer-tender (haha) and you step behind the bar there are two things you just assume will be there: beer and glasses. Nothing else matters really. People will forgo food if you give them beer and they’ll forgive it taking a long time if you come around with a pitcher of “look I happen to have this hangin around, let me top you off”. And since I serve mostly the same crowd they understand that I’m going to come by and swipe their empty glass (sometimes when they don’t even notice) and bring it back full (like magic). They do not understand I’m out of beer. It’s a fucking brewery. The people that do not come in every week don’t get we only have pale. They also don’t get why it takes 45 minutes for a plate of nachos. I don’t get 45 minutes for nachos. Last night I had to hunt for glasses and send a youngling customer (thank god she’s a regular and friend and wanted her beer for free) to the liquor store to fortify my pale with 22’s of guiness. You can make the pale you fear running out of last a bit longer when you turn it into a black and tan. How do you run a business this way?? I seem to be repeating myself. I believe I’ve asked this before! It’s good that I don’t do this job for money. I certainly don’t make tips from anyone new that comes in because if it were me… I’d realize that while it wasn’t the servers fault, it sucked. 50 cents is a lousy tip when you’ve done all you can to make someone happy and it’s totally out of your control. My own mom came in for the first time and it was a good damn thing I was there and it was my place. My mom is one of those “burn my meat” people. Her burger was bleeding and she almost hurled at the table… so she sent it back to be cooked some more. She was easy and didn’t ask for a new one, just cook it and bring it back to me. Try explaining this to the stoned, drunk mother fucker that has taken over cooking and fucked up the flow of my evening. It took ten minutes to convince him to just cook it and not make a new one. She’ll be mad if you make a new one and there are other people waiting for food. He finally relinquished and it came back still under-cooked and my mom was very gracious. I’ve seen her lose her patience and walk out. I was feeling lucky. Overall, I had a good night. I washed two loads of pint glasses so I had enough, my fabulous friend brought me the guiness so black and tans were poured with precision, my mystery texts were solved (and laughed about heartily) and my mom got a couple free glasses of wine, so all’s well in the end.

Sometimes though, ya just gotta rant. I can think of other things… the idiots talking about politics like they knew something but you could tell they read headlines and that was it. Or the two drunk guys that felt the need to tell the two girls at the table how to play dominoes, conveniently leaving the boy out, even though I (girl)was kicking his ass. Or that one of those guys is working at a very precision job that could affect thousands of lives… in 5 hours as he staggers away smashed off his ass. Or the wealth of idiot drivers I encountered on my way to work this morning. But, I’ve done my bit. I have good things to say. Happy things to come. But don’t kid yourself, there will be some spice in my stew.

My mindPod is on the next level up from party shuffle. I feel like I have ADD and I turned around and can’t find my bike. There are so many possibilities that it’s completely overwhelming. I want to do everything. I want to go everywhere. I want to be all the things I never got a chance to be. So many days spent living in fear and sadness and frustration and repression and feet planted firmly in sand that held me like concrete.

When I was little, we’re talking ten maybe, I was fearless. The next door neighbor girl (who like to talk to my bro about her waddus) had a Honda Elite scooter at her house. It wasn’t hers of course, but she was gonna ride it. And if she was, damnit! so was I. And I did, right down the driveway onto the road for one of many road rashes I would have over the next few summers. I rode a bmx (my bmx until it was stolen) to the river bank and tooled around lookin for whatever. I Yanked my little sister from bushes and practiced cussing. (I hadn’t learned the ways of the pirate just yet..) I even clocked a boy in the face and got him suspended for three days. Those were the days before I learned about the big bad wolf and mean people that aren’t mean with fists. That was back before I did my time with the devil and learned that there are places you can hurt you didn’t know you had, but no one has to be near you. After that I didn’t realize it, but fear has become a constant companion. What!?! Recoculous. I have a huge personality and a desire to learn about everything. It’s time I spread out my dreams & desires map, close my eyes and pick a place to start. It occurs to me I have a brother with eleventeen different real scooters over the years, and my last bf rides a sportbike… have I ever (minus my elite trip down the driveway) ridden a bike solo? No. And I’m a girl that’s pretty much one of the dudes… Fuck that, it’s time. Life is to short for me to leave bits and pieces of mine all over the place and have nothing to show in return. I will not wait in fear for life to look at me from the window as it passes me by… I’m hoppin on the train.

“I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.” ~John Burroughs

I love to learn. Ya know that stupid sham-wow thing they show on late night TV (really annoying dude with the ear thing…), where it can absorb 10 times more than other sponges, yeah… that’s me. I will watch the Discovery Channel, read about, listen to some expert on just about anything that has even the slightest bit of whatever-it-is to catch my attention. I’m that person you know that knows a little bit about a lot of things. This probably starts with my overwhelming hatred of boredom, but really takes root in my desire to connect with others I love. Growing up I was always the “know-it-all”. It wasn’t said with kindness and it didn’t get me popularity points. Now I’m the one those bastards call when they need to find an answer to some crazy question or just need to figure out where to find it. Whatever, I digress. This desire to know about everything has led me down some interesting paths. I’ve often had to defend myself when being accused of liking something just because someone else does. Maybe in the most literal sense, if I didn’t already have a liking before I knew that person, that might be true. But more often than not, I just like it and want to learn more about it. Now don’t get me wrong… There are areas where I am quite knowledgeable and others where I excel. But I find myself at a crux. I know about and like so many things that I don’t have something I am passionate about. I started down a path to find it and I wasn’t looking in the right place or maybe it was just the wrong path altogether. As I moved along I found a comfortable spot by a strong, tall tree and just stopped there. It looked like a great spot, nice and warm (I love warm.). I started studying the tree and what was right around it. So much goodness surrounded the tree and tree itself was amazing. I know so much about the tree. I can tell you how it is young yet, there are moments when it seems like it’s carried those branches for far too long. I can tell you how very strong it is, yet it’s core is tender, breakable. And if you can find a way to peel back the thick layer of bark that protects it from everything, both good and bad, there is something sweet there. Not very often, but once in a while you find it. I can tell you all the ways the tree has changed while I was there feeling protected from everything… even myself. I need to start down the path again, leave the comfort of what I already know. I need to find the path that’s a bit harder but maybe easier too. The path where I learn what I like, what I am passionate about. Maybe I can see the trees for the forest.

McCain now has Kansas where it's a law that if two trains going opposite ways on the same track, neither can move until the other passes.

Think about that.

Them people er smart. You can tell.

Oh yeah, don't forget your taillights (not your car's yours) if you're crossing the road at night. You'll get a ticket.

Maybe he needs them more than we do.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Tomorrow will be an awesome day… Finally all the political ads telling me what I should and shouldn’t believe in, what I think is right or wrong and who is the right one for me (what do they have prince charming up in there??? I think not) will stop. The annoying people on the corner, as I get to the first stoplight in my town, waving their hipp-ity-do-da signs, wanting me to “continue” (did I support it to begin with, hhhmmm?) to support whatever it is that’s made my little town a puddle of poo every time it rains, will go back to their hippy huts. People will stop trying to thrust campaign materials into my hands while I’m in my pj’s trying to get ice cream at the store when I’m havin a shit day already. I’m in my pj’s. What part of this says: “hey, chat with me I’m totally down right now to talk about your fucked up attitudes toward other peoples rights”? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been talkin trash and doin my share of name calling *coughs,* sarah palin’s a bitch, *clears throat*. I’ll be watching tonight, right this moment Kentucky is red (the first state to report) and that’s just sad. But what do we expect from Kentucky? The state where they celebrate Tater day, and have a mayor named Goofy in a town called Rabbit Hash. yeah Let’s be done and have Wednesday. Yay Wednesday! Happy hump day, ye-frickin-ha, let’s get down to the real shit now. Ask me tomorrow what the real shit is. Today I think I’ll find a sidewalk to spit on and an animal to ride.