Sunday, October 28, 2012

Living In A Dream?

My wife classifies me as a bear when I wake.  
I can't figure out why!
I had a dream last night.  That may not be odd for you, but I never remember my dreams.  Dreams are only dreams to me, that have no recollection of dreaming.  

Why did I even type that?  Genius?  (Damn, I am dreaming!)

My dream put me into a home setting.  Not mine, but someone else's.  I have no idea whose.  In fact, I have no recollection of anyone else being in this dream that wasn't somewhat faceless.

No, it wasn't as though a bunch of people were running around with no faces, duh.  It's like all were blurred because they really weren't that important.  I have no idea why they weren't important.  Everyone's important, right?  If people weren't important they'd have no existence.  They'd be only formalities in the surreal life of the unknown.

More Genius?  (I'm feeling as though I'm still dreaming!)

I'm in this home setting (as I've previously stated) and for some reason, I'm wearing a pair of cuffed blue jeans that haven't been in style for years.  This makes me believe that perhaps this dream might have been setting in the back of my mind for many years and just now arrived to the memory status.  Either that, or it was the acid flashback that I've been waiting on for decades to appear.

I notice there is a spider on the floor.  (That's in my dream, let's go back to that since it's the primary topic of this writing.  You don't mind, do you?)  This spider is fairly large...say 3 inches in diameter.  It's thick black body is horizontally striped with the brightest of yellow.  

I squish it with the sole of my boot.   It's not that I'm afraid of spiders, I just know that all spiders are venomous.  Only a few are dangerous to man, but, having never seen this type of spider, I decide squishing is better than the alternative of finding out it is one of danger.  However, as soon as I do the dirty deed, another one jumps out of the cuff of my jeans.

Surprise, surprise!

I don't squish this one immediately.  Instead, I reach down and pull down the cuff.  It's filled with these spiders.  I keep grabbing them and flipping them on the floor to meet the same fate as the first.  Yet, more and more appear.  Not only that, but the other cuff on my other leg (Yes, I have two legs.  If I wanted to make this a smutty piece, I'd talk about a third, but that is not my goal.  I'm not dreaming that type of dream.  Maybe tonight, but not now.)  is also having more of these yellow and black spiders crawling out of it.  

They are almost to the swarming state.  They pop out and I squish.  Over and over this happens.  I start pulling them out with my fingers and notice they have almost no body weight.  I'm doing it so quickly, they have no time to sing their fangs in me.  Yet, it continues over and over and over and over.....

And then I awake.

In real life, I'm not afraid of spiders.  Actually, I'm really not afraid of many things.  Heights, perhaps, but only if I don't have a parachute on.  Skydiving never bothered me.  Standing on the second floor of the Smithsonian Space and Flight Museum did.  Why?  No parachute.

I'm not saying I play with spiders.  I really don't know anyone that does.  None of my neighbors would ever say, "Come on over!  We just got some new spiders to play with!"  

Would yours?

I recognize that spiders eat other bugs I don't like.  Flies and gnats in particular.  Flies and gnats only breed more flies and gnats.  I see no purpose there.  God made all of the creatures on the Earth and gave them purpose.  He screwed up when it came to flies and gnats.  After realizing that, he made spiders to eat them.  I guess that took care of the problem.  

Many reading this may be afraid of spiders.  In the United States, you have reason to fear only the Brown Recluse and the Black Widow.  They can cause much damage.  Australia, Asia, Africa and South America have many more varieties to be wary of.  But, for the most part, spiders are no more dangerous than a pesky house fly or gnat.  

This has absolutely nothing to do with my dream.  I tend to ramble.

Before going to bed last night, I received some disturbing news from a friend, that also decided it was a good time to remind me of some of the frustrations I've been dealing with.  It was all in good intention, I'm sure. Yet, for one trying to forget and find a little semblance of sanity in the crazed world in which we live, it obviously stayed on my subconscious and followed me to bed.  

Aren't friends wonderful?

It's my guess the spiders were in reference to the problems I've been facing and I find a way to squish them from my mind to survive.  The outpouring was simply a reminder that more and more problems were to come that would have to be dealt with in a similar manner.  It may have demonstrated that I have the strength to deal with whatever comes my way and not to stop trying.

I really didn't need a dream to tell me that.  My wife does it in real life.

If I believed in having multiple wives, they could be the spiders.  I can envision little wives heads on black and yellow striped bodies with eight hairy legs swarming out of my pant legs saying all types of wife things.  To squish them with my boot would be murder.  I could be classified as a psycho killer and have to shave my head and wear an orange jumpsuit the rest of my life while I sat in a prison cell repenting for squishing spiders with wives heads.   

Why Can't I Dream Like A Normal Man?
In twenty years, I could push my walker with wheels in front of a parole board telling them how sorry I was to have squished the spiders with wives heads.  Of course, the parole board would probably be made up of little spiders with black bodies and yellow stripes and the heads of parole board members.  They, of course, would see my remorse was fake, and would keep me pushing a book cart along the many rows of cells in front of my walker with wheels.  The prisoners that would ask me for a book would also probably be little spiders with black bodies with yellow stripes inside of tiny little orange jumpsuits and have heads of murderers, cheats, rapists, and all types of mean crazy people.  

However, I would prefer to simply awaken from this dream and roll over to kiss my wife.

I might even rub her horizontal yellow stripes for fun!

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

German Chocolate Cake...Life Is Wonderful!

In the last 9 days, I've written two blogs: one here on the Job Fair and one in the Ravaging A Destroyed Mind series.  Sounds like I've been screwing around doing not much of anything, doesn't it?  

So, just call me a lazy ass and get on with your life if you want.  

Well, I've also produced two Fantasy/Horror hubs on Hubpages, two newscasts (that easily took 24 hours of writing time each) and a long tribute hub for a "Pass It On Lollipop" award I received.  Still doesn't sound like a lot, does it?

Still haven't called me a lazy ass?  What are you waiting on, Ground Hog's day?

Add to that most of my evenings have been spent planning a joint blog effort with a friend of mine.  Believe me, the talking about names, what to do, how to do, and where to do takes ten times longer than the actual writing.  

It's like two teenagers trying to decide what to wear to the prom via chat room conversation.   Fuh Su-rer!

Imagine these same two individuals making a decision together, that are miles apart, both having separate lives and personal responsibilities, as well as, different sleeping schedules.  Add to it the fact that both are completely anal about wanting to select the perfect name, perfect format and perfect schedule.  Now, add one more thing to the equation... neither individual is perfect.  Yet, they have a common goal and know if they ever get it going, the world will be at their feet.

Be careful, my toes tickle easily.  Smell anything yet?

It's kind of like knowing you're both great cooks, but having someone else help you in the kitchen is difficult for both parties.  Will you make a feast, or will you totally screw it up and end up sending someone down the street to McDonald's dollar menu for a better meal?  

God, that was a terrible example!  Oh well, what do you expect for free?  

But, please remember, I haven't been doing anything this week.  Just being a lazy ass, squandering my time in the land of Zo (I wanted to make that easy to read if you happen to suffer with dyslexia) wallowing in the good life of munchkins and flying monkeys.  I've traveled the land of yellow brick roads and the journey of being lost in a lost world.  Where's Auntie Em when you need her?

No, I'm not cracking up.  It's called being a wise ass.  (If you're going to call me a lazy ass, at least I can change the "lazy" to "wise" and feel somewhat pleased with myself.) 

In fact, I feel almost as good as I did at the grocery store today.  Please, don't let that statement change your love life, yet.  Allow me to explain.

I have been in the mood for a slice of German Chocolate cake for almost three weeks now.  I wake up in the morning fantasizing about a German Chocolate cake.  

No, not like the apple pie scene in the movie American Pie, damn it.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  You really do think I'm a typical ass, don't you?  

Anyway, if you're meeting me for the first time or just have a terrible memory affected by years of illegal, but fun, drug usage, I have been fighting weight gain and diabetes for about eight months.  I've lost close to 50 lbs. and got my sugar count down over 36 points.  It's very close to normal now, unlike my mind. 

There, I said it before you could.

Anyway, getting back to the German Chocolate cake, I went into the local supermarket today to get a slice.  Normally, they have it available.  I know, supermarket bakeries and pastries are not the most sanitary.  In fact, I won't even go into one of them now thanks to a past experience of watching crumbs move as I started to partake of a second bite of Red Velvet cake a year ago.  Yes, they weren't crumbs.  Just small bugs.

Hope you weren't eating before reading that.  I triggered my own gag reflex just thinking about it again.  Oh well, we all need our protein.

Getting back to the long, drawn out story, I walked into the grocery store.  The produce department was first spied, so I walked over and spent nearly five dollars on a bag of apples that used to run a couple of bucks.  

Don't we all love inflation?  "And a ching ching here, and a ching ching there, here a ching, there a ching, everywhere a ching ching, Inflation is costing us, cash for other things." (Yeah, Old McDonald had a Farm was the tune.  I only claim responsibility for the substituted words.)

Next, as I walked away from the produce department, I found the deli and bakery area.  Deli made large pizzas were on sale two for $10.  Not wanting to spend that much money on one from Pizza Hut, I went ahead and bought two, knowing my wife was off tomorrow.  We'd pop in one tonight, and one tomorrow, and that would keep me from having to take her out and spend twice as much.  Plus, she wouldn't have to cook a meal.

See, I sacrifice my healthy eating habits to make life easy on her.  Don't you wish you had a husband like me?   Oh, if you're of the male gender, ignore that question and just read on.  

So, I'd picked up a plastic hand basket knowing I wasn't going to need a cart for a slice of cake (remember the German Chocolate cake?  That's what this story is about.  Really?  Too many drugs in your past?)  and found that the pizza's were too large to fit.  Now, I'm in a fix,  I have two large pizza boxes in my left hand, and a bag of apples in the hand basket in my right.  Going to make picking up anything else easy, isn't it.

Okay, maybe we better forget about the wise ass and go back to lazy.  I just lost my brownie points for wise.

Now, I'm searching the deli pastry for my real goal, a slice of German Chocolate cake.  I look and I look, but to my utter dismay, there is no German Chocolate cake available.  Not a slice, not a half, and not a whole... nothing... nada... nil... nowhere!  

I started to go into German Chocolate cake DT's.  The fever set in.  I started the shakes.  My lips began quivering.  If I'd have talked, my speech would have been slurred.  My eyes were darting from side to side. 

 Surely another person had moved it over to the pie section.  No, not there!  Over by the breakfast turnover, perhaps!  No, not there either!  Possibly, they hid one for later behind the massive stacks of bread on the racks!  

459 loaves on the floor later, my quest was still not reached.  Yet, no one would approach me either.  I had to hurry for I'm sure they'd called the men in the white coats to come and take me away.

In a panic, I did the only thing I could think of.  I went to the baking aisle and found a Duncan Hines German Chocolate cake mix for $2.99.  No question, that was going into the hand basket.  Using my chin to knock it from the shelf into the hand basket, it only took two dropping on the floor before achieving.  

Store help picks up these aisles at least once a week anyway.  No big deal!

Perusing the box's directions, a terrible thought hit me.  The $2.99 doesn't include icing!  A German Chocolate cake has got to have icing!  Coconut icing with pecans is a must!  Where's the icing in this damn place?

Remember, I was in a panic trying to beat the men in white coats from arriving.  "They're coming to take me away, ha ha, they're coming to take me away, ho ho, to the funny farm, where life is happy and gay, everyday...."   (It's a novelty song from the 60's.  If you've never heard it, consider yourself one of the lucky ones.)

There, just down from the cake mixes, was the icing.  Amazing they would use logic in their placement!  

Must have been an error in judgment on their part.

I see they're $2.49 per can, or three for $5.00.  My panic increases as it suddenly hits me I have absolutely no idea how many cans would it take to ice a cake!!!   1...5...10... I have no idea.  I look up and down the aisle.  What!  Only one small, middle aged oriental woman in the whole aisle.  

I must have either scared the others away previously, or store management had been busy clearing the area for the men in white coats!

I tried to ask her but only got a kind smile and a shaking of the head in return.  

Why are there so many really nice, great English speaking oriental individuals on the writing sites and none in grocery stores or restaurants?  Sounds like another blog topic for later on!

Again, using my chin, I decided the sale sign was a sign from God and that it would take three cans of icing to ice a cake.  If not, I could always use it on my wheat toast in the morning.

That was a joke, but I may have to give it a try one day.  Hmmmmm!

Knowing my time was growing shorter by the second, I ran down the aisle a Mach 7 speed and arrived at the check out.  Remarkably, next in line was a lady I'd worked with years ago.

After the initial "how you beens", she said something that absolutely made my day.

"You've lost a lot of weight!"

I proceeded to tell her my complete weight loss and medical history, sounding like a great grandmother talking to her best friends at a church social.  The efforts, the heartbreak, the restrictions, the success...all were related to her in a moment's notice.

Isn't vanity grand?

Then she noticed the two pizza's and the German Chocolate cake mix and icing.


I then related my tale of woe and obsession.  A reward for victory validation.  A story of conflict and adventure.  Searching for a slice and having no alternatives but to purchase as I did.

She smiled in understanding and asked if I was going to eat the whole thing.  I replied no, I was buying the pizzas so my wife wouldn't have to cook, and that she'd probably take some of the cake to others she worked with so I wouldn't be fighting temptation.

Then she said, "Well, you sure look good!  Keep in contact.  We need to see each other more often!"

Like I started this whole thing off with, there's nothing like feeling almost as good as I did at the grocery store today!  Had she just made a pass at me?  "Yeah, right Ripvanrumple!"

When I arrived home, I found my wife napping, having just worked a ten hour shift.  After a couple of hours, I went into the bedroom, gently woke her, and told her the story of the pizzas to keep her from having to cook.  She was so pleased!  

Then, I told her I'd bought a cake.  A German Chocolate cake that I'd been wanting for almost a month.  And, it had coconut and pecan icing!  She was smiling as I related that.  I could tell she wanted some, too!

Then, I told her all she had to do was bake it.

I guess she knows me by now.  She laughed and said she'd do it tomorrow on her day off!

So, I'll get my cake and get to eat it, too!

Life is wonderful!  

Would you like an apple?

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, October 18, 2012

$9 An Hour: A Job Fair To Hell

Okay, so this may be a little over the top for a job fair.
But, It got your attention, didn't it?

- Wikimedia Commons -

For several months, I've been searching for a job that pays more than $9 an hour.  Now, I recognize that may sound rash to some, but let's look at the qualifications I offer.  
  1. Corporate Training Director with publications in Sales Training, Customer Retention, and Business Development Centers, and experience in training nationwide.
  2. Retail, Sales and District management positions for over 20 years
  3. Previous business developer and owner in Privacy Law Compliance
  4. Previous positions in commanding audiences in Stand-up Comedy and Radio Broadcasting
  5. Previous Military experience.
Six digit income figures were mine for many years.  So, should I, or should I not, be expectant of finding a position that offered more than $9 per hour?   Or, have I simply fooled myself all these years believing that I should earn more that a cashier at McDonald's?  

(Please don't answer that.  Allow me a few moments of self respect.  
It's become such a rarity.)

Hasn't our current President stated many times that he's bringing these type of jobs back?  Or, could that simply be political rhetoric?  Please, don't destroy my belief that a politician would only be saying something to get re-elected!  However would I live through tomorrow if this were the case?  

(Okay, damn it, I'm not that naive.)

You can imagine my enthusiasm when word came down the email pipes that a VA Job Fair would be held!  Finally, manufacturers that appreciate those that took years from their lives to protect the country and the businesses and people it stood for!  Plus, I couldn't wait to ride the Ferris Wheel!  

(Okay, I said that as an effort to make you smile.  
I know it was cheap, but it works on 9 out of 10 dentists.)

So, this morning I put the suit, tie, white shirt, and polished shoes on, blow dried my hair for the first time in ages, and let optimism rule my attitude as I drove to the Job Fair.  With me, I carried a leather pouch containing 20 resumes, folders for booth dweller information packets, and a pad on which to take notes.  I was ready.   

When I arrived, I found I was the only one in a suit and tie.  Oh, did I forget the white shirt and polished shoes?  Sorry.  I must be still in shock from what I saw.

Previous Job Fairs I participated in as a booth dweller provided mine was the proper dress.  Instead, I found girls and boys in T-shirts and the occasional Polo shirt, in shorts and tennis shoes.  

Has Ripvanrumple really been away that long?  My, I must be living in the past.  I thought the goal of the booth dweller was to exude success to inspire desires of the attendees to want to be employed by such a prestigious corporation.  

And, Yes Virginia, along with Santa Claus there's the Easter Bunny, 
Tooth Fairy, and Keebler Elves.

There weren't even booths set up.  Round tables encircled the center of the room with tiny, handwritten signs letting you know who the occupant was.  It was almost as though they were hiding from the attendees, and everything and body else.

Let's see, Job Fair... a place for employers to prospect for employees.  Why hide?  If you didn't want to be there, all you had to do was stay home!  That's right, these boys and girls were the new era of human resource people.  Folks that couldn't do the jobs they offered, but knew the right people to hire to do them!  

(Isn't that like saying, "I'm an expert that can't do a damn thing"?)

I began to wish I had stayed at home, too.  But, I shut down that tiny voice of negativity and believed it would be a journey that would lead to Nirvana!  

 (I guess I'd forgotten the band was no more.)

This was what was expected.  It was not what was found!
- Wikimedia Commons -

First stop, a chemical manufacturer.  "We're hiring general maintenance and temporary shift workers only.  Starting pay is $8.50 an hour.  You're probably looking for something more professional though, aren't you?"

"No shit!  I can't wait to dip my hands into dangerous chemicals and kill myself 
for such a deserving wage!"  Without a heavy heart, I moved on.

Next stop, a famous copier company.  "We're hiring customer service reps only at this time.  You can check our website for future office hiring.  If you're interested in the CSR position, it starts at $9 an hour."

"Yeah, I'm real interested.  By the way, have you read any good books lately?"

Next stop, a very famous Japanese Auto Manufacturer.  "This is the temp service that supplies all of our line workers.  We start at 9.50 per hour and hold it there for six months.  If we decide to keep you at that time, the wage goes up to $13 an hour."

"How often do you hire new people, every six months?  That would explain why you're here today.  Why pay the current zombies on the line $13, when you can fire them and get new ones for $9?  Yep, this is a place that can guarantee years of job security!  
Sign me up now!"

Please don't let my sarcasm depress you.  By this time, I was beginning to make a game of it to keep my sanity.  

(I know, I'm strange!  You're not the first to think that way!  
My mother knew it at birth (mine, not hers).

Of course, there was the typical lawn care table looking for lawn mowers and leave rakers for $8 an hour, as well as the construction crews that were hiring material helpers for $8 an hour.  

Does the expression "kid in a candy shop" sound a little out of place here?

On and on it went.  Unless you were under 36 years of age and willing to work for the DEA, there wasn't one position available for more than the $9.50 already described.

As I walked out, a person entering looked at me and asked, "Is there anything good in there?"

"Are you willing to work for $9 an hour?" I asked.

His response was, "Are you kidding?  I make more than that on unemployment!"

"Well, welcome to the way America treats its veterans"  I replied.  

When I started humming, the National Anthem, he followed me out.

I'd done something good for the day.  I'd spared him the agony of discovering the truth for himself.  I was proud of myself.  It must be God's will!

Driving away, I reflected upon what I had experienced.  At no time were any qualifications discussed.  At no time was I asked for a resume.  At no time was I treated with any type of respect.  It was as though the manufacturers and businesses thought they were offering the world in the salaries that couldn't support even the most frugal of families.

I'd been referred to seven home office websites to check for future openings, been completely ignored by those at seven tables, and found six tables completely empty as several folks were eating box lunches back in the corner.  

At least they got a free lunch.  

I decided to end it all and commit suicide.  It was my only course of action left.  So, I drove into Hardee's and purchased their $5 Big Bag lunch!  Two double cheeseburgers, fries, medium drink, and an apple turnover all in one bag.  I wondered to myself, "How do they do that?" 

 (No, not really.  That was said for comedic affect.)  

I knew death would be painful, but at least I'd be giving a $9 an hour employee something to do.  

God Bless 'em all!

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

Sunday, October 14, 2012

What Would You Do If You Were Invisible?

Even In My Earliest Years, I Could Make Myself Invisible,
But I Had A Real Problem Making My Shoes That Way!

"Have you ever wondered, if you had the ability to become invisible, what could you do to really have fun?"

Let's make this even more simple.  

Let's say that not only your body could become invisible, but so could the clothes and jewelry you wore.  In other words, you could be shopping in Walmart and see someone you really didn't want to see you there.  At the flick of an internal switch, "Flick", you're now invisible.

Does that make it simple enough to understand.  I'm really not using big words here, folks.

What would the top twenty things be that you'd do?  

Here's some suggestions.

1.  Visit the Health Spa and play with the speed controls of the treadmills being used.

2.  Enter the kitchen of your favorite restaurant and take a bite out of all the dishes awaiting the waitress to take them to customers.

Steal This While They're Watching
And See What They'll Use Next!!
3.  Go into a public restroom, reach over the stalls, and watch the people freak out as you steal their rolls of toilet tissue.

4.  Go into a church you didn't agree with and whisper demon dialogue from The Exorcist into the ears of the minister as he gave a sermon.

5.  Go to the Post Office and keep saying, "Next" before the slow counter clerk was done with his customers.

6.  Stand behind the cashier at the grocery store that always gives you a hard time and close her cash drawer as soon as it opens.

7.  Run in and out of a TSA metal detector at an airport with change in your pockets!

8.  Drive down the highway at outrageous speeds and look at the expression on the State Trooper that pulls you over and finds no one there.  As he walks away scratching his head, yell, "Why'd you pull me over, dumbass!"

You're Not As Innocent As You Look And You Know It!
Your Time Is Coming Soon!
9.  Wait until your neighbor opens the door to let out their endlessly barking dog and rush at them barking, growling and snarling madly!

10.  Take a shopping cart down the aisles of your favorite grocery stores and bump the 400 lb. ladies, shuffling along in flip flops at .000234 mph.  When they turned around, bump their tails with the cart again and start laughing wildly!   

11.  Go to McDonalds, and every time they flips the burgers, flip them back over. 

12.  Attend a Bingo Parlor game and scream "BINGO" every time a number is read.

Put It Back Now!  You Don't Need To Buy Anything Else!
13.  Attend the funeral of someone you never liked and close the lid of the casket over and over each time they open it.  Then, when they finally give up and decide to keep it closed, open it and growl, "I took all of you out of my will!"

14.  Follow your friends to a department store, and every time they put something in their cart, put it back on the shelf saying, "You know you don't need that.  What's wrong with you!"

15.  Board a jetliner, and every time the attendants try to push the drink cart, push it the other way, saying, "No, I swear they're not thirsty!  Leave Me Alone!"

16.  Drive your car to the convenience store, fill up with gas, grab a Slurpie, and go by the clerk saying, "If you won't take my money, I'll just have to leave."  

Mr. President!  I've Got Your Viagra!
17.  Enter the office of every Congressperson and tell them if they don't do right by the people, you'll be back to painfully castrate them.

18.  Go into Lady GaGa's dressing room and every time she reaches for her costume, jerk it away saying, "No, not until you lose weight!"

19.  Stand by your mailbox and every time the postman tries to put a bill in it, push it back out at him.

20.  Stand outside the President's bedchambers one night, and just as they turn off the light shout, "Mr. President, I've got the Viagra Michelle ordered!"

These are only some random thoughts.  I recognize that some may sound mean to you, but what the hell, you only go around once.  I'm sure you have your own thoughts on this topic.  Feel free to leave them in the comments below.  The area's not invisible yet.  

Boy, I could have fun with that!

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Saturday Noise ... "Why Lord, Why?"

I am finding things very distasteful today.  It is one of those days that everything bothers you.  Thank goodness I am not a violent man by nature.

Microsoft Images
The telephone has not stopped ringing.  Why can't telemarketers understand that the Federal "Do Not Calls" list means you don't call?  Instead, the accented voices express surprise when told that this number is on the list.  I wish I had their number so I could call them back when they're sleeping.  

I wonder, do foreign countries hire U.S. citizens to call their phone lists?  If so, do foreign telephone users hate our accent as much as we tend to hate theirs?

One of the callers said, "Mr. Ru..., Mr. Rum....., Mr. Rump....,(never getting my name fully out) Sir, my name is Sahib.  I work for the Asso....., Assoc....., Associ... (again, never getting the name out totally).  You have an account with us, yes?

Wonderfully involved I said, "Why no I don't.  I co-signed for my daughter to help build her credit, why?"

"We'd like you to consoli...., consoli...., consolidate your debts into one loan from us."

I really don't like telemarketers.  I really don't like those that don't know what to say.  

So, I responded, "Sahib, listen to me.  You obviously don't know your script.  What I want you to do is to take that 3X5 card into the bathroom, sit there, and go over it until you can say it by heart.  When you get it down, I want you to call me back so I can grade you on your delivery.  Will you do that for me?" 

He confirmed that he would.  I still haven't heard from him.  I've found, acting like you know more about their job than they do puts fear in their hearts.  It works with restaurants, also.  Tell the waitress you're writing a review that will be web based with an audience of millions and you'll receive great treatment, especially after you write her name down in front of her.  Mean, but what the hell, today you gotta do something for fun.

Getting back to the miserable day, oh yes.

My neighbor has a rat dog.  I don't know the breed.  It looks like a dachshund and a chihuahua had passionate and brutal sex.  This mutt is the result.  Please, never let your dachshund and chihuahua mate.  I guarantee you won't be happy,.

The neighbors let the dog out 7 times a day.  I've never known a dog with such a need to take a leak.  I've also never known such an annoying style of bark.  "Yap, Yap, Yap" is all it does.  Kind of a half bark.  I question if the dog has been fixed and the vocal chords shortened up when the testicles were pulled before being snipped.  

I guess I should feel sorry for it, but I can't, simply because it's such a pain to listen to. I have wondered if I were to grab its tongue in mid "Yap" if I could stretch it out into a real bark.  Perhaps, I would just elongate the "Yap" into a "Yaaaaaaaaaaap."  A "Yap" by any other sound is still a "Yap."   

My neighbors down the street are Hispanic, which is no big deal.  They seem like real good people.  We never talk, but only a couple of us on the street actually communicate.  When they invite me down for some authentic Hispanic food, we will find someway to communicate.  Perhaps, if they move in the near future, a couple that runs an certain type of restaurant will move in.  Perhaps my neighbor's "Yap" dog would come up missing.  Shame on me for wishing.  That doesn't happen anymore, does it?

My Hispanic neighbors love fireworks.  I don't know why, but at every opportunity they are in the middle of the street setting off firecrackers and fireworks.  They have done so this evening.

Telemarketers, yapping dog, fireworks, all in one day do not a Happy Rich make.  It did, however, give me an idea.  

Right before the 4th of July, I had purchased some firecrackers.  Easily locating them, I took a couple out to the backyard, right next to the fence enclosing the yapping dog.  As the weird mutation came closer yapping loudly, I lit a couple of firecrackers and dropped them by the fence.

Guess what stopped yapping and started yipping?

With that matter temporarily solved, I went back inside to once again find my telephone ringing.  I picked up the receiver and guess what?  Yep, another telemarketer.

How could I be so lucky?

I answered yes to my name and then set the receiver down.  I lit a firecracker and set it close to the mouthpiece.  I covered my ears and chased the cats out of the room.  

"Bang!"  (That's my version of a firecracker exploding.  If you can do better, more power to you.)

I then started moaning "Help me, I've just been shot!"  Holding in my laughter, I picked up the receiver and listened to a steady dial tone.   Somewhere, there's a telemarketer looking for an earpiece to go on an opposite ear.   I can see him going around the call center asking everyone if they have one, and having to say, "Huh?" when they respond.

The Hispanics have stopped their fireworks.  I guess they heard my firecrackers and thought they were being shot at.  Better turn off the lights in case they called the cops.

The dog is quiet, my phone silent, and all fireworks have subsided.   So, here I sit, in the glow of my computer monitor, in silence.  

Life is good!

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Days of Wine and Roses, or Beer and Peanuts?

I am sitting here listening to the new Diana Krall cd.  I glance at the cover.  Diana is dressed in an outfit reminiscent of Christina Aguilera's stage costume in Burlesque.  Deep in concentration, a question from left field destroys my focus.  Why would Diana Krall ever marry Elvis Costello?  What could this beautiful and talented woman desire that Elvis could offer?  (I know I stated one question, but number two occurred while typing the first.)

That was not the way I had intended on starting my first blog.  In fact, grandiose dreams of something witty, comedic and memorable were the intent.  Yet, Diana Krall has drawn my attention away from writing.  Damn her!!

I have all of her cd's in my stereo room, along with over 6,000 others.  Why?  I'm obsessive.  I admit to the fact.  I'd like to own Diana Krall.  Just joking, she's  much too high of maintenance for me to deal with.  Elvis can go out on tour and get away from her periodically.  I'd be stuck answering her fan mail in my best Diana Krall impersonation handwriting.  I'd probably end up having to wear lipstick and kiss the glossy 8 X 10's that would be sent out to her fans.  I don't wear lipstick.  I have never tried wearing it.  I'm not afraid of what I'd look like with it on, but quickly tire of hospital care after having been beaten by a group of individuals that don't appreciate the way men look in lipstick.

Music and movies are the primary targets of this obsessiveness, but anything else can quickly be added.  I say anything, but must draw the line at number of wives.  One is sufficient, and has been for 32 years.  She's a bitch, but I'm tolerant.  I'm an ass, but she's tolerant.  It works out well. 

Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Excuse me, Diana's drawing my attention again.  Her latest cd, "Glad Rag Doll", seems to be a collection of 1920's tunes.  Perhaps it is the 1930's.  I wasn't around at that time so either could be right or wrong.  If it bothers you, please feel free to investigate.  Sweating the small stuff is really not my thing.  But hey, whatever pleases you, go for it!

My first blog, how can I make it interesting?  I'm sitting here, thinking of all the great blogs I've never read.  Blogs about things that really matter... life, career, politics (scratch politics) ... making money by blogging... writing how to articles on Hubpages (scratch that, also)... Diana Krall.

Yes, Diana, so beautiful, so talented, so sultry of a voice.  Diana, my dream girl... or, dream woman as she has aged accordingly.  The feelings she installs into her voice when singing her emotional offerings feed the soul with fire.  Or, could is simply be a mojo?  Who cares?

My wife just had me to read to her what I have written.  The classic question, "Well, if you like Diana Krall so much, why don't you just go get her" was made.  I love my wife.  She's so naive.  Such a sense of false security.

For if I had my way, I would travel the world for the opportunity to meet Diana Krall.  I would seek out a chance meeting in which we could brush by each other and feel the warmth of the other's body.  I would inhale the enrichment of the air she parts and float amongst the clouds, avoiding jetliners and pigeons at every opportunity.  I would melt at her smile, swoon at her voice, and endear any time we could share.

Then, I would achingly leave her and return home.  My life fulfilled with fond memories of a chance meeting with Diana Krall.  I would look at my wife, the woman I love, and remember that Elvis can deal with the high maintenance.  I have the love of the bitch, and she has that of the ass.

What could be more romantic?