The international adventures of two recovering urbanites on the open road.
so my mom hates tattoos...
Living in a "Nick at Night" neighborhood. Also I have A.D.D.
Our neighbors are creepy. Well, mostly just one couple. As I mentioned in one of my first posts, Triton Cove is a place so devoid of the usual quantum douchiness of the urban landscape that it can sometimes give you psychological whiplash to go between our cabin and the city. I'll try to explain.
Friday Foto Flaunt: Composition
See what I did there? That's not how you spell photo! Ah fun with alliteration. Ahem, well anyway it's Friday again and I barely remembered to post another photo group. Thanks Didactic Pirate. Arrrrrr. Click the images to see the full resolution sample. Also go check out my latest mad photoshoppery at Beta Dad. It's basically the coolest thing that ever happened to his blog. Beside getting made "of note" and adding like a million followers. Whatev.
Friday photo flaunt.: Environments
I'm hoping to find the discipline to post a new photo each friday so I can have a swanky alliterated weekly post like all the cool kids. If you have themes you would like to see posted, or have questions about photography, art theory, filmmaking, anything that uses a camera. Please, reach out and email me or post in the comments section and I will do my utmost to answer your Q's in a timely fashion. On with the show.
Because I have virtually no propensity for picking only one of anything I've decided to post a sampling of images which tie into a certain theme. This week is "Environments"
Why is it so hard to make friends when I'm so awesome?
Since moving to the MOFN (as in: "middle of..." ooooh new web vocab, you read it here first people, go fourth and abbreviate) it has become painfully obvious to me that making relevant friends in this new land will be no can of creamed corn.
Admittedly, when I lived in the social capital of the known universe, (Twitter, Myspace, Facebook, are all based in Californicationland. The Fran, Bev Hills, and P. Alto, respectively) it was still pretty friggin hard to make decent friends. I qualify that statement with decent because its totally easy to make douchebag friends. If you want someone to drink you're beer, use you for rides, couch squat, and perpetually flake on you any time you need the slightest help or emotional support, then it's a snap. I will say that the two years I spent in San Diego were the best I've had of Cali. Although it has it's problems, SD is nowhere near as slimy as the city of shallow angels. It may seem like I'm being harsh and in truth there are alot of great folks in Cali. In fact my best friend lives in the very bowels of Mordor (lower hollywierd) and he, is the dogs bullocks. But after spending the first 10 years of my life in The Evergreen State (with layovers in DC, CO, and MO) I bunkered down and spent the last 2/3 of my life living in various Californian urbs and burbs. Given my nearly 20 years of anthropological field research on the subject of douchebaggery and general flakiness, if being a Tool was a recognized area of psychological pathology, I would have a Nobel Prize by now (isn't it awesome that the guy who invented blowing people up created a peace award, he'd fit right in on Sunset blvd.)
But I digress. Back to the difficulty of recruiting friends. The problem stems primarily from our being younger than everyone within a 40 mile radius by a several decades. Given my perspective on politics, music, movies, television, books, tattoos, etc. -"how can you hate two and a half men!??? Whaaat, no kate plus 8 either?"- it's safe to say that when it comes to intellectual discourse, the over sixty and sexy crowd is not really my key demographic group. So, that leaves the girl who works at the grocery store in town, and the dude who tends bar at his parents' saloon down the road. But these options lead to another conundrum. How do you go about making friends with someone in the service industry? "Thanks for the screwdriver Jesse, hey, sometime when you're off the clock you wanna go grab a b... oh yeh, this is the only bar." For that matter in my experience without the social construct of a mutually enjoyable or detestable activity, trying to recruit strangers to your friendship army can be a little creepy. For example, when I'm "hangin out" with Jesse he's a perfectly pleasant and enjoyable person, he watches food network almost as much as I do, and keeps The History Channel rolling above the bar instead of sporting events, plus he has am awesome mountain man beard. So I'm pretty sure that given some one on one time (see, even that sounds creepy) Jesse would think I was totally rad. But our social interactions are tainted by our disproportionate roles. When we chat, I'm cooling my heels, having some down time. He, on the other hand is at work. This means not only does he have to be cordial to me, but I always tip him when I leave. This makes the whole thing feel dirty, akin to asking for a dinner date with a stripper as you hand over singles. Granted, Jesse ain't no stripper and I would never want to witness such a sight, but it's still a service industry yo. There is no common ground on which to establish a mutual understanding. He can't tell if I'm just bored and talking to the bartender like everyone else does, and I can't tell if he thinks I'm some loser patron. What you need is the lack of obligatory conversation to know where someone stands. This makes the jump from situational friends to real friends much more tricky, "wanna hang out after you finish serving me?"
So anyway, I could go on, but this is getting way too long for this kind of navel gazing subject matter (what's a blog if not that?) so I will leave you with a question. Does anyone out there have a good friend maker pickup line? Does anyone else pick up friends outside of work, school or structured activity? Does anyone just start talking to strangers and ask for a number? (in a platonic way) If so, how do you keep from coming across as a total psycho? Are you perhaps a psycho? Deep philosophical questions to ponder.
Admittedly, when I lived in the social capital of the known universe, (Twitter, Myspace, Facebook, are all based in Californicationland. The Fran, Bev Hills, and P. Alto, respectively) it was still pretty friggin hard to make decent friends. I qualify that statement with decent because its totally easy to make douchebag friends. If you want someone to drink you're beer, use you for rides, couch squat, and perpetually flake on you any time you need the slightest help or emotional support, then it's a snap. I will say that the two years I spent in San Diego were the best I've had of Cali. Although it has it's problems, SD is nowhere near as slimy as the city of shallow angels. It may seem like I'm being harsh and in truth there are alot of great folks in Cali. In fact my best friend lives in the very bowels of Mordor (lower hollywierd) and he, is the dogs bullocks. But after spending the first 10 years of my life in The Evergreen State (with layovers in DC, CO, and MO) I bunkered down and spent the last 2/3 of my life living in various Californian urbs and burbs. Given my nearly 20 years of anthropological field research on the subject of douchebaggery and general flakiness, if being a Tool was a recognized area of psychological pathology, I would have a Nobel Prize by now (isn't it awesome that the guy who invented blowing people up created a peace award, he'd fit right in on Sunset blvd.)
But I digress. Back to the difficulty of recruiting friends. The problem stems primarily from our being younger than everyone within a 40 mile radius by a several decades. Given my perspective on politics, music, movies, television, books, tattoos, etc. -"how can you hate two and a half men!??? Whaaat, no kate plus 8 either?"- it's safe to say that when it comes to intellectual discourse, the over sixty and sexy crowd is not really my key demographic group. So, that leaves the girl who works at the grocery store in town, and the dude who tends bar at his parents' saloon down the road. But these options lead to another conundrum. How do you go about making friends with someone in the service industry? "Thanks for the screwdriver Jesse, hey, sometime when you're off the clock you wanna go grab a b... oh yeh, this is the only bar." For that matter in my experience without the social construct of a mutually enjoyable or detestable activity, trying to recruit strangers to your friendship army can be a little creepy. For example, when I'm "hangin out" with Jesse he's a perfectly pleasant and enjoyable person, he watches food network almost as much as I do, and keeps The History Channel rolling above the bar instead of sporting events, plus he has am awesome mountain man beard. So I'm pretty sure that given some one on one time (see, even that sounds creepy) Jesse would think I was totally rad. But our social interactions are tainted by our disproportionate roles. When we chat, I'm cooling my heels, having some down time. He, on the other hand is at work. This means not only does he have to be cordial to me, but I always tip him when I leave. This makes the whole thing feel dirty, akin to asking for a dinner date with a stripper as you hand over singles. Granted, Jesse ain't no stripper and I would never want to witness such a sight, but it's still a service industry yo. There is no common ground on which to establish a mutual understanding. He can't tell if I'm just bored and talking to the bartender like everyone else does, and I can't tell if he thinks I'm some loser patron. What you need is the lack of obligatory conversation to know where someone stands. This makes the jump from situational friends to real friends much more tricky, "wanna hang out after you finish serving me?"
So anyway, I could go on, but this is getting way too long for this kind of navel gazing subject matter (what's a blog if not that?) so I will leave you with a question. Does anyone out there have a good friend maker pickup line? Does anyone else pick up friends outside of work, school or structured activity? Does anyone just start talking to strangers and ask for a number? (in a platonic way) If so, how do you keep from coming across as a total psycho? Are you perhaps a psycho? Deep philosophical questions to ponder.
Mythbusting part 1
So lately I keep hearing from people, -and reading online- about all these totally outrageous "facts" about Bully breeds. The truth is these assumptions have no physical or scientific evidence to back them up. The sad part is, it's all about bad PR and the fact that people can't accept responsibility for our actions. When someone gets hurt, or a dog is attacked, it's easy to say "ooh it was the evil Pitbull" and not, "hey that owner needs to be held accountable". Pitbull's were once upon a time the most popular family dog breed in America. When trained right, treated well and given love they are the most loyal, reliable and steadfast dog you could ask for. They are great with kids and other dogs (I'm not guessing about this) they are adoring and affectionate, shameless cuddle fiends and they'll give their life for their family at a moments notice. I've owned two and worked with many and the only imbalances I have ever seen were man made.
In an effort to change the perception of these animals and raise awareness about the tragedy of dog fighting that is going on in our nation right now, we started www.NoDogFights.com. so I already have my soap box and i don't intend to turn this blog into an activist site. However, I would like to debunk some of the misunderstandings that people have about Pitbulls and similar breeds. So I've decided to start a series of mythbusting posts. The goal of each post will be to address one myth that has been propagated about these dogs.
The list of myths about Pitbulls is a mile long, so theres plenty to pick from, but if anyone out there has a question they would like answered, a "fact" you would like researched or mythbusted, or if you just want a good old fashion debate, feel free to contact me and I'll be happy to address you're topic.
On with the show. Probably the most common misconception about Pitbulls, and the one I hear the most from people is that Pitbulls have the most powerful and dangerous bite of all dog breeds measuring in excess of 5,000 PSI. These are just inflated urban legends. Scientific experiments have actually been conducted to quantify the bite strength of Pitbulls, alongside many other breeds of dogs. The most accurate measurement of bite force is obviously PSI (pounds per square inch) and the average PSI of a dog bite is around 320PSI. There are idiots all over the web (I know, it's shocking right?) asserting that it's a well known fact that Pitbulls deliver over 1200PSI (It's the TOP rated answer on yahoo answers. true story) In reality Pitbulls don't deliver nearly that power, in fact they don't even come close to having the strongest bite of any breed. Recently Dr. Brady Barr of National Geographic conducted a comparative test between a Pit Bull, a Rottweiler, and a German Shepherd. The Pit Bull had the lowest PSI rating of all three!
The highest pressure recorded from the Pit Bull was 235 lbs PSI. The highest from the Sheppard was 238, and the highest from the Rott was 328. Dr. Barr states that as far as he knows, the PSI tested in the Rott is the highest on record for any domestic canine. What happened to the supposed 10,000 pounds PSI pressure that the breed supposedly has??? It's a myth, pure and simple.
In an effort to change the perception of these animals and raise awareness about the tragedy of dog fighting that is going on in our nation right now, we started www.NoDogFights.com. so I already have my soap box and i don't intend to turn this blog into an activist site. However, I would like to debunk some of the misunderstandings that people have about Pitbulls and similar breeds. So I've decided to start a series of mythbusting posts. The goal of each post will be to address one myth that has been propagated about these dogs.
The list of myths about Pitbulls is a mile long, so theres plenty to pick from, but if anyone out there has a question they would like answered, a "fact" you would like researched or mythbusted, or if you just want a good old fashion debate, feel free to contact me and I'll be happy to address you're topic.
On with the show. Probably the most common misconception about Pitbulls, and the one I hear the most from people is that Pitbulls have the most powerful and dangerous bite of all dog breeds measuring in excess of 5,000 PSI. These are just inflated urban legends. Scientific experiments have actually been conducted to quantify the bite strength of Pitbulls, alongside many other breeds of dogs. The most accurate measurement of bite force is obviously PSI (pounds per square inch) and the average PSI of a dog bite is around 320PSI. There are idiots all over the web (I know, it's shocking right?) asserting that it's a well known fact that Pitbulls deliver over 1200PSI (It's the TOP rated answer on yahoo answers. true story) In reality Pitbulls don't deliver nearly that power, in fact they don't even come close to having the strongest bite of any breed. Recently Dr. Brady Barr of National Geographic conducted a comparative test between a Pit Bull, a Rottweiler, and a German Shepherd. The Pit Bull had the lowest PSI rating of all three!
The highest pressure recorded from the Pit Bull was 235 lbs PSI. The highest from the Sheppard was 238, and the highest from the Rott was 328. Dr. Barr states that as far as he knows, the PSI tested in the Rott is the highest on record for any domestic canine. What happened to the supposed 10,000 pounds PSI pressure that the breed supposedly has??? It's a myth, pure and simple.
The bottom line here is simple. A Pit Bull's bite is exactly the same as any other larger breed dog. They're jaws don't lock and they don't turn on their owners. (But that's a topic for another post)
Here's the clip from the bite force experiment. Notice that these dogs are charging full speed into the PSI calculator too. This isn't just the force of a bite down, but the impact of the dog's momentum as well.
So that's all for today. Hard evidence proving that a Pitbull's bite is no different from any other big dog. If you have some dog "facts" you would like me to research and debunk send em on over. And if you have a love for these amazing, misunderstoof animals, stop by Dog Fight Inc, get more information or get involved in the fight to return the APBT to the place it once held in the hearts of the American people.
Monday madness award
Okay, since everyone is so hot for these weekly posty deals. I hereby proclaim this the MONDAY MADNESS AWARD.
The idea here is simple. Find a totally crazy mofo who exists within the blogisphere. Drop in a photo and whatever quotes or information was on their page that made them seem soooo creepy/crazy/gnarly/strange/awkward/random/unique
Nominate your friends, nominate your enemies. A really great way to creepy hunt is to just click a keyword, pick a dark wierd book and see all the people who have that listed on their books. You get bonus points if you find a mullet.
The idea here is simple. Find a totally crazy mofo who exists within the blogisphere. Drop in a photo and whatever quotes or information was on their page that made them seem soooo creepy/crazy/gnarly/strange/awkward/random/unique
Nominate your friends, nominate your enemies. A really great way to creepy hunt is to just click a keyword, pick a dark wierd book and see all the people who have that listed on their books. You get bonus points if you find a mullet.
The eyes are the windows to the soul. And these eyes say his soul wants to eat your face for brunch. The about me was not made up.
About Me
taller, smarter, older, literate, not amused.
it's a official
I'm a fully dorked out uber blogger. I had this realization today while I was looking at some poop. And I blame YOU Beta Dad. You commented on a previous post regarding how I've been gettin deuced by the dogs like every five minutes, which only seems to happen when The Wife is gone.
So I was cruising through today feelin cool, feelin positive. I was using the secret and all my skat free vision boards. I took Bubs out and we walked around, well hobbled around on his bum knee. He seemed uninterested in his generally passionate game of which flower to bomb next. So I opened the door and let him in. He;s the only one i trust alone in the hosue. I took Bonnie to play fetch and burn off some of that 1 yr. old energy. We were gone minutes MINUTES I tell you. And when I got back I saw a very sad and apologetic Bubba next to a series of massive golfball sized dukes. I told him no, but he just shook and gave me his i couldnt help it face. So I run and grab the paper towels and rub cleaner and on my way back I stop and think oh I gotta get a picture of this to drop on BD for that comment he left about anticipating what further demise awaited me this week. Here's brown in your eye! So I drop my cleaning utensils and b line for my camera and it hits me. WOAH dude. what exactly is happening to you here? You're alone in your house and gleefully rushing over to get a camera and snap a shot of a huge Bubba Nug to post online to some guy you don't even know in real life. This is either totally awesome or I'm gonna be talking about it as my lowest low in a group session someday. I guess thats what it means to be a blogger. Postponing a feces removal activity so you can take pictures and double down on someone you don't know from Adam. What a world. Now THAT is country livin.
I wanted to drop the pic into a comment on his page but it wouldnt take. soooo
mmmmmmmmmm. blogtastic. THIS is why Christy should never leave town.
So I was cruising through today feelin cool, feelin positive. I was using the secret and all my skat free vision boards. I took Bubs out and we walked around, well hobbled around on his bum knee. He seemed uninterested in his generally passionate game of which flower to bomb next. So I opened the door and let him in. He;s the only one i trust alone in the hosue. I took Bonnie to play fetch and burn off some of that 1 yr. old energy. We were gone minutes MINUTES I tell you. And when I got back I saw a very sad and apologetic Bubba next to a series of massive golfball sized dukes. I told him no, but he just shook and gave me his i couldnt help it face. So I run and grab the paper towels and rub cleaner and on my way back I stop and think oh I gotta get a picture of this to drop on BD for that comment he left about anticipating what further demise awaited me this week. Here's brown in your eye! So I drop my cleaning utensils and b line for my camera and it hits me. WOAH dude. what exactly is happening to you here? You're alone in your house and gleefully rushing over to get a camera and snap a shot of a huge Bubba Nug to post online to some guy you don't even know in real life. This is either totally awesome or I'm gonna be talking about it as my lowest low in a group session someday. I guess thats what it means to be a blogger. Postponing a feces removal activity so you can take pictures and double down on someone you don't know from Adam. What a world. Now THAT is country livin.
I wanted to drop the pic into a comment on his page but it wouldnt take. soooo
mmmmmmmmmm. blogtastic. THIS is why Christy should never leave town.
We interrupt your regular schedule life for this commercial break
*Disclaimer*
You may read this and say to yourself "This is mindless drivel. Doesn't this Jag have anything more intellectual to write about? To which I reply, "First off buddy, maybe I DO have better stuff to write about and I'm saving it up untill another 3 people are following this blog okay! Yeh I can hear what you're thinking to yourself while reading this. what now? You don't have to partake of this schlock if you're just gonna drink hatorade the whole time and pee on my parade, and B. I blame YOU cause if you had a better idea, you shoulda emailed me with a question or thought and I would be happy to engage you in a witty repartee on the subject of your choosing , and 3. you ain't my mom, you're not the boss of me! That's right, suck it.
...But seriously Email me with your post ideas and I'll drop tightly coiled piles of knowledge on your topic. for FREE!
Tonight's philosophical journey begins with a delightful stroll through the television jungle at 2:37am
Click
...Stop suffering every time you look at yourself in the mirror. No more confining girdles or endless dieting. STOP hassling with complicated exercise programs. Actually feel good about the way you look without spending thousands on plastic surgery. ALL you need is the new BodyShapertm
Click
...get those abs shredded while you lay in bed for just 3 minutes a
Click
...you know they say when you stand up straight you have more confidence and this just pulls that gut right in without ever hitting the gy
Click
...only about 3 thousand more of these coins Richard and they. are. going. fast. And if people don't act right now
Click
...Now you can steam, grill, fry, bake or roast- ALL in your microwave. All under ten minutes!
Click
...I love shopping now. I'm trying on clothes that I haven't tried on in 20 years.
Click
...is now making over $50,000 a month while sitting on the couch playing video games.
Click
...I tried other things and nothing worked but this.
Click
...to get into the BEST shape of your life faster and easier than you ever dreamed possible. With just 6-8 minutes a day you can
Click
...Kim, Khloe and Kourney show you the secret to their PERFECT skin
Click
...locks in flavor
Click
...the easiest most delicious pork shops you have every eaten in your entire
Click
...in just 20 minutes a day, 3 times a week you can transform your body like you've never
Click
...totally recession proof
Click
...you're doing quiche, eggs AND cinnamon rolls all together? at once? that's crazy Jill
Click
...Sausage, you got bacon, bagel, pancakes, waffles. Let's go over here to lunch. You got burg
Click
...comes from a melon, in the south of France and it really stops your skin from showing the signs of aging. And after the very first treatment
Click
...thinner than I was in highschool
Of course, this makes me ponder (you as well I'm sure) the question of alien life and whether they have visited earth before. I offer this as proof that higher beings have in fact not stumbled across our little marble, because if they did, they would undoubtedly first begin research of our species before making contact. The first and most obvious study would of course be rendered upon the orbital mosh pit of satellites that circles our globe and the information transmitted to and from. Assuming that the aliens would most likely orbit us on the night side of the rock, as to hide their giant crafts in the darkness of space and stay green by reducing the usage of AC units on board, they would surely pick up nighttime broadcast such that the preceding exhibit.
Upon completion of this recon effort and council would convene for a whole 10 minutes and inevitably conclude that we were the lowest form of intelligence know to the Galaxy. Our value system as represented can be defined as such:
1. Look skinny.
2. Eat more.
3. Look young.
4, Get more money, but without hard work.
5. Cook food quickly and easily. (see item 2)
6. Spend as little time exercising as possible (see item 1)
7. Clean domestic domicile
8. Diet. (or just pop pills)
9. have phone sex (That's the other tele-sattelite broadcasting at 3am)
10. look better.
This would prompt the aliens to turn their ships around and leave our sad little species to eventually eat each other alive or die out from overdosing on diet pills, fake tan spray (discovered to cause mental retardation in the year 2038) and gorging on chemically process, hormone injected meat products cooked with nuclear ions for 5 out of 6 meals a day.
The aliens would be shaking their collective giant green heads and flipping a bitch over Wisconsin when Reggie would stumble across The history Channel or CNN. The aliens would instantly realize that we are not just image obsessed, glutinous, lazy, superficial, money hungry, Prima Donnas. but also bloodthirsty, greedy war mongers. There would be a collective sigh as they turned around and death-rayed the crap out of us all like the intergalactic flu bug before we spread our doctrine beyond our planet. Then they'd mosey on down the cosmos.
So, the moral of this story is:
Church.
You may read this and say to yourself "This is mindless drivel. Doesn't this Jag have anything more intellectual to write about? To which I reply, "First off buddy, maybe I DO have better stuff to write about and I'm saving it up untill another 3 people are following this blog okay! Yeh I can hear what you're thinking to yourself while reading this. what now? You don't have to partake of this schlock if you're just gonna drink hatorade the whole time and pee on my parade, and B. I blame YOU cause if you had a better idea, you shoulda emailed me with a question or thought and I would be happy to engage you in a witty repartee on the subject of your choosing , and 3. you ain't my mom, you're not the boss of me! That's right, suck it.
...But seriously Email me with your post ideas and I'll drop tightly coiled piles of knowledge on your topic. for FREE!
Tonight's philosophical journey begins with a delightful stroll through the television jungle at 2:37am
Click
...Stop suffering every time you look at yourself in the mirror. No more confining girdles or endless dieting. STOP hassling with complicated exercise programs. Actually feel good about the way you look without spending thousands on plastic surgery. ALL you need is the new BodyShapertm
Click
...get those abs shredded while you lay in bed for just 3 minutes a
Click
...you know they say when you stand up straight you have more confidence and this just pulls that gut right in without ever hitting the gy
Click
...only about 3 thousand more of these coins Richard and they. are. going. fast. And if people don't act right now
Click
...Now you can steam, grill, fry, bake or roast- ALL in your microwave. All under ten minutes!
Click
...I love shopping now. I'm trying on clothes that I haven't tried on in 20 years.
Click
...is now making over $50,000 a month while sitting on the couch playing video games.
Click
...I tried other things and nothing worked but this.
Click
...to get into the BEST shape of your life faster and easier than you ever dreamed possible. With just 6-8 minutes a day you can
Click
...Kim, Khloe and Kourney show you the secret to their PERFECT skin
Click
...locks in flavor
Click
...the easiest most delicious pork shops you have every eaten in your entire
Click
...in just 20 minutes a day, 3 times a week you can transform your body like you've never
Click
...totally recession proof
Click
...you're doing quiche, eggs AND cinnamon rolls all together? at once? that's crazy Jill
Click
...Sausage, you got bacon, bagel, pancakes, waffles. Let's go over here to lunch. You got burg
Click
...comes from a melon, in the south of France and it really stops your skin from showing the signs of aging. And after the very first treatment
Click
...thinner than I was in highschool
Of course, this makes me ponder (you as well I'm sure) the question of alien life and whether they have visited earth before. I offer this as proof that higher beings have in fact not stumbled across our little marble, because if they did, they would undoubtedly first begin research of our species before making contact. The first and most obvious study would of course be rendered upon the orbital mosh pit of satellites that circles our globe and the information transmitted to and from. Assuming that the aliens would most likely orbit us on the night side of the rock, as to hide their giant crafts in the darkness of space and stay green by reducing the usage of AC units on board, they would surely pick up nighttime broadcast such that the preceding exhibit.
Upon completion of this recon effort and council would convene for a whole 10 minutes and inevitably conclude that we were the lowest form of intelligence know to the Galaxy. Our value system as represented can be defined as such:
1. Look skinny.
2. Eat more.
3. Look young.
4, Get more money, but without hard work.
5. Cook food quickly and easily. (see item 2)
6. Spend as little time exercising as possible (see item 1)
7. Clean domestic domicile
8. Diet. (or just pop pills)
9. have phone sex (That's the other tele-sattelite broadcasting at 3am)
10. look better.
This would prompt the aliens to turn their ships around and leave our sad little species to eventually eat each other alive or die out from overdosing on diet pills, fake tan spray (discovered to cause mental retardation in the year 2038) and gorging on chemically process, hormone injected meat products cooked with nuclear ions for 5 out of 6 meals a day.
The aliens would be shaking their collective giant green heads and flipping a bitch over Wisconsin when Reggie would stumble across The history Channel or CNN. The aliens would instantly realize that we are not just image obsessed, glutinous, lazy, superficial, money hungry, Prima Donnas. but also bloodthirsty, greedy war mongers. There would be a collective sigh as they turned around and death-rayed the crap out of us all like the intergalactic flu bug before we spread our doctrine beyond our planet. Then they'd mosey on down the cosmos.
So, the moral of this story is:
PAID ADVERTISING + HUMANITY STILL ALIVE = PROOF ALIENS DO NOT EXIST.
Church.
Just another rainy day in Cali...
Precipitation is pretty rare here in San Diego, so of course, when I left the torrentially inclined Northwest for a few days, it was bound to rain here instead. Luckily, my brother and I have plenty to amuse us (we can't leave the house for fear of the dreaded California rainy day drivers - seriously people, what is your problem?!?).
What better way to cheers ourselves up after another dismal Charger loss than with....
Boxing Grannies!!! This is one of the funniest, most ridiculous things I've seen in a long time. And it has almost eased the pain of the Chargers loss. As much as an epic battle involving 2 old hags getting hit in the face can...
What better way to cheers ourselves up after another dismal Charger loss than with....
Boxing Grannies!!! This is one of the funniest, most ridiculous things I've seen in a long time. And it has almost eased the pain of the Chargers loss. As much as an epic battle involving 2 old hags getting hit in the face can...
My state's beer is better than your state's beer.
Or at least naughtier! Let's take a look at a few of the amazing microbrews available in this great town. BTW, I did not alter or make up any of these products. you can buy all of them at our tiny little grocery store. Only one image was edited slightly in order to make me giggle like a school girl. bet you can't find it.
This beer will beat you down and call you a sissy. It's delicious and it only costs $100 an hour.
Don't you wanna taste the sassy pickle? Notice how happy The Wife is. This made her giggle for an hour. Some people are just so juvenile...
This is actually part of the new Washington state government alcohol warning requirements. When yer drunk, protect yer junk kids!
It's not the size of the bottle it's the potency of the sauce.
The best thing to do when you're drinking is try and ride a bike like a skateboard then get naked and jump head first into shallow, fast moving water.
Tune in next time for extra rad Washington business signs.
This beer will beat you down and call you a sissy. It's delicious and it only costs $100 an hour.
Don't you wanna taste the sassy pickle? Notice how happy The Wife is. This made her giggle for an hour. Some people are just so juvenile...
This is actually part of the new Washington state government alcohol warning requirements. When yer drunk, protect yer junk kids!
It's not the size of the bottle it's the potency of the sauce.
The best thing to do when you're drinking is try and ride a bike like a skateboard then get naked and jump head first into shallow, fast moving water.
Tune in next time for extra rad Washington business signs.
The meanest / most awesome thing I've posted to date
So my mom told me a while ago she was going to follow my blog. I don't think she is. Which is fine, because it totally had me all wigged out for a while about censoring myself and not saying anything I'd get shame calls about. But after quite some time i'm pretty sure that she has not only neglected to keep up with it, but never even read it. It's a pretty easy guess since I had like 10 hits (what! number droppin yo!) this month. Yes, I can talk about how many people have read my blog like Single Dad Laughing. (I'm hoping that drinkin hatorade will help me blow up like beta dad)
But I digress. So in the interest of discovering if my mom is actually blog stalking me with Ninja stealth I have devised a truly heinous and twisted test. Because if she is reading my blog, she won't be able to help but freak out, and this post will end up getting removed under threat of legal action.
So without further ado, I present to you, a stunning 80's flashback moment. And don't try and lie, you know you went to The G shots too! Sooo sexay.
My phone is gonna ring in like ten minutes, or my mom doesn't actually read this blog.
But I digress. So in the interest of discovering if my mom is actually blog stalking me with Ninja stealth I have devised a truly heinous and twisted test. Because if she is reading my blog, she won't be able to help but freak out, and this post will end up getting removed under threat of legal action.
So without further ado, I present to you, a stunning 80's flashback moment. And don't try and lie, you know you went to The G shots too! Sooo sexay.
Reasons why my wife should never leave me alone.
I woke up today to discover that my wife had left me. True, I've known the day was coming for a while now. But I didn't think it would sneak up on me so fast. What's worse, she won't be back for a whole 7 friggin days! I lay in bed, paralyzed, -blinking at the ceiling, feeling the cold sheets next to me so recently vacated and listening to The Beast snore like a lumberjack at my feet.
"This is gonna get ugly" I told myself, blissfully unaware how true those words were. See, before I met my wife, I was basically a wreck. I'm sure a lot of married men can relate. I was marginally human. I worked like I had a death wish, never exercised, enjoyed all things to excess, lived a completely schedule free life, was a hardcore insomniac, dabbled in self loathing and was a professional procrastinator. In short, it was pretty sweet. But things got even better after I found my wife. Now there's a little white board with days of the week and a manageable list of things to clean up on each day. I quit smoking cloves, and I (sometimes) eat healthy. I work out, floss, rinse, repeat and generally live a more balanced and happy life. Except of course when she abandons me like this and I'm thrust into my old self destructive ways. The horrific downside of which is that after living a normal life, I've lost my taste for the chaos that is bachelorhood. But I digress. I was laying in bed trying to decide if I should make coffee or drive to Vegas and blow all my money on cheap women and expensive drogas, when The Beast dropped a weapons grade flatulent bomb on my unsuspecting town of counterpane. I exited the boudoir post haste and prepared to greet the first of many lonely days.
Since we have just begun the season in Washington known by natives as "f*&#^ing cold" (This is September - July, sometimes longer) I went out to get firewood. Since my brain was now functioning in bachelor mode and further handicapped by a lack of coffee, I decided to get creative with the timber and use my dolly. I won't go into graphic detail but somehow the floor ended up covered in bark chips and pine needles. This wasn't a big deal until I went to get a broom from the kitchen closet and discovered that two Pepsi cans had made a suicide pact and jumped to their doom from the top shelf, dispatching their guts all over my floor and resulting in a graphic and sticky crime scene. Everything porous had sponged up copious amounts of liquid, requiring the entire contents of the closet to be hauled out, wiped down and re-stashed.
All this happened before I could pour a single pot of coffee down my face. And I haven't even mentioned the giant turd that annihilated my foot! That's right, when my wife leaves me alone, big pieces of crap fall on my bare feet. Awesome!
After cleaning that up I donned my trusty disposable poop gloves and went out to clear the patio of any aromatic gifts left for me by our three gastrointestinally endowed dogs.(somehow they expel more than they consume) All had made an effort to contribute. Generally it's easiest to just scoop the steaming piles up with disposable gloves and sling handfuls of warm sludge into a plastic bag. This particular day. Epic Fail. A yellow log slipped from between my fingers like so many (giant, steaming) grains of sand. It rocketed straight down to engage it's target: my naked, defenseless foot. I have no explanation for this other than if my wife had been home instead of ditching me, things would have happened different and my foot would be fecal free.
This series of tragic events inspired me to construct a master list of reasons my wife should never leave me to my own devices, in the hopes that she will never abandon me for more than a few hours at a time. So without further ado.
2) I'm unable to cook like a rockstar for only myself.
(Exhibit B) I burned the heart and soul out of this pizza . Generally speaking I'm a gnarly cook. But this little guy. Epic Fail. I made twice cooked pizza, where you cook the top and flip it over on non stick foil to broil the crust to make it nice and crispy, I've done this before (a necessity when using these lame low carb tortillas instead of crust) with immaculate results. This time, I was distracted with something stupid, since The Wife wasn't here (like trying to find two socks that match out of 20) . It only took 6 minutes to cremate (RIP sweet pizza). This was a new low and it's totally her fault. I need someone else here to cook for to keep me focused dammit!
3) Fecalrocket
To reiterate: Fatty-logs of doggy deuce plummet from my nitrile gloved hand and hurtle like a smart bomb directly onto my naked foot. I'll spare you the truly gory photos. (Exhibit C: Sad flip flop, collateral damage)
4) Yeh, that's right.
Nuff said.
5) I'm forced to face the world sober.
I also left my wallet in our matrix. The car, Wifey drove to the airport. So no beer will be drowning my sorrows.
6) The dogs realize I'm outnumbered and hate on me wicked hard.
Feeling the sting of my empty bed I decided to allow Bonnie and The Beast to forgo their crate and cuddle up with me and Bubba on the fold out for the night. My kindness was not rewarded. Still reeling from the fecal bombing yesterday, I had no idea a secondary blitzkrap was in the works. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and planted my foot straight into a donut hole sized ball of slimy, yellow wreaking Beastapotamos droppings. Unheard of! The Beast never deuces the house! Right where I get out of bed in the morning? Hater! Untoward! I hop into the kitchen to get clean-wipes. Put the defiled blanket in the laundry and return to clear the landmine site. Once a thurough scrubbing and three coats of cleaner have been applied I go to let the merry pranksters (who watched my plight with smug satisfaction from the couch) out to pee. Alas, what is that cold squishy feeling on my so recently defiled foot? Could it be? Gasp, shutter. Say it ain't so... OH, the humanity. My poor browbeaten foot, tragical sitting upon a bed of amonia. Tag teamed! I cannot take much more of this and The Wife has only been gone 2 days!
"This is gonna get ugly" I told myself, blissfully unaware how true those words were. See, before I met my wife, I was basically a wreck. I'm sure a lot of married men can relate. I was marginally human. I worked like I had a death wish, never exercised, enjoyed all things to excess, lived a completely schedule free life, was a hardcore insomniac, dabbled in self loathing and was a professional procrastinator. In short, it was pretty sweet. But things got even better after I found my wife. Now there's a little white board with days of the week and a manageable list of things to clean up on each day. I quit smoking cloves, and I (sometimes) eat healthy. I work out, floss, rinse, repeat and generally live a more balanced and happy life. Except of course when she abandons me like this and I'm thrust into my old self destructive ways. The horrific downside of which is that after living a normal life, I've lost my taste for the chaos that is bachelorhood. But I digress. I was laying in bed trying to decide if I should make coffee or drive to Vegas and blow all my money on cheap women and expensive drogas, when The Beast dropped a weapons grade flatulent bomb on my unsuspecting town of counterpane. I exited the boudoir post haste and prepared to greet the first of many lonely days.
Since we have just begun the season in Washington known by natives as "f*&#^ing cold" (This is September - July, sometimes longer) I went out to get firewood. Since my brain was now functioning in bachelor mode and further handicapped by a lack of coffee, I decided to get creative with the timber and use my dolly. I won't go into graphic detail but somehow the floor ended up covered in bark chips and pine needles. This wasn't a big deal until I went to get a broom from the kitchen closet and discovered that two Pepsi cans had made a suicide pact and jumped to their doom from the top shelf, dispatching their guts all over my floor and resulting in a graphic and sticky crime scene. Everything porous had sponged up copious amounts of liquid, requiring the entire contents of the closet to be hauled out, wiped down and re-stashed.
All this happened before I could pour a single pot of coffee down my face. And I haven't even mentioned the giant turd that annihilated my foot! That's right, when my wife leaves me alone, big pieces of crap fall on my bare feet. Awesome!
After cleaning that up I donned my trusty disposable poop gloves and went out to clear the patio of any aromatic gifts left for me by our three gastrointestinally endowed dogs.(somehow they expel more than they consume) All had made an effort to contribute. Generally it's easiest to just scoop the steaming piles up with disposable gloves and sling handfuls of warm sludge into a plastic bag. This particular day. Epic Fail. A yellow log slipped from between my fingers like so many (giant, steaming) grains of sand. It rocketed straight down to engage it's target: my naked, defenseless foot. I have no explanation for this other than if my wife had been home instead of ditching me, things would have happened different and my foot would be fecal free.
This series of tragic events inspired me to construct a master list of reasons my wife should never leave me to my own devices, in the hopes that she will never abandon me for more than a few hours at a time. So without further ado.
Reasons my wife should never leave me on my own.
1) The world falls apart.
Disaster besets me at every turn. Without warning, tragedy strikes the moment The Wife is 10+ miles away. Exhibit A: Sodas commit suicide. Boom, pop, fizzzzzzz, blerg!
2) I'm unable to cook like a rockstar for only myself.
(Exhibit B) I burned the heart and soul out of this pizza . Generally speaking I'm a gnarly cook. But this little guy. Epic Fail. I made twice cooked pizza, where you cook the top and flip it over on non stick foil to broil the crust to make it nice and crispy, I've done this before (a necessity when using these lame low carb tortillas instead of crust) with immaculate results. This time, I was distracted with something stupid, since The Wife wasn't here (like trying to find two socks that match out of 20) . It only took 6 minutes to cremate (RIP sweet pizza). This was a new low and it's totally her fault. I need someone else here to cook for to keep me focused dammit!
3) Fecalrocket
To reiterate: Fatty-logs of doggy deuce plummet from my nitrile gloved hand and hurtle like a smart bomb directly onto my naked foot. I'll spare you the truly gory photos. (Exhibit C: Sad flip flop, collateral damage)
4) Yeh, that's right.
Nuff said.
5) I'm forced to face the world sober.
I also left my wallet in our matrix. The car, Wifey drove to the airport. So no beer will be drowning my sorrows.
6) The dogs realize I'm outnumbered and hate on me wicked hard.
Feeling the sting of my empty bed I decided to allow Bonnie and The Beast to forgo their crate and cuddle up with me and Bubba on the fold out for the night. My kindness was not rewarded. Still reeling from the fecal bombing yesterday, I had no idea a secondary blitzkrap was in the works. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and planted my foot straight into a donut hole sized ball of slimy, yellow wreaking Beastapotamos droppings. Unheard of! The Beast never deuces the house! Right where I get out of bed in the morning? Hater! Untoward! I hop into the kitchen to get clean-wipes. Put the defiled blanket in the laundry and return to clear the landmine site. Once a thurough scrubbing and three coats of cleaner have been applied I go to let the merry pranksters (who watched my plight with smug satisfaction from the couch) out to pee. Alas, what is that cold squishy feeling on my so recently defiled foot? Could it be? Gasp, shutter. Say it ain't so... OH, the humanity. My poor browbeaten foot, tragical sitting upon a bed of amonia. Tag teamed! I cannot take much more of this and The Wife has only been gone 2 days!
Real talk (just this once)
This is a rare, serious post. If you love dogs animals, own a dog or know someone who owns a dog (especially, Bully breeds, Mastiffs, Dobermans, and Rotties) then this should concern you. Also people who don't care about animals but would like the government to quit taking so much damn control over our every day lives. (I'll keep my dog and my shotgun, thank you)
Here's the deal, breed specific legislation is in the pipeline in Colorado. (and other places under the radar) Ultimately this ends with the government being allowed to ban and then kill your pet with immunity if you have a mix of a specific breed. Including, but not limited to Pit-bulls, Stafforshire Terriers, Bull Terriers, Bull Mastiffs, Rottweilers, Akitas, Dobermans, and other "bad" breeds as determined by some idiot sitting behind a desk on capital hill who never even owned a pet hamster, let alone knows anything about your dog specifically. If you own one of these breeds and live within the county that has a breed ban passed, regardless of it's temperament history, if you're dog gets out of your house once, he's dead. Sometimes they just take them straight out of your yard while you're at work. Imagine coming home and finding out your dog was put down by the government without notice. It starts small but snowballs fast. Think you're cool because you don't own a Pitbull? Thank again.
Pissed off? Click here to go to the facebook page of the dude behind it all, the head of Denver Animal control. Email him and let him know what you think about him killing over 3,000 dogs (many family pets with no record of malfeasance. The video at the bottom has contact info for all the guilty parties perpetrating this genocide.
We need serious penalties for people who abuse animals! REAL prison time, serious fines. It's shameful that our "justice" system doles out more lenient penalties for people who torture animals to death purely than for littering ($1-4k per ticket in many places! Apparently our concrete highways are more precious than living creatures) or a minor narcotics possession. A guy trains his dog to be a killer, through a lifetime of neglect and pain, he gets caught dog fighting, gets slammed with a $300 fine and starts adopting dogs from the local kennel the very next day. Because it's easier to blame the dog than admit what an insidious, blood thirsty species we humans can be.
You may or may not share my belief that Pitbulls are one of the most loyal, affectionate, reliable and loving breeds there is, that's fine, that's a rant for another day. The bottom line is that some people use Pitbulls' natural loyalty to make them dangerous, they aren't born evil, they are born wanting to love, please and protect. Unfortunately if someone is a sociopath like Mike Vick (evidence for this later), what pleases them is seeing animals get tortured and killed. And Pitbulls are one of the breeds that will cause or endure any amount of pain in order to please and protect their pack leader. This willingness to accept pain and injury in the hopes of pleasing the master is known as "gameness." It's not a dog breed problem, it's a human being problem. We are blaming the wrong species.
So I urge you, find out about Breed Specific Legislation in your city, and please please please, if you care about dogs at all, go to this link and help this cause be heard. It's crazy fast/easy and super effective. Politicians crap their pants if they think anyone is actually paying attention and might get pissed off.
http://ohmydogblog.com/2010/05/campaign-to-end-bsl-operation-denver
We need to push for stronger penalties against animal abuse, not outlaw certain breeds, especially loyal ones. You wanna outlaw a breed, what about cats? My friend had one of those and that little bastard didn't care about anyone, thought he was like, sooo much better than everyone. (JK yo! Calm down cat people, don't get your whiskers twisted, I'm just kidding. I had two cats on the farm growing up and they were the shiz. More on that later.)
 |
| *This pic is not one of our dogs, although they do this alot* |
Pissed off? Click here to go to the facebook page of the dude behind it all, the head of Denver Animal control. Email him and let him know what you think about him killing over 3,000 dogs (many family pets with no record of malfeasance. The video at the bottom has contact info for all the guilty parties perpetrating this genocide.
We need serious penalties for people who abuse animals! REAL prison time, serious fines. It's shameful that our "justice" system doles out more lenient penalties for people who torture animals to death purely than for littering ($1-4k per ticket in many places! Apparently our concrete highways are more precious than living creatures) or a minor narcotics possession. A guy trains his dog to be a killer, through a lifetime of neglect and pain, he gets caught dog fighting, gets slammed with a $300 fine and starts adopting dogs from the local kennel the very next day. Because it's easier to blame the dog than admit what an insidious, blood thirsty species we humans can be.
 |
| *careful kid, he might snap and rip your face off any moment* |
So I urge you, find out about Breed Specific Legislation in your city, and please please please, if you care about dogs at all, go to this link and help this cause be heard. It's crazy fast/easy and super effective. Politicians crap their pants if they think anyone is actually paying attention and might get pissed off.
http://ohmydogblog.com/2010/05/campaign-to-end-bsl-operation-denver
We need to push for stronger penalties against animal abuse, not outlaw certain breeds, especially loyal ones. You wanna outlaw a breed, what about cats? My friend had one of those and that little bastard didn't care about anyone, thought he was like, sooo much better than everyone. (JK yo! Calm down cat people, don't get your whiskers twisted, I'm just kidding. I had two cats on the farm growing up and they were the shiz. More on that later.)
Check out our anti dog fighting charity for more info.
Still feeling like it's really not that big of a deal? I dare you to watch this quick video.
And you thought YOU had a bad day
Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. We just found out that all 33 coal miners who were trapped in a chilean mine for 70 days (that's right, 70 friggin days!) made it out alive. It was a happy homecoming no doubt for, well almost everyone I'm sure. Except for Yonni Barrios, who's wife found out he was cheating when she met his mistress at -get this- a memorial service for the miners. Talk about getting out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Michael Vick sucks...
So if you are a dog lover you probably know all about what a massive steaming pile Michael Vick is. We've been trying to raise awareness about this issue and get people to boycott the Eagles for hiring him since he was allowed back into the NFL to once again make millions of dollars being a role model for young kids.
Well if you're much a fan of Michael Dick as I am you'll be happy to know that Karma is still in the world and doing a bang up job. Granted, getting smashed like a bug between a couple 300+ D-linemen and breaking some ribs and a collarbone doesn't really balance out with years of torturing and killing dogs for entertainment, but it still makes the most satisfying highlight reel I've seen all year.
Sadly, because the NFL roots out footage online like the gestapo, I can't post the clip here. So instead here's a little insight into Vick's true character. The guy is nothing but class.
Well if you're much a fan of Michael Dick as I am you'll be happy to know that Karma is still in the world and doing a bang up job. Granted, getting smashed like a bug between a couple 300+ D-linemen and breaking some ribs and a collarbone doesn't really balance out with years of torturing and killing dogs for entertainment, but it still makes the most satisfying highlight reel I've seen all year.
Sadly, because the NFL roots out footage online like the gestapo, I can't post the clip here. So instead here's a little insight into Vick's true character. The guy is nothing but class.
The twighlight zone DMV
The nearest major consumer temple is Wal-Mart, an hour south on Hwy 101, along the winding coastline. No mountains have been blasted, no coastline desecrated to make way for a straight and smooth 6 lane abomination. Between our cabin in Lilliwaup and Shelton, the nearest metropolis (pop. 8,442), are a handful of little towns about the size of a home depot. You know, the kind where they have 853 different door knobs but not a single one matches the hole that’s cut in your door. Because of the different towns along the two lane Highway, the speed limit changes between 50, 55, 35, 40, 25, 30, 45 and 60 about every quarter mile. It may wear out your brakes but it keeps you on your toes and looking for the next speed change, lest you find yourself cited for a minor speeding infraction, like ever one in my family except us. (so far)
Although in the years since the 2000 census the population may have swelled past 8,442 people, the Shelton DMV still had a line stretching 7 whole people when we arrived on Friday afternoon to get our new Washington driver’s licenses. (It should be noted that since 6 of the people were a family with small children the line was actually only 2 customers long). The door had not closed behind us before we were waved over by a smiling man who was so pleasant I was sure we had walked into some hidden camera TV show or some strange psychological experiment played out by scientists to determine how humans react in surreal and incredible situations like the twilight zone. I stood dumbfounded, looking around for Ashton Kutcher to jump out in a bedazzled trucker hat and send me off to the real DMV to suffer as God intended.
The man behind the counter just smiled and joked with us as he simultaneously set up both our licenses. (Simultaneously! At one station!) Noting as he asked for our phone numbers that if we weren’t comfortable giving that information out, he understood and was happy to leave it blank. Flashbacks of my strip search, finger printing, DNA and blood samples in order to obtain my California license flooded my mind.
Needless to say we were suspicious of his intentions, assuming that he was baiting us in for a devastating blow of Sun Tzu proportions. But when a whole 15 minutes had past of us sitting there (yes they have chairs across the counter and no bullet proof glass. I guess when you treat people decent they don‘t shoot at you) he expressed deep remorse and frustration with his outdated computer, gushing an apology for making us wait almost 20 whole minutes for both our licenses. At this point I realized he was not an emotional sadist or con man, but only insane. Perhaps years of smoking LSD and watching reruns of Andy Griffith had lead him to believe he actually lived in Mayberry. I told him if he took less than 6 hours to process our request I might have a stroke and die of shock. He did his best to help us feel at home, but in the end could not bring himself to make us wait longer than 35 minutes before we were standing outside in the fresh summer breeze holding temporary paper licenses, trying to stop hyperventilating.
There really is something to be said for small town service.
Although in the years since the 2000 census the population may have swelled past 8,442 people, the Shelton DMV still had a line stretching 7 whole people when we arrived on Friday afternoon to get our new Washington driver’s licenses. (It should be noted that since 6 of the people were a family with small children the line was actually only 2 customers long). The door had not closed behind us before we were waved over by a smiling man who was so pleasant I was sure we had walked into some hidden camera TV show or some strange psychological experiment played out by scientists to determine how humans react in surreal and incredible situations like the twilight zone. I stood dumbfounded, looking around for Ashton Kutcher to jump out in a bedazzled trucker hat and send me off to the real DMV to suffer as God intended.
The man behind the counter just smiled and joked with us as he simultaneously set up both our licenses. (Simultaneously! At one station!) Noting as he asked for our phone numbers that if we weren’t comfortable giving that information out, he understood and was happy to leave it blank. Flashbacks of my strip search, finger printing, DNA and blood samples in order to obtain my California license flooded my mind.
Needless to say we were suspicious of his intentions, assuming that he was baiting us in for a devastating blow of Sun Tzu proportions. But when a whole 15 minutes had past of us sitting there (yes they have chairs across the counter and no bullet proof glass. I guess when you treat people decent they don‘t shoot at you) he expressed deep remorse and frustration with his outdated computer, gushing an apology for making us wait almost 20 whole minutes for both our licenses. At this point I realized he was not an emotional sadist or con man, but only insane. Perhaps years of smoking LSD and watching reruns of Andy Griffith had lead him to believe he actually lived in Mayberry. I told him if he took less than 6 hours to process our request I might have a stroke and die of shock. He did his best to help us feel at home, but in the end could not bring himself to make us wait longer than 35 minutes before we were standing outside in the fresh summer breeze holding temporary paper licenses, trying to stop hyperventilating.
There really is something to be said for small town service.
Ever wonder what is at the end of the rainbow?
Triton Cove! I caught this rainbow with my cell phone during a brief break in the rain today. It's hard to tell, but the rainbow was HUGE.
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