Crazy Uncle
My uncle takes crazy pills. I saw him take two before he started drinking one night. I asked what they were, and he told me they were his crazy pills.
He was staying with us for a few days. He didn’t have a job he got disability. He said it was a big check. My grandpa said it is as much as a first year teacher.
One day I went to school. My uncle was still sleeping.
I often got bullied by fifth graders. It was during lunch, but mostly walking home from my bus stop. I was good in school, but I hated going.
After school one day I was being chased by 3 fifth graders. My uncle was on the side porch smoking a cigarette. He saw me running. He dropped his cigarette when he saw them catch me.
My crazy uncle sprung into action. He took some rocks from my family’s drive way and started throwing them. The first one hit me in the face. He came closer, and started throwing them at the fifth graders.
They let me go.
My uncle started yelling. “Get some rocks!”
I got some and started throwing them as I stood side by side with my uncle. We nailed the fifth graders with the rocks so hard they began to cry.
Then the fifth graders ran away in defeat.
My crazy uncle padded me on the back.
“Ha they’ve retreated.”
“Are we in trouble?” I asked.
“Why would we be in trouble?” My uncle asked.
I didn’t have an answer.
We both went inside I kissed mom on the cheek and my uncle cracked opened a beer.
“How was your Day?” My mom asked.
“I don’t think we have to worry about the big kids anymore.” I answered.
“Did you talk it out?” My mom asked.
“I took care of it.” My uncle answered.
My mom dropped the dish she was cleaning, and it shattered.
“Oh God!”
“What did you do?” My mom demanded to know.
“I said I took care of it.” My uncle said.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
“Mrs. Jepson!”
My mom went to the screen door where another mother was standing. My uncle followed.
“Mrs. Jepson, your son threw rocks at my Daniel and his friends. Daniel has a big knot on his forehead.”
My uncle laughed out loud.
The mom stopped and looked at my uncle as I peaked my head around the corner to see if I was in trouble.
“Sir this is not funny.” The mom said shakenly to my uncle’s razor burn and bed head.
“Sir? Do I look like an officer bitch?”
“What?!” The mom yelled.
“You were the one who threw them to.” She stammered.
“Rocks?” My mom questioned.
The mom went on to say. “Yes-“
“Your boy is to big to be bullying on my nephew. I should burn your house down.” My uncle interrupted.
“Rocks? Bullying?” My mom still questioned.
The mom left after she saw my uncle about ready to punch through the screen door.
“What is going on?” My mom asked.
“How long has this been going on?” My uncle asked as he looked at me tip toeing up the stairs.
“It started last year.” I answered.
“What started last year?” My mom asked.
“Your son was being picked on so I stepped in.”
“You stepped in! They go to elementary school!”
“Do you think she is going to call the cops?” My uncle asked.
I stopped at the top of the stairs.
“I wouldn’t be surprised! You threatened to burn her house down!?” My mom yelled.
“I don’t know where she lives.” My uncle said trying to be reassuring.
A few hours later the cops came. I was watching tv with my crazy uncle. My mom answered the door.
My uncle looked at me.
“If they asked you any questions tell them I have been off my medication for 3 months.”
I nodded not knowing what my uncle had in mind.
“Jacob! The police are here.” My mom yelled.
Jacob was my uncle’s name. He went to the front door.
I didn’t hear what was said but I heard hand cuffs. I went to the front door.
“He’s been off his medication for three months.” I told the two police officers.
“Really?” One of the police inquired.
They eventually took my uncle away.
I later found out that the fifth grader’s parents didn’t press charges after hearing that my uncle was a combat vet. My crazy uncle came back after two weeks.
My crazy uncle had a big smile on his face.
“They put me in the psyche ward again. It was the easiest time I ever did.”
He padded me on the back.
“All for you buddy boy.”
Finally he cracked open another beer and sat in the front room watching tv with me. My mom didn’t know what to say but still she smiled.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Rocco
Rocco
I was the best. I was trained to be a killer. My owner would use smaller animals to train me. I would enjoy feeling my jaws clamp down on the flesh of the poor defenseless animals. When I was done with those smaller animals like cats and rabbits there would be nothing left. I would feel nothing like a robot, or a soldier’s military bearing after combat. I was the best until I was to fight the love of my life. It rocked my demeanor and how I viewed the world.
We had pups and for those of you who don’t believe a pit-bull would have these kind of emotions to their sport- think again. There are a lot of things humans don’t know about man’s best friends.
Anyway, she was beautiful we were actually bred together for more pups. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her. When she bit me I just licked her back. She would ask me during the fight, the only way a dog could, why wasn’t I fighting back, I would reply I love you as a tear went down my face.
The crowd that night would cuss and spit at me. The smell of reefer was in the air. I was known through out the neighborhood as being the best. The patrons outside the pit never saw a dog as strong as me just taking the blows from another dog.
After it was all over my owner kicked me in the side. The love of my life had no scars or puncture marks from my teeth. I was beaten up pretty badly. Even then I knew there will be a rematch.
At the time my name was Thomas. I always hated that name. My owner was a drunk and depended on his dog fighting to pay the bills. After the fight he left me alone for the most part. He didn’t even put me back in my cage he just left me in his front yard to die, but I was planning to escape when I got my strength back. He would throw scraps of chicken and give water every once in awhile.
I would lay in that front yard and watch him as he left and comeback. I couldn’t open the gate my self, but I figured if I timed it right-I could escape.
The gate would swing open then slowly close. I had to time it right. Sometimes I would just stare at it while counting how much time I would have until it closed again.
The front yard was a lot better then the back yard where the fighting took place. In the backyard, I would be surrounded by a line of plywood with another dog. We were in there to fight and it didn’t stop until one of us couldn’t go on or was even dead. This was not the life for me.
His front yard was ugly. It had no grass, but thankfully there was a shade tree. I layed underneath it most of the time just watching my owner leave and come back leave and come back.
Three months later I wasn’t limping as much. My scars and scratches didn’t feel as bad. I watched the front gate swing open then close. My owner paid me no mind until I started growling and I started edging closer to freedom.
My owner eyes looked terrified. I love that feeling when I scare or horrify another beast or sometimes a human. He didn’t know if he wanted to comeback into the gate. I backed away, and he swung the gate open, and I started running.
He yelled, “No No!!”
But it didn’t face me I ran right by him.
“I thought you were dying.” He told me.
I just kept on running.
After I left my owner didn’t try to find me. I never saw him again which was fine with me. I thought of running away for so long I didn’t think about what I was going to do. I stayed at a play ground there were plenty of places to lie under while it rained.
Two days went by and I was starving. A boy showed up with a bag full of hamburgers. They smelled so good. I went over to him. I think I startled him at first because he jumped up from his seat.
“Are you a good dog?” He asked.
I barked.
“Of course you are. Do you want some hamburger?”
I went over to him, and he took the beef out of the one he hadn’t been eating from. He held it in his hand. I guess he wanted to feed me. My owner used to just throw my food on the floor.
I stepped softly to him. Was he going to hit me? Or kick me?
He held out the paddy and I stuck out my nose to smell it. While I was doing this I looked at him. He had a black eye and some scratches on his face. Was he a fighter? What happened?
I went closer and closer. The he just gave it to me. It tasted so good.
He started petting me, and even that felt good. He padded my belly and I rolled unto my back, of course after I ate the hamburger.
“I think I am going to call you Rocco.”
I like the name Rocco.
Suddenly I heard a woman’s voice.
“Dennis…. Dennis”
The voice was coming from a house across the street from the play ground.
“That’s my mom. I have to go. Rocco stay and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Wouldn’t you know it; he was there the next day with another hamburger. It was the same kid with a black eye and scratches. We ate and I layed down beside him. He petted me and talked to me until the voice called him again.
He left and I followed so I could see where he goes when he leaves. He went into a house, and it looked like a nice house. I wished I could live there with him.
The next morning he left the house with a backpack on his back. I decided to follow him.
The expression on his face was tight. He looked scared of something. I wanted to see what it was.
Suddenly three big kids were in front of him. They weren’t willing to let him by. I got mad so mad that I decided to do something about it.
I ran down there and stopped at my new best friend. I started growling and foaming at the mouth. The three kids looked scared.
“If you don’t leave me alone,” the kid said, “Rocco will eat you up like you were Alpo.”
They left him alone, and he went to a big building. I stayed there waiting. I waited there for hours until he came out.
I saw him, and I also saw the three kids that gave him trouble. I barked and they decided to go across the street. My new best friend came over to me, and we walked back to his house.
He told me to wait outside his front door. I did so. He went inside, and brought out this woman. They were talking about me.
“A dog,” she said, “help you with those darn bullies.”
He brought her where I was waiting. We made eye contact and her eye’s slip to a sympathetic look.
“He looks like one of those fighting dogs.”
“A fighting dog?” My new best friend inquired.
“He looks beaten up.” She concluded.
“Can I keep him mom?” He asked.
She knelt down beside me, and loved on me a little bit.
“It would be nice to have a man in the house.”
“Yea!” My new best friend shouted.
My new family loved on me and I never felt the need to run away again.
I was the best. I was trained to be a killer. My owner would use smaller animals to train me. I would enjoy feeling my jaws clamp down on the flesh of the poor defenseless animals. When I was done with those smaller animals like cats and rabbits there would be nothing left. I would feel nothing like a robot, or a soldier’s military bearing after combat. I was the best until I was to fight the love of my life. It rocked my demeanor and how I viewed the world.
We had pups and for those of you who don’t believe a pit-bull would have these kind of emotions to their sport- think again. There are a lot of things humans don’t know about man’s best friends.
Anyway, she was beautiful we were actually bred together for more pups. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her. When she bit me I just licked her back. She would ask me during the fight, the only way a dog could, why wasn’t I fighting back, I would reply I love you as a tear went down my face.
The crowd that night would cuss and spit at me. The smell of reefer was in the air. I was known through out the neighborhood as being the best. The patrons outside the pit never saw a dog as strong as me just taking the blows from another dog.
After it was all over my owner kicked me in the side. The love of my life had no scars or puncture marks from my teeth. I was beaten up pretty badly. Even then I knew there will be a rematch.
At the time my name was Thomas. I always hated that name. My owner was a drunk and depended on his dog fighting to pay the bills. After the fight he left me alone for the most part. He didn’t even put me back in my cage he just left me in his front yard to die, but I was planning to escape when I got my strength back. He would throw scraps of chicken and give water every once in awhile.
I would lay in that front yard and watch him as he left and comeback. I couldn’t open the gate my self, but I figured if I timed it right-I could escape.
The gate would swing open then slowly close. I had to time it right. Sometimes I would just stare at it while counting how much time I would have until it closed again.
The front yard was a lot better then the back yard where the fighting took place. In the backyard, I would be surrounded by a line of plywood with another dog. We were in there to fight and it didn’t stop until one of us couldn’t go on or was even dead. This was not the life for me.
His front yard was ugly. It had no grass, but thankfully there was a shade tree. I layed underneath it most of the time just watching my owner leave and come back leave and come back.
Three months later I wasn’t limping as much. My scars and scratches didn’t feel as bad. I watched the front gate swing open then close. My owner paid me no mind until I started growling and I started edging closer to freedom.
My owner eyes looked terrified. I love that feeling when I scare or horrify another beast or sometimes a human. He didn’t know if he wanted to comeback into the gate. I backed away, and he swung the gate open, and I started running.
He yelled, “No No!!”
But it didn’t face me I ran right by him.
“I thought you were dying.” He told me.
I just kept on running.
After I left my owner didn’t try to find me. I never saw him again which was fine with me. I thought of running away for so long I didn’t think about what I was going to do. I stayed at a play ground there were plenty of places to lie under while it rained.
Two days went by and I was starving. A boy showed up with a bag full of hamburgers. They smelled so good. I went over to him. I think I startled him at first because he jumped up from his seat.
“Are you a good dog?” He asked.
I barked.
“Of course you are. Do you want some hamburger?”
I went over to him, and he took the beef out of the one he hadn’t been eating from. He held it in his hand. I guess he wanted to feed me. My owner used to just throw my food on the floor.
I stepped softly to him. Was he going to hit me? Or kick me?
He held out the paddy and I stuck out my nose to smell it. While I was doing this I looked at him. He had a black eye and some scratches on his face. Was he a fighter? What happened?
I went closer and closer. The he just gave it to me. It tasted so good.
He started petting me, and even that felt good. He padded my belly and I rolled unto my back, of course after I ate the hamburger.
“I think I am going to call you Rocco.”
I like the name Rocco.
Suddenly I heard a woman’s voice.
“Dennis…. Dennis”
The voice was coming from a house across the street from the play ground.
“That’s my mom. I have to go. Rocco stay and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Wouldn’t you know it; he was there the next day with another hamburger. It was the same kid with a black eye and scratches. We ate and I layed down beside him. He petted me and talked to me until the voice called him again.
He left and I followed so I could see where he goes when he leaves. He went into a house, and it looked like a nice house. I wished I could live there with him.
The next morning he left the house with a backpack on his back. I decided to follow him.
The expression on his face was tight. He looked scared of something. I wanted to see what it was.
Suddenly three big kids were in front of him. They weren’t willing to let him by. I got mad so mad that I decided to do something about it.
I ran down there and stopped at my new best friend. I started growling and foaming at the mouth. The three kids looked scared.
“If you don’t leave me alone,” the kid said, “Rocco will eat you up like you were Alpo.”
They left him alone, and he went to a big building. I stayed there waiting. I waited there for hours until he came out.
I saw him, and I also saw the three kids that gave him trouble. I barked and they decided to go across the street. My new best friend came over to me, and we walked back to his house.
He told me to wait outside his front door. I did so. He went inside, and brought out this woman. They were talking about me.
“A dog,” she said, “help you with those darn bullies.”
He brought her where I was waiting. We made eye contact and her eye’s slip to a sympathetic look.
“He looks like one of those fighting dogs.”
“A fighting dog?” My new best friend inquired.
“He looks beaten up.” She concluded.
“Can I keep him mom?” He asked.
She knelt down beside me, and loved on me a little bit.
“It would be nice to have a man in the house.”
“Yea!” My new best friend shouted.
My new family loved on me and I never felt the need to run away again.
What Planet are you from?
WHAT PLANET ARE YOU FROM?
Vivie had two older brothers who liked to play sports and video games.
The three of them would play soccer in their back yard after school.
When Vivie was at school she played with the boys.
Her mother would try to dress her in pink dresses but she stopped when she noticed that Vivie would come home with grass stains on her pink dresses.
So Vivie just wore blue jeans and a t-shirt
At school when the students were outside playing the boys would play soccer. But the girls would play house.
Vivie didn’t understand why the girls would want to play house. Neither did the boys who wanted to play soccer.
Vivie was never the first one picked to play but she was picked.
The boys didn’t understand why more girls weren’t like Vivie.
One day when the students were getting their book bags ready to go home. Stephanie, a girl with pig tails and a nice yellow dress came up to Vivie.
“What planet are you from? Stephanie asked.
Vivie knew she was on the planet earth but she wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question.
“I am from this one.” Vivie answered.
Stephanie shook her head. “You’re weird.”
This made Vivie mad.
“I maybe weird but at least I am not like you.”
Stephanie stomped her foot like most angry little girls do and went running to the teacher.
Vivie didn’t know if she would be in trouble so she just stood there and waited for her name to be called by the teacher.
Vivie was surprise to find out that Stephanie was the one who had gotten into trouble.
The teacher had had a long day and she told Stephanie to use her nice words.
Vivie smiled and look forward to the ride home from school, because at home Vivie could play with her two older brothers.
Vivie got into her mother’s car and told her about Stephanie.
“I’ve wondered what planet I was from when I used to make you wear pink dresses to school.” Vivie’s mother said.
They both laughed as they drove off to pick up Vivie’s older brothers.
Vivie and her two older brothers played soccer while their mom fixed dinner.
Dad got home from work so mom called Vivie and her two older brothers to the table for dinner.
While they were all at the dinner table dad asked about their day.
Vivie told him about Stephanie and the teacher.
“Well, did you ask what planet she was from?” Vivie dad asked.
Vivie replied, “No.”
Thomas, one of Vivie’s older brothers said, “Most girls are weird.”
Their dad laughed.
“You know we are all different that is what makes life so interesting.” Vivie’s mom said.
“Your mother is right, no two children are the same and that is how it is in the adult world too.”
Vivie smiled. “I like that we are all different.”
Vivie had two older brothers who liked to play sports and video games.
The three of them would play soccer in their back yard after school.
When Vivie was at school she played with the boys.
Her mother would try to dress her in pink dresses but she stopped when she noticed that Vivie would come home with grass stains on her pink dresses.
So Vivie just wore blue jeans and a t-shirt
At school when the students were outside playing the boys would play soccer. But the girls would play house.
Vivie didn’t understand why the girls would want to play house. Neither did the boys who wanted to play soccer.
Vivie was never the first one picked to play but she was picked.
The boys didn’t understand why more girls weren’t like Vivie.
One day when the students were getting their book bags ready to go home. Stephanie, a girl with pig tails and a nice yellow dress came up to Vivie.
“What planet are you from? Stephanie asked.
Vivie knew she was on the planet earth but she wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question.
“I am from this one.” Vivie answered.
Stephanie shook her head. “You’re weird.”
This made Vivie mad.
“I maybe weird but at least I am not like you.”
Stephanie stomped her foot like most angry little girls do and went running to the teacher.
Vivie didn’t know if she would be in trouble so she just stood there and waited for her name to be called by the teacher.
Vivie was surprise to find out that Stephanie was the one who had gotten into trouble.
The teacher had had a long day and she told Stephanie to use her nice words.
Vivie smiled and look forward to the ride home from school, because at home Vivie could play with her two older brothers.
Vivie got into her mother’s car and told her about Stephanie.
“I’ve wondered what planet I was from when I used to make you wear pink dresses to school.” Vivie’s mother said.
They both laughed as they drove off to pick up Vivie’s older brothers.
Vivie and her two older brothers played soccer while their mom fixed dinner.
Dad got home from work so mom called Vivie and her two older brothers to the table for dinner.
While they were all at the dinner table dad asked about their day.
Vivie told him about Stephanie and the teacher.
“Well, did you ask what planet she was from?” Vivie dad asked.
Vivie replied, “No.”
Thomas, one of Vivie’s older brothers said, “Most girls are weird.”
Their dad laughed.
“You know we are all different that is what makes life so interesting.” Vivie’s mom said.
“Your mother is right, no two children are the same and that is how it is in the adult world too.”
Vivie smiled. “I like that we are all different.”
Black biker weekend at Myrtle Beach, SC
black jeans in threads going up her thighs, connected to stellato heals. It could all be missed by the big hump in the back, vibrating with the motor of her crotch rocket. You won't see her again in the dark seas of biker weekend. The rebels would weave between other bikers and cars when there are spaces between the men in dark blue in the heat of Memorial weekend. You could see late model comaros painted two tone.Threeblocking the traffic at the gas station at Walmart.
Also possibly underage African queens with blue tented contacts avoiding the sun with a cup of complimentary water at the Bojangles.
Can't help but stare at the long straight hair with the curves that threatens the white man's law abiding expression
the music vibrates their windows bombs out on coming cars with local and vacationers coming and going on 17.
The police are out numbered but their pressence is known
South Carolina prints the deaths in the paper maybe because of the no helmet laws lessening the blows of brain injuries.
Despite the complaints by locals about noices of accelerating engines, bike weekend proves that the SOuth will not rise again.
Also possibly underage African queens with blue tented contacts avoiding the sun with a cup of complimentary water at the Bojangles.
Can't help but stare at the long straight hair with the curves that threatens the white man's law abiding expression
the music vibrates their windows bombs out on coming cars with local and vacationers coming and going on 17.
The police are out numbered but their pressence is known
South Carolina prints the deaths in the paper maybe because of the no helmet laws lessening the blows of brain injuries.
Despite the complaints by locals about noices of accelerating engines, bike weekend proves that the SOuth will not rise again.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Big Brother
BIG BROTHER
I never understood how you could make a person
Sitting in the passenger seat feel so cool
Since the battleship grey ’77 Nova to you family van
Now a wife and three editions to carry on “cool”
Until then you’re a dad a father and a husband
Successful and beautiful
I never understood how you could make a person
Sitting in the passenger seat feel so cool
Since the battleship grey ’77 Nova to you family van
Now a wife and three editions to carry on “cool”
Until then you’re a dad a father and a husband
Successful and beautiful
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
journal entry
Aug 10, 2010
After hearing that a fellow vet's breif case was stolen my mother sprung into action and found one she wasn't using.
Mr. Robertson was the vet. He carried his breif case everywhere with him, but nobody knew why.
However, I didn't go to Mcguire today for group therapy. Maybe Mr. Robertson will get his new used breif case Thursday.
Since I didn't go to the veterans hospital, I woke up late, drank my coffee, and smoked cigarettes.
I also went on facebook with an idea for a friend- an old friend from high school and beyond.
The friend entered himself in a grappling tournament. He had posted pictures.
He also sings in a punk band. The picture gave me the idea that his band should cover street fighting man by the rolling stones.
I tried chatting with him on facebook, but he never responded.
The last time I saw him was at his wedding reception. I saw a bunch of old freinds there as well.
I was with my mom and decided not to drink, out of respect for my friend.
I didn't drink because my friend and I had an argument about me drinking on my medication.I don't remember how exactly the argument went, but I guess he was mad and just decided to not talk to me anymore.
My other friend's had a similar response not because of my drinking. If anything they were to busy to return my phone calls.
Alone isn't always so bad.
I was at a chinese restaurant with my mom, and after the mealwhen we got our fortune cookies, mine said, I need to make new friends. I don't know where to start.
Anyway today I had some arans to run. They weren't the mndame kind, and it gave me something to do.
My aunt was coming to town. My mom and my aunt are twins and they had a birthday last Saturday.
I bought my mom a gift certificate for a facial at Ulta. For my Aunt got a gift certificate at Lowe's so she could buy knock out roses for her yard. I also bought a fifth of Dewar's (scotch) that is her's and her's alone.
I love going to the ABC's store. I get so excited that my heart can't be caged by my ribs. It feels like it wants to break the cage and drink some scotch. I usually have to contain those emotions, because if I don't it would be possible to get into a car crash. Scotch is beautiful.
Before the scotch I went to the drugstore to by a birthday card for my aunt.
After all that I went to carpool to get my car washed. It needed it.
I bought my car from my parents for four thousand dollars. This was after I got out of the hospital, when my illness wasn't cured, but with the help of medication it could be contained.
The car is a 1997 Toyata Camry. Even though I am saving up for a new car, Iplan on driving the camry untill the engine falls out of it.
At carpool I of course made eye contact with the pretty young thing behind the register. I paid, and she gave me spring rain to make my car smell good.
I was carrying Mr. Robertson's briefcase which contained the bottle of scotch for my aunt and a cheaper bottle for myself. It also had the birthday card in it.
I then realized why people carry briefcases. Carrying a breifcase makes you feel important, and I figure that is why Mr. Robertson does it.
I also carried it because I thought it would be better to carry those things instead of leaving them in the car where a youngster could steal them. If I was that age I would probably do it. Gran it scotch is an aquired taste but if it is in the view of a youngster there's a chance it could be stolen.
I love my car. As it was coming out of the first phase of the wash, one word came to mind-SEXY.
I am surprise they didn't call me up to get it started for them. The key s bent, and it takes some extra tender loving care to get it started. I thought I was like the Fonz. Only I could get that car started. But they proved me wrong at carpool.
My car was finally ready so I drove home in success.
After hearing that a fellow vet's breif case was stolen my mother sprung into action and found one she wasn't using.
Mr. Robertson was the vet. He carried his breif case everywhere with him, but nobody knew why.
However, I didn't go to Mcguire today for group therapy. Maybe Mr. Robertson will get his new used breif case Thursday.
Since I didn't go to the veterans hospital, I woke up late, drank my coffee, and smoked cigarettes.
I also went on facebook with an idea for a friend- an old friend from high school and beyond.
The friend entered himself in a grappling tournament. He had posted pictures.
He also sings in a punk band. The picture gave me the idea that his band should cover street fighting man by the rolling stones.
I tried chatting with him on facebook, but he never responded.
The last time I saw him was at his wedding reception. I saw a bunch of old freinds there as well.
I was with my mom and decided not to drink, out of respect for my friend.
I didn't drink because my friend and I had an argument about me drinking on my medication.I don't remember how exactly the argument went, but I guess he was mad and just decided to not talk to me anymore.
My other friend's had a similar response not because of my drinking. If anything they were to busy to return my phone calls.
Alone isn't always so bad.
I was at a chinese restaurant with my mom, and after the mealwhen we got our fortune cookies, mine said, I need to make new friends. I don't know where to start.
Anyway today I had some arans to run. They weren't the mndame kind, and it gave me something to do.
My aunt was coming to town. My mom and my aunt are twins and they had a birthday last Saturday.
I bought my mom a gift certificate for a facial at Ulta. For my Aunt got a gift certificate at Lowe's so she could buy knock out roses for her yard. I also bought a fifth of Dewar's (scotch) that is her's and her's alone.
I love going to the ABC's store. I get so excited that my heart can't be caged by my ribs. It feels like it wants to break the cage and drink some scotch. I usually have to contain those emotions, because if I don't it would be possible to get into a car crash. Scotch is beautiful.
Before the scotch I went to the drugstore to by a birthday card for my aunt.
After all that I went to carpool to get my car washed. It needed it.
I bought my car from my parents for four thousand dollars. This was after I got out of the hospital, when my illness wasn't cured, but with the help of medication it could be contained.
The car is a 1997 Toyata Camry. Even though I am saving up for a new car, Iplan on driving the camry untill the engine falls out of it.
At carpool I of course made eye contact with the pretty young thing behind the register. I paid, and she gave me spring rain to make my car smell good.
I was carrying Mr. Robertson's briefcase which contained the bottle of scotch for my aunt and a cheaper bottle for myself. It also had the birthday card in it.
I then realized why people carry briefcases. Carrying a breifcase makes you feel important, and I figure that is why Mr. Robertson does it.
I also carried it because I thought it would be better to carry those things instead of leaving them in the car where a youngster could steal them. If I was that age I would probably do it. Gran it scotch is an aquired taste but if it is in the view of a youngster there's a chance it could be stolen.
I love my car. As it was coming out of the first phase of the wash, one word came to mind-SEXY.
I am surprise they didn't call me up to get it started for them. The key s bent, and it takes some extra tender loving care to get it started. I thought I was like the Fonz. Only I could get that car started. But they proved me wrong at carpool.
My car was finally ready so I drove home in success.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
HOW I LEARNED TO PEE THE RIGHT WAY
Second grade is an influential year in any man’s life, and I am no exception. Because I was no longer a first grader who was just learning the “how to’s” of school, I wanted to be considered one of the upper classmen who knew the ropes of elementary school.
On trips to the boys’ restroom, I was still pushing my shorts or long pants down to my ankles whenever I went to the restroom urinals. I hated restriction. One day I was standing at a urinal with my pants puddled around my ankles when a fifth grader started laughing at me. I thought I was doing “it” the normal way, but what that more sophisticated fifth grader saw was something else. He saw a little kid peeing while his bare butt was there for the whole world to see.
In my elementary school boy’s mind I began to analyze this uncomfortable situation. I watched as this older, more experienced upperclassman went to the urinal next to the one I had just used. To my utter surprise, he did not pull his shorts all the way down to his ankles. He simply unzipped, unbuttoned, pulled out, and released.
“What in the world,” I thought. I wondered how he did this without getting pee all over his shorts. When I had finished, I pulled my shorts back up, washed my hands, and went back to class, but I had come to a very important conclusion that would be with me for the rest of my life. I came to the conclusion that I should try this new approach when I had to go again at school.
That same day, I put my plan into action. If I was going to try this new stance it was going to be in the privacy of my own home. As soon as I got home, I drank a lot of apple juice, fruit punch, and water. After flooding myself with liquids, I watched TV until the urge hit, and when it finally did, I went to the bathroom. I put my feet shoulder’s length apart; I unbutton, unzipped, and pulled out (as far out as I could at that age). While I was releasing, I felt awesome. I was peeing on the fifth grade level. I was ready for the big kids’ world--the boy’s bathroom at school.
The next day, as teacher called for a bathroom break. The boys went in their direction and the girls, well, they went in their direction.
In the boys’ bathroom, I was at the urinal and looked around to see if anyone else was using the same technique I had just learned. Of course, at that age, I had not learned the lesson that boys don’t look around. Just like pulling pants down around the ankles—looking around isn’t proper bathroom etiquette. I watched as my fellow classmates unzipped their pants. Would they pull them down next? Was I the only one? Not anymore! I had learned how to pee!
Second grade is an influential year in any man’s life, and I am no exception. Because I was no longer a first grader who was just learning the “how to’s” of school, I wanted to be considered one of the upper classmen who knew the ropes of elementary school.
On trips to the boys’ restroom, I was still pushing my shorts or long pants down to my ankles whenever I went to the restroom urinals. I hated restriction. One day I was standing at a urinal with my pants puddled around my ankles when a fifth grader started laughing at me. I thought I was doing “it” the normal way, but what that more sophisticated fifth grader saw was something else. He saw a little kid peeing while his bare butt was there for the whole world to see.
In my elementary school boy’s mind I began to analyze this uncomfortable situation. I watched as this older, more experienced upperclassman went to the urinal next to the one I had just used. To my utter surprise, he did not pull his shorts all the way down to his ankles. He simply unzipped, unbuttoned, pulled out, and released.
“What in the world,” I thought. I wondered how he did this without getting pee all over his shorts. When I had finished, I pulled my shorts back up, washed my hands, and went back to class, but I had come to a very important conclusion that would be with me for the rest of my life. I came to the conclusion that I should try this new approach when I had to go again at school.
That same day, I put my plan into action. If I was going to try this new stance it was going to be in the privacy of my own home. As soon as I got home, I drank a lot of apple juice, fruit punch, and water. After flooding myself with liquids, I watched TV until the urge hit, and when it finally did, I went to the bathroom. I put my feet shoulder’s length apart; I unbutton, unzipped, and pulled out (as far out as I could at that age). While I was releasing, I felt awesome. I was peeing on the fifth grade level. I was ready for the big kids’ world--the boy’s bathroom at school.
The next day, as teacher called for a bathroom break. The boys went in their direction and the girls, well, they went in their direction.
In the boys’ bathroom, I was at the urinal and looked around to see if anyone else was using the same technique I had just learned. Of course, at that age, I had not learned the lesson that boys don’t look around. Just like pulling pants down around the ankles—looking around isn’t proper bathroom etiquette. I watched as my fellow classmates unzipped their pants. Would they pull them down next? Was I the only one? Not anymore! I had learned how to pee!
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