Thursday, June 30, 2011

Evil Daddy

The last couple weeks have been a little crazy with me trying to adjust to a different schedule. It's taken a toll on me - but apparently it's taken a toll on my dog as well. He requested a spot this week in my blog, so turning it over to him for this post:
So I have been informed that this is a blog read by mostly humans. I am thankful for that because an audience of dogs wouldn’t help me. I understand why dogs do what they do. Humans on the other hand, I sometimes really don't get them. Even the human that I know best in the world, my Daddy, makes little sense to me.

For example, a few weeks ago Daddy started leaving home during the day again. The first day he decided to be nice and give me access to all the yummy stuff in the fridge when he left for work. So I went in and helped myself to the spaghetti sauce he made the night before. I was so appreciative of Daddy doing this to me, I licked the entire container clean so he wouldn't have to clean it out for me when he returned home. I also left him one of the containers so he would have some of it when he came home.

Anyway, when Daddy returned home, he got mad and started gesturing at the floor. And then he took out a towel and this scary spray bottle and started scrubbing the floor. I mean, I'm a dog. And plus it's not like he left me a plate, fork, and knife when he left the house. I even had to open the container myself - and I'm not like a human! I don't have opposable thumbs! You can imagine how difficult opening it was! So explain how was I supposed to NOT get spaghetti sauce on the floor! If he really wanted me to eat it the right way, he should have just left it in my food bowl before he left. Of course, sometimes I like to dump my food bowl on the floor when he leaves just to show him that I was thinking of him while he was gone (which he also gets mad about sometimes - see you people make no sense! I am just trying to show Daddy I care and he totally takes it the wrong way!) but I certainly wouldn't have had he left me yummy spaghetti sauce.

Since that incident, Evil Daddy has begun to lock the fridge again to prevent me from getting in. And more recently, Evil Daddy has started putting things on his bed to make it more difficult for me to take the sheets off his bed and use them to hide my bones in case someone comes and tries to steal them while he's gone. I mean, I can still pull clothes out of his hamper to hide the bones, but I think we can all agree that sheets provide better cover for bones! So please, all you humans out there that read this - can you tell me how I can get Nice Daddy back tha
t leaves the fridge unlocked and the bed unmade? 

Thursday, June 23, 2011

To the Extreme

At some point in the last several years, a good portion of American society has deemed that it is uncool to be “in the middle”. Or “normal”. As a self-proclaimed socialist, I don’t absolve myself of this phenomenon. However, I don’t want to get political in this blog. There are many flaws in our political system and people pushing themselves further right or left is only one of the issues. Besides, it’s not only our political views where I’ve noticed people take things to the extreme. 
For example, how many times have you heard someone express to you that this is the “worst day ever” (I can hear the Simpson’s comic book guy now). It would stand to reason that your worst day ever would be the day that you die – so the fact that you can stand in front of me and utter that phrase automatically disqualifies this particular day being your worst day. Unless you are uttering it from your death bed, of course.
But even taking that further, let’s say you were only trying to point out that it was the worst day you’ve had in your life up until that point. This is a much more probable possibility. The problem arises with when you ask someone “Why, what’s wrong?” Typically you’ll get a mumbled answer along the line of “Oh – someone is a jerk at work, I have a headache, someone cut in front of me in the line at Starbucks, I had to pay way too much for gas…”  Now while these are all unfortunate incidents and combined they would make for a highly unfortunate day, I’d say if that is your worst day ever, you probably lead a semi charmed life (cue Third Eye Blind).
The same can be applied to whenever we label something as the “Best ever”. The definition of “ever”, by the way, indicates any time – past, present OR future. Are we so confident as to label something as the best ever when we don’t have any comparison into the future? Anything short of Emmett Brown’s time machine from Back to the Future would prevent anyone from proving you wrong. But it would also take Rufus from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure to prove you right.
As time and life go by, the more we push ourselves to extremes, the further we get from understanding the true human condition. Most of us are simply trying to get along with our lives and do the best we can. Some days we do better than others. There is nothing wrong with expressing yourself in extremes, but at the same time a communication that gravitates to a more “middle” state would make it easier for people to understand you and for you to understand them.
So while I invite everyone to continue to express their individuality – perhaps this weekend instead of saying “WOW – this is the best movie ever!” or “This is the most wasted I’ve been ever!” we should try and communicate what we really mean. For example, “I really enjoyed that movie. The characters were great and I was entertained throughout. It’s possible it’s up there among my personal favorites. What did you think?” Or “I’m really drunk right now. And it’s totally possible that I love you, but it’s likely that’s just the alcohol talking. If you would like to dance that would be cool, but overall, I just want to know if you are enjoying your night. But if you can just hold on for a second, I need to vomit.”
Send any commentary to pimplaskin@gmail.com. Talk to you again in a few days!

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Possibilities - A Love or Hate Story, Part 2

This is part 2 of a short story.  Read part 1 here.

Perhaps leaving town and becoming a traveling carnival freak is the answer. It has to be better than sitting here depressed, drinking a six pack every night, waiting for the girl of your dreams to pry herself off of one of three nipples.
Wait, did I just classify Naomi as the girl of my dreams? Gotta admit, that even sounds odd to me. How could she be the girl of my dreams when she’s galavanting all around town with a guy who possibly could need a jockstrap for his chest? I’ve been with girls who were the jealous type - hating that I had other friends who were women. They will always ask about your woman friends “Why aren’t you with her?”.  Let me tell you - there is no right answer to that question. If you say they aren’t your type, you get called out on being judgmental. You say anything else - well, let’s just say you end up sleeping alone that night. And maybe for several nights beyond that.
I’ve also been with the clingy types. You know, the girls that need to do everything with you. “Hey doll - I’m heading out to get my colon cleansed.” “Wait - let me get my sweater!”.  Maybe I should get my colon cleansed. I hear you can lose 8-10 pounds that way.
And then there is the dependent types. These ones can seem so sweet - except when you are their boyfriend. Then you have to pretend to care and be mortified about how they “went to work and some girls said her toenails were painted a strange color and that girl is such a bitch and probably wears a wig and....”

Naomi isn't any of those. Apparently she's just the cheating type. Perhaps that should be forgivable. I'm sure there is some part of this that is my fault anyway. Cheating certainly does seem more tolerable than all of the above problems. At least the indiscretion isn't personally shoved in your face.
The banjo playing is looking like a better idea. I totally would be awesome at it too. 

“I’m Neil and banjo playing’s my thang
Here to brighten you day, that’s what I sang!
Your life might suck, but hey, so does mine
But at least we have only two nipples, that’s divine!”
OK, so maybe the banjo ain’t necessary. And maybe the lyrics need work. And perhaps it would work better as a rap song. Either way, there are possibilities. 
And what possibilities do I have now. I could just go sit in front of the door waiting to confront her. And then when she walked in, I’d tell it to her straight. I’ll say “Look, Naomi, I’m sorry I don’t have as many nipples as you prefer in a man. I think we should split up.”
That sounds reasonable enough. I just need to grab some more beer to make sure I go through with it. How many more... Two? Three? Maybe just one extra for the hobbit in the ceiling. Is it bad that I need beer to help me through this? Well, I guess the upshot would be if she walked in with Kevin, the 4 beers I have would be enough for all of us. Me, Naomi, Kevin, and Kevin’s 3rd nipple. What a party that would be! 
So this was finally gonna be it! I was going to wait up for Naomi. Where to wait though? I could wait in our old bed which is now her bed because she kept sleeping in it the one night I decided to go sleep in the guest room. I’ve remained in the guest room since I still haven’t got the apology I deserved that night. She would definitely not miss me there - barring her not coming home, which I’m not dismissing as a possibility. However, it’s more likely I pass out in there, which might be misconstrued or even invite anger - could go either way.
So the living room is likely a safer bet. I’m just going to sit in the living room chair and wait until she walks in. Maybe if I do that I won’t even have to say anything. She’d just look at me and know and just spill the beans herself! I’ll give her the “guilt” look my mom used to give me. Let’s just get some practice going in front of the mirror. Ok, maybe I can’t get this down...  it looks like I just need to fart.
Alright - gonna crack open the beer and wait. And, oh! There it is - the key in the lock. Look casual - take a sip. There she is opening the door! Give her the fart look!
“Hey - sorry I’m late. You have to work tomorrow, don’t drink all those beers. Make that your last one. I’m going to bed. Good night.”
Say something dammit! "Ok. Night!"

Not that you idiot!  And now she's already in the main bedroom with the door closed...  

I guess the confrontation can wait for another night. And maybe there will be other possibilities.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Possibilities - A Love or Hate Story, Part 1

Strange - I never noticed that crack in the ceiling. Such an interesting crevice. Maybe 5 or 6 inches long but zigging and zagging in it’s route. Wonder where it might go next? Would it zig again? Or perhaps just make a beeline to the closest wall? How did it get there? Has it always been there and am I just seeing it now? Or did it happen recently? It’s the mystery of the ceiling crack. Perhaps there is a ghost up there. Or better yet - a little hobbit scribing to eventually tell the world about the life of Neil and Naomi.
I can’t believe Naomi still isn’t home. It is now approaching 4:30 am and there is no way this can last. Three nights in a row I’ve been like this - depressed and staring at the ceiling. Life is not meant to be like this. Strangely, I’m not at all concerned about Naomi. Yea - maybe that makes me an asshole. An unconcerned significant other. It’s possible she could be lying unconscious on the road somewhere or maybe even trapped in our condo’s elevator surrounded by a dozen slimy lizards. But why should that make a difference? That would be the excuse this time - but this ain’t the first time.
Am I jealous freak? I would like to think I’m not. I mean - Naomi has made new friends in the past and it never bothered me. So what’s up with this time? Should I care that she is with guys younger that me and that I never met them? Should that make it different? No - I think I should be all for it. She could use a new confidant, a new buddy. Life would be better for Naomi! I just wish I could meet this new confidant.
At least I know this douchebag’s name. Kevin. Three straight nights out with this Kevin with increasingly late end times...  somehow there is always a reason that I am not invited. Obviously we don’t have a thriving relationship so I can understand her desire to get away. But does she really have to spend ALL her time with this Kevin and his three nipples? Shouldn’t she be spending some of that time fixing what wrong with us - me and her?  And no, I do not know how many nipples Kevin has, but it’s easier for me to think of him with some serious debilitation than otherwise.
Wait - is it possible she won’t come home at all tonight? Wouldn’t that be something. The clock says 4:47. At what point is there no hope? Or at what point do I call the security guard to make sure the elevator is working? Or maybe call the zoo to see if they are missing reptiles from the lizard hut.
Where the heck did that crack come from? I am totally going to seal it up by shooting lasers from my eyes. Concentrate Neil-san! You can do it! Come on boy! DAMN! Foiled again. Friggin eye lasers never work.
Ok - clearly this is a relationship that has to end. I just need to figure out the conversation.  How about saying - “Naomi, I think you and 3 nips might have something. I can no longer stand in the way of true happiness. Here’s your share of the security deposit - hopefully that’s enough to cover the nipple removal surgery.”
How the hell do you end something with someone you let your whole life revolve around? I’m mature enough to handle this delicately....  wait, I’ll just leave!  Yes! I’ll just go check into a hotel and drive far away tomorrow morning!  I’ll buy a banjo and become a singing telegram going from town to town singing songs of love past by to all the forlorn! It totally beats staying here and going to the same boring job after getting 3 hours sleep every night. Although, gotta admit - did like the dumb job when I was well rested. Even if it didn’t involve much banjo playing.

Part 2 Next Week.....

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Potential

As he looked at her, there was something that he thought he took for granted. It wasn’t her. That could never be the case. It was her potential.

Potential is the abilities within a person that can be developed and lead to future successes. All of us are born with some level of it. Those who achieve it do so because they desire more. They are interested in accomplishment.

Those who do no achieve it become distracted. He never wanted to be a distraction. But now he wondered if he was.

As younger people, he looked at her and saw a girl with overwhelming passion and strength who could challenge even the best in the world. Now, as elders, he saw someone who he had failed.

He had once seen the motivation. They both had the desire to be better people. To do things in the world and make it a better place. They talked at length about conquering social injustice, charitable causes, and fulfilling the passions and dreams they had shared.

Then life had happened. First, a death in the family. Then a job loss. Then an accidental pregnancy. The raising of a child. The affair. The near ending of the relationship.

From each one they had recovered. But at what cost? One by one, personal and professional opportunities were sacrificed. Little by little, the unfulfilled potential seemingly became more impossible to achieve.

He thought about all they had fought through. Alone, their pain would have been half as much and maybe that potential would have been reached. Together, they had to manage their relationship and make tough choices and compromises along the way. They were always willing. It was for the betterment of them, their family, their life.

But what life was it? Had they been happy?

He looked at her now and saw her looking the other way and gazing off in the distance. He wondered if her thoughts had travelled the same path. Was this a gaze of sorrow and regret?

He said to her, “I’m sorry baby. I’ve let you down. You could have been so much more.”

She turned and he could see her eyes filled with imagination and passion just like he had seen in her as a young girl.

“No sweetheart. You didn’t let me down. You’ve held me up.”

It was then he realized that the potential was still there. It hadn’t gone away through the years. He stood up, grabbed both her hands, helped her stand up, and stared deep into those passionate eyes.

“Then - let’s go accomplish something.”


It's never too late to realize your potential.