From the archives: The most messed-up game of hold-em I’ve ever played

I was trolling a poker forum and came across a post I made about 2 years ago, or so.  I think it predates this blog and was reposted from my OLD blog, which is now dead and buried.  I’ll RE-repost it here for lulz:

 

So me, my uncles (Steve, Tommy, and PT), and my cousin (who shall be known as “Devilspawn” or “DS” in the future)are all looking to play a home poker game. Steve was in charge of setting up the table, I was counting out the chips, and I asked PT to go to the nearby store to get a new pack of cards since my sister spilled beer on the last new deck we had. PT later returns with TWO decks, and we settle down to play.

Let me first give you a little background description of the various relatives. PT (Paul) is 39 and the most like me. I get along with him pretty well, and he’s more like an older brother than an uncle. He tends to drink a bit, but he becomes easier to beat when we play poker. I’d say he’s my biggest competition and plays better than the rest, but he gets predictable.

Then there’s Steve. Steve is a year older and a bit of a crackhead. See, “Crackhead” is a phrase or term that I use to describe the type of player that we’re all familiar with. The guy who’ll refuse to fold a pair of 7’s, even with 3 over cards and a possible straight on the board. He’ll go all-in on a bluff frequently – sometimes he has nothing as you fold your 2nd pair, and sometimes he flopped quads while you and your full house mutter under your breath. His personality fits his style, though. In his younger years, he was a bit of a…what’s a polite way to say this? A man-whore. The guy who could go through the yearbook pictures, point to the pictures of women and go, “yes, yes, no, yes, no, yes, her AND her sister, yes, yes…” He also was, and still is, a bit of a pyromaniac – a trait we tend to share. He’s definitely a lot of fun to be around and good to have on your side, but a pain to play poker with. I’m getting better at reading him, but it’s a constant struggle. I usually try to outwait him since he either wins or busts early.

DS is my uncle Steve’s son. His real name is Steven as well, so the nickname will help remove confusion. He’s a typical 14 tear old kid and loves to annoy me. Unfortunately for him, I love to throw him in snowbanks, shoot him with paintballs, or generally let him know that he’s still inferior. For the most part, he’s an ok kid and somewhat decent at cards. He tends to be a bit cracky, but he’s easier to read than his dad. When he bets big – run. He thinks that the quicker he gets all of his money in, the sooner he’ll double up off of his huge hand. He’ll also call you with anything, so don’t bother bluffing him.

Then there is Tommy. Tommy is the oldest of the uncles, at around 45. Tommy is perhaps one of the strangest individuals I’ve ever known. He’s kind of an introvert and isn’t exactly blessed with the social graces. He’s your typical, redneck, nascar-loving, classic rock type of guy, but he also has the overwhelming need to try to fit in. Hanging around my other uncles and I, he tends to try too hard.

Take his changing interest in music. Lately, Tommy has signed up for a free month of music downloads off of AOL, and has made the most out of it. Now, when Tommy goes to a bar with a jukebox, he normally starts picking groups like George Thoroughgood and Kansas. However, I underestimated his tendency to try to fit in. As the 5 of us were sitting at a table to play poker, Tommy decided to get up, go to his computer in the other room, and play music. Soon, we heard the Black Eyed Peas telling us to “get it started.”

As Steve, PT and I looked at each other, Steve whispered that Tommy actually borrowed Steve’s playlist and put the exact same songs on his list. Tommy doesn’t know whack from fly, frontin’ from representin’, or Ice Cube from Vanilla Ice. If you want to have a visual, think Kip from Napoleon Dynamite. He came back to the table as we quietly shook our heads and played. It can be hard to concentrate on your cards when you hear Ludacris telling you to bend over to the front and touch your toes, but we somehow managed…

Right away, things seemed strange. PT dealt out cards, face-up, to see who was going to deal. First card – king of diamonds to DS. I got the jack of diamonds. Tommy got the 10 of diamonds. Steve got the ace of diamonds. Since he had the first ace, he was the dealer, but I made PT deal out one more card to try for the royal. He pulled a 9, so no royal. Still, it seemed odd. I was dealt into the game, and a few hands in, I looked down to see pocket 10’s. Not too shabby. I was first to act, so I raised. EVERYONE at the table called. I’m thinking – ok, I have a family of crackheads, but let’s see what happens. The flop? 10,J,Q. I have a set of 10’s, but the possible straight is scary. Plus, there were 2 hearts. DS is first to act, and he bets. I raise. EVERYONE calls.

… I might be in trouble.

The turn was a 9 of hearts. Great. Now we have 9,10,J,Q out there, and I was sure someone had a straight, possibly AK to give them a huge straight. Plus, there were now 3 hearts giving someone a possible flush. Steven bet. I called. So did everyone else. What the…?

The river? A queen. That’s a great card for me, since I now have a full house – 10’s over Queens. Sure, if someone had pocket jacks, pocket queens, or a Queen plus a board card in their hand, I was in trouble, but I thought the chances were rare. DS bets big to open. He plays like a crackhead anyways, so I wasn’t too scared. I just called. So did EVERYONE else except Steve, who called us all crackheads as he folded in disgust. We all turned over our cards. DS had a KJ, giving him a straight. Tommy had a KQ, giving him a straight as well. I was happy with my hand until PT looked at me, apologized, and showed his pocket Jacks. I just sat there in shock. That was an incredible hand and I got beat? I was on tilt, but we kept playing.

The next hand, I was in the big blind with J9. Everyone called until DS raised. I was still steaming from my earlier beats, since it seemed like I had a playable hand EVERY time, but kept losing. I wisely folded and let those guys slug it out. The flop was A,K,10. DS went all-in. He got both Tommy and PT to call him. I was shaking my head as Tommy showed Steve his cards. I figured that was a sign Tommy had a good hand. PT and Tommy played the turn and the river – both bet smaller amounts just to raise the pot, but neither folded. 2 10’s came out on the turn and river, making the board A,K,10,10,10. After the betting was done, Steve looked at DS and shook his head. He said, “Sorry son, you lost this one.” DS swore he didn’t. Steve said, “Uh, yeah you did. You can’t win.” PT turned over an ace, giving him a full house. Tommy smiled and turned over a 10, giving him the 4 of a kind. DS slammed his cards down – an ace and a 10, giving HIM a four of a kind.

…

Wait a minute…3 10’s on the board, plus a 10 in each person’s hand…I’m not a math major or anything, but that’s 5 10’s.

We wondered just what the heck just happened, until I grabbed the deck and turned it so all the cards were face up. There wasn’t a single card under a 9. It was a freaking Pinochle deck!

It seems PT didn’t check to see what decks he was buying, and got us 2 Pinochle decks. No wonder I had such good hands, yet everyone else did too! I think I cracked a rib from laughing so hard, but we eventually dug up an old deck, minus beer stains, and went on to play a real game. After it was all said and done, I was $20 richer.

Quick hit – does this make sense to anyone else?

Now, I’m allowing for the idea that he could be onto something, but Tommy had me baffled earlier tonight.  I talked to him at approximately 9:30 PM tonight, and he mentioned how he had a load of dishes ready to run in the dishwasher, but he wanted to run them at 1:00 in the morning.  I, being an idiot, asked why.

“So I can brargle flossum guhr ready bin la morning.” (So he can have them be ready in the morning)

“Then why don’t you just run them now?”

“pringle dink ween mess hand bridge…”

As far as I can tell, the answer had something to do with “using less amperage” at that time of night.  Being around him and knowing how he thinks, I can only assume that he believes that the dishwasher running at that time, won’t be influenced by other appliances running at the same time, and will work a lot more efficiently.   I…just don’t know what to say.  I’m not an electrical engineer, so I could be wrong, but this seems a little odd to me.

 

For some reason, I’m reminded of this scene from Blazing Saddles:

Clusterfuck 2009

I live in western PA, a hilly, cold region that can sometimes get a great deal of snow.  While having a vehicle with 4 wheel drive is nice (except when you need to pump gas), my driveway is another matter.  It’s extremely long and curvy, and has a little valley in the middle of it.  Combine that with the extreme amount of snow we got dumped on with, and it’s not pretty.

I’m watching the Pens game on Sunday, hours before the Steelers are supposed to kick-off.  I went out to see if I could clear the part of the drveway near the road with just one lonely shovel.  Tommy was in a pissy mood, trying to operate the snow plow attached to the tractor.  He has a snowblower, and has for a few years, now.  Thing is, it’s broken and Tommy doesn’t know why.  He keeps muttering that he needs to figure that out, but he never does and he never lets anyone competent take a peek, either.  It’s my opinion that he just needs something to worry about.

I trudged down the driveway during the 2nd intermission of the Pens game.  I had no illusions about getting back in time for the 3rd – it’d probably start before I even got to the road.  I left it on, though, so I could rewind the DVR later and watch it.  After the trek through deep snow, I got there and started shoveling.  Maybe it was because I didn’t eat anything that day, or maybe it was because I wore too many layers, but I didn’t last too long.  I carved out a small indentation and was working on the mailbox area when I started getting tired and dizzy.  I’ve felt this before – once during a soccer game and once during a practice.  I was going to pass out or throw-up.  Maybe both.  Since I was near the road and didn’t feel like having cars pass by and see me like this, I decided to cross the road and over to my mother’s place – luckily located nearby.  I rang the doorbell, and waited for her to open.  She did, I mumbled something Tommy-like since my speech was slurring, and stumbled past her to the bathroom. 

Now, my mother is not a great housekeeper by any stretch of the imagination, but I had no problem immediately slumping down onto her floor and using my sweatshirt as a pillow.  With me, having a cold bathroom floor under me always makes me feel better.  I think I stayed there for about 10 minutes, then got up.  My mom was a bit worried and offered me some hot tea.  I figured it was a good idea, so I at least got to watch the last of the 3rd period as the Pens blanked the Rangers.  While this was going on, she got a call from Tommy and told me, “You might want to take a look at this…”  I looked out her front window and saw a large red lump in the middle of the driveway.  It seems Tommy decided to be a hero…or an idiot.  I’m not sure which term best describes him attempting to take his car down an unplowed driveway like that.  He asked my mom to call the guy she uses to plow her driveway, and bitched how everyone was “stupid” for not already offering to plow ours.  She called the guy, but he evidentally broke his plow somehow. 

After a bit, I went back outside.  I felt good enough to help carve out my brother’s car, who was parked in her driveway.  It got plowed in and he was already parked near the snow bank on the car’s left.  He’s a horrible driver, and thought gunning the gas pedal was the best way to get out of snow.  I helped him shovel, then directed traffic while he backed into the road, then gunned it back into my mom’s driveway.  He was still about 8 feet from the road, but he was happy that he’d be able to leave a bit later on.  I finished the end of my driveway ( I carved a 15 foot-deep area out), then made my way back up the hill.  I was tired, sore, and not moving so fast.  I finally got back inside, while edging my way past Tommy’s trailblazer and snickering.  Tommy was amazingly in a good mood when I got back, and asked if I’d get the Jeep out later to help tow him out.  Fine, but I was gonna rest for a bit. 

My sister called, and said that her husband Ben was on his way over.  Now, he has a 4-wheel drive car, but he still wasn’t making it up the driveway.  I asked why, exactly, he was still planning on trying.  She shrugged (I could feel her doing that over the phone), and just said, “Ben likes to play in the snow.” 

…

Ok, fine by me.  Later on, I went upstairs to look out a window, and saw Ben stuck in our driveway near the road.  I wasn’t surprised, but then he got out and parked on the side of the road.  That surprised me a bit since there wasn’t really a shoulder for him to rest on.  He was halfway in the lane.  He jumped out and ran over to my mother’s.  I soon got a phone call while I was watching all of this.  It was my mom and she asked me if I would walk back down with a shovel to help clear her driveway a bit.  Seems Ben wanted to pull Lance’s (my brother) car forward more, and pull his in behind him.  I tried to explain that while I would normally help, there was no way in hell I was walking a roundtrip driveway tour again, and by the time I got down there, they’d already be done.  I felt kinda bad, but I still watched Ben and Lance frantically shovel from a distance.

After Ben parked his car in a safer area, he got his daughter, put her on his shoulders, and grabbed a shovel.  He then walked up our driveway to the house.  At that point, most sane people would say “fuck you” and go home, so that was nice of him.  I figured this was a good time to grab the camera, suit up, and head out to see what was going on.

Here’s Tommy’s vehicle.  Near the top of the pic, you can see my mom’s place – the red brick house across the street.

 

 

Here you can see Ben shoveling out the back tires.  At this point, Tommy was still in the house.  I had already warmed the Jeep up, and was waiting for Tommy to get the damn tow rope out.  He came out, and tried to drive his car out.  Still not happening.  He then wanted to shovel some more.  I started to get aggravated, and asked him where the tow rope was.  I figured pulling him out was way easier than what we were doing.  I tried to listen to Tommy’s description, gave up looking for it, and asked Tommy to go find it himself.  He then went, couldn’t find it either, then found some strap used to tie down loose stuff that you carry in truck beds.  Fine – hopefully it’d work.  We then went around to the back of the jeep and saw that there wasn’t a hitch or hook to tie the damn rope to.  Weird.  I offered to sit in the back with the hatch open, and hold onto the rope while the other end was attached to the trailblazer, but they declined.  Here’s a video:

http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/?action=view&current=Clusterfuck007.flv

 

This is taken while Tommy is still nowhere to be found.  That’s Ben operating the plow.

Finally, Ben got in the Trailblazer and Tommy and I pushed.  It made progress, and we finally got his car back on the flat, plowed area of the driveway.  I figured this would be a good time to interview Tommy, but he wasn’t feeling so talkative:

http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/?action=view&current=Clusterfuck008.flv

 

 

Yeah, I didn’t get that, either.

Thankfully, the Steelers won their game and are heading to the Superbowl (whoot!), so that helped cap off the evening.  I don’t really have a good closer to this entry, so here’s a pic of my kitty Binx trapped in a plastic bag:

Awwww….

Two reasons why Tommy makes no sense:

and I’m not talking about his normal, indecipherable way of speaking.  I’m talking about the things he says or does that leave you scratching your head and shrugging your shoulders. 

#1.  Tommy still has a home phone.  That alone isn’t the strange thing, exactly.  Of course, he doesn’t actually use it for out-going calls, as he has a cell phone.  The only calls that ever come on that line are telemarketers looking for my sister.  He also never answers the phone itself – he just likes to use the caller id to see who’s calling.  There lies the main issue.

A while ago, Tommy used to have this phone’s base located near the entry way into the living room, from the kitchen.  It made sense – it was centrally located and somewhat handy, even though the phone had no real purpose.  If it did, this would make even more sense.  For some reason, Tommy decided to move the base.  He put it upstairs, an area of the house that he really never uses.  But he has it on a balcony overlooking the living room.  So when he sits on the couch watching TV, he can see the phone but it’s still approximately 1 landing and 14 steps away, not to mention the distance between the couch and the first step.  The phone itself is always charging in the base, so there’s no other way to answer it (or peep at the caller id) without actually running up the steps.  When I say run up the steps, this is an absolute MUST if he wants to get there on time, as he somehow has it set for only 2 rings before it goes to voice mail.  He is unable to to change it back, and has a history of fucking with it and not knowing exactly how he did so.  Luckily it’s getting close to Christmas time, as that sucker has been playing “Joy to the World” as a ring tone for the last 3 years.  At least now, it sounds like he planned it.

Now assuming that Tommy actually makes it up the stairs on time, he’ll just squint at the display and wonder (outloud) who is calling him.  This is if he makes it, and if this happens, sacrifices must be made.  This includes any remotes, food, or traumatized cats that happen to be in his path or on his lap at the time of the first “Joy to the World” notes.  He will then continue to wonder out loud, as he has no filter between mouth and brain, until the voice mail actually picks up.  I used to try to help him out by interjecting “It’s just a telemarketer” or by advising him to pick up and hang up.  That never works, so I quit doing it.  I think he prefers the mystery of it all, or maybe the hope that someone actually wants to talk to him keeps him going.  I dunno.  The voice mail then picks up – a long, droning, slightly insulting message that he personally recorded – basically telling the caller that if you don’t leave a message, how is he going to call you back, dumbass?  Well, he doesn’t say dumbass, but the inflection in his voice screams it.  The voice mail picks up as a computerized message is in midstream, asking that my sister call back this number or that.  Tommy will then make the lonely trek back to the couch, all the while muttering about wondering who that coulda been, and what they might want.  At least with the old phone location, the trek wasn’t quite so far.  I don’t get the new placement, though, unless it’s to make the beep of the voicemail warning slightly less annoying.  I’m sure if I mapped out the distance, the new phone location is only 5-10 feet at the most further away than the old one, so it really doesn’t make it less annoying.  See, Tommy never feels the need to actually delete the damn message.  The phone will beep every 15 seconds or so, and I’ve seen him sit through this for hours without it bothering him.  Me?  Drives me batshit.  I just don’t get it.

 

#2.  Ever since Steve screwed over Tommy and performed identity theft, while charging his credit cards with various, unnecessary items, Tommy has owned an above-ground pool.  I guess it magically showed up to Tommy’s surprise, as he claims to have not wanted it, yet didn’t seem to bitch until it was in place, and Steve was kicked out.  *shrug*  Either way, it’s a pain in the ass and gets no use whatsoever.  Unless, of course, you count the time that I was in it just a week or 2 ago, while cleaning out leaves.  See, in western PA, it gets cold early.  Like….freezing cold.  Tommy wanted to clear out the leaves before we “winterized” the pool.  I use quotes for a reason that will become painfully clear in a bit.  Bear with me.

So to clear out these leaves, I have to actually help him by getting in the pool.  Normally, one would assume I’d have a pool skimmer- one of those mesh deals on a long pole.  Nope – I got a plastic rake.  It seems the pool was supposed to come with silly little accessories like, say…a skimmer…chemicals….stairs.  Yeah – there’s no easy way to get in.  Tommy must have started complaining about the pool before that stuff came in, so it mysteriously never showed up.  All there is, is a big, round vat of frigid water.  Next to it now is a construction ladder – you know, to make it a bit more white trash.  Tommy dug up 2 pairs of hip-waders that used to belong to Steve and his son.  This was actually a good idea…it would have been even better if the hip-waders I had didn’t have holes in the knees.  I clambered over the edge, dropped in to testicle-deep water, and felt the slow, creeping cold pour into my toes.  Lovely.  Maybe if I didn’t have a rake, I could have gotten out of there a bit quicker, but I had to simply swirl the rake around and hope the leaves were nice enough to stay flat so that I could dump them out.  Half an hour later, I got out of the pool and took a warm shower to help stave off the ice forming in the webbing of my toes. 

While annoying, that wasn’t exactly my point.  See, water tends to freeze when it gets cold, and it then expands.  In a container such as…well…a large above-ground pool in western PA, this is a problem.  Now the water could probably be drained, but Tommy spent all year hoping for rain to fill it, and this would kill all his progress.  He won’t pay for pool water refills, and refuses to use well water to fill it. 

His solution?  Put a tarp on that fucker!  See, if we pull a tarp over the pool, it will insulate it and keep it from freezing!  We just have to keep using a hoe and break up the ice before it gets really solid, until it gets unseasonably warm!  Then we can pull the tarp over, secure it, and keep all the warm air inside the pool to keep it heated!

…

 

Does that make sense to anyone else?  I mean, it IS a little-known fact that tarps are an ancient warming technique.  The Sherpas survive in their harsh climate by draping themselves with a well-secured tarp to help keep the cold at bay.  Sigh.  When I made the mistake of letting on that I thought this wasn’t so great of an idea, he not only assured me it’d be fine, but that maybe he should move the tarp into the garage for a bit, so that it could warm up.  THAT will make the insulation even more insulation-y. 

I took a page from Jim on NBC’s “The Office.”  Whenever Dwight approaches him with an idea, plan, or alliance offer, Jim’s response is always, “Absolutely, I do.”  Now when Tommy comes up with a brilliant plan, I simply shrug, say “ok” and make sure that I’m in no way involved in the planning.  That way, when it goes horribly wrong, I have no blame shed on me and have a fun story to tell…or type.

My hell ride back from across the state and other random cliffnotes

Sigh.  Ok, Jen – you win.  You beat me into submission, so I’ll go ahead and fill you in on the relative non-excitement going on around these parts.

 

So, I finally have the Jeep back and under my name.  It’s fixed, and both windows open AND close, which is very handy in western PA during the winter.  However, the Honda is back in the shop for something that I forgot about.  Seems that the threading in the oil pan got worn down, and it was given a temporary fix by a mechanic by fitting it with an over-sized oil plug.  The wal-mart guys won’t even touch it to change the oil, so I had to get someone to put a new oil pan on it.  That was about a week ago, and I still haven’t heard from the guy…

Luckily, the Jeep was able to take me on a less-than 4 hour drive.  I stayed out there for 2 nights – I could tell the trip was going to be weird from the start, though.  I’m not usually big on signs, but I did a double-take when I saw a cloud in the sky.  I swear, it looked exactly like God was giving me the finger.  It was a big cloudy lump, with a white pillar sticking straight up from the middle.  It looked just like a white fist with one finger sticking out.  The drive out still wasn’t too bad, even with the random trucker at a rest stop checkout line.  He graciously let me in front of him as he had no idea what he wanted yet.  I got my purchases (cough drops/gum) and turned to nod my thanks again, just to see him shaving.  In the middle of a turnpike rest stop.  While in line to get food.  Yuck.

After I finally got to my destination, I had a good time, though.  I actually went to a bar that was having a poker tournament, so I got signed up.  First 4 places got paid and about 50-60 people signed up.  I was mostly card-dead for mst of the tournament, and was seated with the most obnxious guy ever.  He was a greasy rednecked Ohio State fan, and loved to talk shit both about everyone’s play and their respective sports alliances.  I remained calm and smiled at him when he tried to talk shit about Penn State, then decided to raise on his blind for the next 2 hands in a row.  Unfortunately for him, he was gunning for me and called with worse hands. He gave me enough chips to double my short stack up, and I got moved soon after.  About 7 minutes later, he got moved to my new table and looked a bit surprised at my stack.  Before he got there, I had won about 3 hands in a row and was now one of the bigger stacks.  I outlasted him, since he was kinda pissed off and on tilt.  I eventually found my way to the final table and did well to keep my chips and even get a few new ones.  It got down to 5 people left, and I saw what I thought was the short stack on the big blind.  I figured since 2 people folded to me, I’d raise with pocket 5’s and put the guy in.  Even if he called and won, I’d have 2/3 of my stack left.  Besides, this guy was playing really tight so I doubted he’d even call.  Unforunately for me, he woke up with pocket queens.  Even worse, I apparently can’t count.  He turned out to have a lot more chips…exactly 100 more than me.  He called, I sighed, and busted on the bubble.  Oh well – I thought I did well.  Aside fromt he final table, I was amazed by just how badly some people play this game.  Live poker is SO much easier than online, for sure.

Besides the poker, I got to watch a Pens game at a different bar and took part in some trivia contest.  I ended up winning a gift certificate that I’m almost never going to actually use.  The guys running the contest wanted everyone to make up a team name for the contest.  I immediately came up with “Sexual Chocolate” but that got vetoed.  Fortunately, I had a back-up name: The Amish Armada.  The contest guy got a kick out of it, at least.

The rest of the trip was great, but the ride home was a bitch.  It took me about 7 hours to get home – almost twice what it took me to get there in the first place!  I got on the PA Turnpike and about 5 minutes later saw that there was a detour up ahead.  I turned the radio to the info channel and evidentally I was going to have to take the exit before the one I actually wanted.  I figured – no big deal.  I’d pull off at the next rest stop, read the map, and figure out the rest.  I got back in the car and exited the rest stop.  Big mistake.  Abotu 2 minutes later, I hit the traffic jam.  I guess I shoulda known that this detour would overload the alternate route and having that many cars all needing to exit just one exit was a bad combo.  I ended up stuck in the same spot for 10 minutes at a time, moving about 200 feet, then re-parking.  I started turning the car off between stops, and took the time to get out and wander around.  At one parking lot break, I even opened the back to get out a book and the laptop.  I figured I might as well have something to do while I waited.  It was kinda cool, though – people were milling around and it almost looked like a tailgate party. 

Unfortunately, all this waiting around and drinking my gatorade caused my to start feeling the need to take a piss.  Since I was in the middle of a highway surrounded by 3 lanes of stuck vehicles, there wasn’t any way I could really do this on the side of the road.  I tried to hold off as best I could, but I have my limits.  Finally, I saw that I had little choice – I was going to have to piss in a bottle.  I had an empty ice tea bottle with me that would do the trick.  Now, I just had to figure out how to pull this off without being obvious.  I went into the back of the jeep and got out my wind pants.  I figured they’d be easier to slip back on than my jeans.  I climbed back in, and tried to inconspicuously take off my pants.  I got my shoes off and worked the jeans off.  Luckily, it was getting dark so maybe people wouldn’t realize what was going on.  I sat there in my boxers/shirt/socks and opened the bottle.  I worked my junk through the peep hole and tried to figure out just how to do this.  I couldn’t really sit down and go since I’d be squirting upwards.  I’d have to turn around and aim down, yet this would look kinda suspicious.  Hm….

At that EXACT moment, the cars around me all turned on their engines.  FUCK.  This meant good news and bad news.  The good news is that we’re going to move forward again.  Bad news?  I’m half-naked with stuff flopped out in the open.  I shoved my extremities back in my boxers, and turned on the jeep.  This time, it wasn’t just a 200 foot drive.  We all kept going at about 30-40 MPH.  While this is normally nice progress compared to a parking lot, I was gritting my teeth.  I turned on the radio again and heard that the detour was lifted.  As we got closer to the alternate route, I saw that there was a ton of cars on it and it was bumper-to-bumper.  fuck that – I went ahead past and chanced it.  I finally made it to the next rest stop and pulled in.  The place was packed – probably all refugees from the traffic nightmare.  I pulled into a parking spot and hoped I’d be able to dress.  No luck – there was a car next to me and the people there were outside their car fucking around with something.  Every now and then, they’d glance over at the strange guy giving them dirty looks from the jeep and doing some sort of pee-pee dance.  Finally, I decided I didn’t care how obvious it was that I was half-naked, and shimmied till I could work my pants back on.  I slipped on shoes and finally made it to the bathroom.  Ahh…

I got back on the turnpike and got off my exit.  I saw a Burger King and felt like rewarding myself with a burger or 2.  I got in, ordered my food (I hate drive-through…I prefer to order inside), and got my empty drink cup.  There was an old guy in front of me – kinda skinny and seemed to be by himself.  I went to the other fountain and filled up my drink.  He then turned, saw me, and started talking:

“Heh heh you ever heh with beer, you know, uh when you get the bubbles heh?  They say you heh can stick your finger in there and heh make them pop you know. That true?”

“Uh…yeah.  That actually works.”

“Heh huh. *garbled*”

At this point, the old creepy guy started shambling towards me, finger outstretched, with his eyes on my coke.  I quickly realized that he was about to violate my drink with a digit that’s been God-knows-where.  Horrified, I mumbled something in response, and quickly turned back around to see if my food was there yet.  Have it your way, my ass.  I got my food, turned, and slipped past the dude.  As I walked out, I shook my head at the thought of this guy offering to put his finger in my coke.  I then stopped in mid-stride and wondered if that was a metaphor for something a bit worse.  “Can I put my finger in your coke” may not have been exactly what he was after.  Ew.  Seriously, though – wtf?

What else has gone on since my last entry?  The fall soccer season is over – we ended up with a winning season, even after losing 2 of my captains to injury before the season even started.  PT’s place is all cleaned out and DJ now lives there.  I was done to visit while getting the Jeep’s title transferred and it was a bit unsettling.   I’m glad DJ’s happy there, though.  He used to live there as PT’s roommate for a time, so it’s almost like the place is staying in the family. 

I’m sure there have been other things I could write about, but they either slipped my mind or aren’t important enough to discuss.  I just got done typing up a speech for tomorrow’s soccer banquet, so I’m kinda fried anyways.  The fact that I typed THIS much amazes me.  Anyhow – enough for now.  Does this work for you, Jen? <3

Cliff notes recap, plus 1/3 of PT’s eulogy

So, uh…how’s it going?

 

I realize it’s been a while, but it’s been a weird month or so.  I wanted to update this sucker, but I realized my next update was going to be about PT’s eulogy and picking up the pieces, which wasn’t something I wanted to tackle right away.  Combine that with the thought of having to include everything that happened since, and this post seemed kinda intimidating.  Fuck it – I’ll probably gloss over a few things or accidentally forget a few, but that can’t be helped.

After getting word from the doc about PT on an EARLY Friday morning, (about 7 hours after being in to see him!) I was sort of in shock.  Up until that call, I had been watching Superbad and giggling, while eating a sandwich.  With about 15 minutes left, I got the call and felt this dread wash over me, because nothing good was going to come from my phone ringing at that time of the night.  As I heard this stranger telling me my uncle had died, I tried to go numb and concentrate on the info he was giving.  He was asking about funeral arrangements and such.  I actually thanked the guy before I hung up…I’m not sure why.  I guess because I knew that having to tell family members this kind of news can’t be fun, so I might as well try to make it easier for him.  Anyways, I hung up and after 5 minutes, tried to watch the rest of the movie.  It was pretty much ruined, but I’m sure it was funny.  Later on, some insensitive prick from the hospital called, and again asked me what we were doing with PT’s body.  Before I could tell him, he cut in and asked, “You’re not coming in to see it, are you?”  Uh…ok.  I had to ask him why at this point, even though I had no plans on doing so, especially since I had just visited PT a few hours before he died.  His response was that he didn’t look so good and it’d probably be upsetting, and he’d rather not have family members get in the way or something.  I think that was the gist, anyways.  I was still in shock, although slightly annoyed, and informed the guy that I had been in there to see him while he was alive, so I didn’t need to stop in, and he was going to be cremated anyways.  He realized he pissed me off a bit, so he gave a half-assed, “Sorry ’bout yer loss.” and hung up.

I didn’t get to sleep that day until about 8am or so.  I ended up staying awake both because I couldn’t sleep, and because I needed to call home in the morning to let family know.  I did what I could with my mother to help figure out details for the funeral home, and helped delegate authority to her and my uncle as far as the memorial service.  I finally ended up passing out, and I think I stayed in Pittsburgh another night.  I can’t remember. I do know I was back home Saturday night, though, since I attended a graduation party Sunday.  I had been invited about a month beforehand by one of the senior soccer girls, and honestly needed to get out of the house.  I ended up staying about 2 hours or so – long enough to eat, give her my card (I slipped $20 in it – not sure what’s appropriate for a former player, but she’s a great girl and I didn’t want to show up empty-handed), and talk to people.  A few who knew what had happened to PT met with me and it was good to socialize.  I let a few parents know I didn’t get the varsity job….a whole other story.  I understand not getting the spot, but to be told by a parent was kinda shitty.  She called me up a week before PT died saying, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry to hear you didn’t get the varsity position.”  My response was, “Oh, I didn’t?  News to me…”  She was shocked the school or the new coach (some italian dude who has way more experience than I do) didn’t contact me yet.  I then informed her about my bumper (fixed, now) and uncle (alive at the time), so she was understanding that the varsity situation sucked, but that it was really the least of my concerns at the time.  I STILL have yet to hear from the school or the coach, but that’s beside the point…

Amy was at the party as well, to a few parents’ dismay.  She was supportive in her own uncomfortable way about both the varsity spot and PT.  Of course, I just got a text about a week ago from one of the graduating seniors, who’ll be attending Geneva College.  Seems Amy called her up and told her that she was going to be her assistant coach.  Yeah…Amy’s assisting at the college level.  WTF.  The girl who told me couldn’t be nicer, and I feel for her.  She’s had Amy as a coach for every single year from 7th grade on.  I gave her my best advice on how to manage, and asked that she keep me in the loop as far as how things go.  I told her that at least Amy doesn’t call the shots, so that’ll help her.  Too bad Amy’s going to cling to this girl, in hopes that she’ll provide her with credibility.  I wonder if Amy knew about the opening and had applied before the party?  She sure didn’t tell me about it. Anyways…

 

We still had a week before PT’s memorial service.  Seems that he requested 2 seperate ones in his will.  One down home, and one in Pittsburgh for his friends there.  And by memorial services, I really mean wakes.  He didn’t want a a somber gathering, he wanted people to enjoy themselves.  We were still planning a churchy type thing, but with a small party afterwards.  Then a week or so later, we’d have a gathering in Pittsburgh at the Saloon.  It just so happened that there was a family reunion going on that weekend up at the lake, so my mom thought having the service at the end of the weekend was best, as there would still be family in the area to attend. 

I was originally not planning on going to the reunion.  I tend to be against large gatherings of people, and had kinda been antisocial for the past few months.  At the time I heard about it, PT was still alive, and I didn’t think I’d be able to, anyways.  My cousin Anne started pestering me about it, though.  She was toying with the idea of going, then found out that she would be flying in from Colorado to attend.  At that point, I thought it’d be rude to not go, so I went.  Brief backgrounbd – Anne and I used to be really close throughout highschool, but lost touch about 8 years ago.  As to why, that really isn’t important now.  I was mostly over it, but I was a bit leery about going because of that, and because I didn’t know what I’d be getting myself into with the rest of the family.  I dreaded facing a lot of questions that I didn’t feel like answering. 

It actually went fairly well.  I got in late evening, and tried to bring all my stuff in.  The place was a bit of a mess – this was the first time in 3 years I had come up to stay there, and I didn’t like the way it had gone downhill.  Small animals had been doing their thing, and had nibbled on both my toilet paper and soap.  Something also left a yellowish shit on my mattress.  Not happy.  As I was about to leave a yellow-ish deposit myself, I heard Anne downstairs.  It was good to see her, although I felt a bit awkward.  I hadn’t really been around people in a social situation for a while, obviously.  She talked for a bit, then went over to her cottage so I could take care of business.  I met up with her a bit later, and we took a walk.  I did my best to make small talk with the extended family, but really wanted to get the hell out of there.  She recognized that, so we took a walk to the local bar.  We had to navigate pitch-black dirt roads to get there, but that’s part of the charm.  We played that shuffleboard game (small sliders that you slide by hand on a raised table, not like old people shuffling discs on the ground like brooms) where she beat me the first game.  As my ego couldn’t handle this, we promptly played a 2nd, where I pretty much owned her…something like 21 to 10.  I noticed that she had a much easier time ordering drinks and getting them, due to my lack of tits.  We came back and talked for hours out on the dock.  I guess I should mention (before she does) that we had another contest…of sorts.  We both had to piss on the way back, and she showed that she wasn’t shy.  She went to one side of the road, while I went on the other.  She dropped her pants and finished up while I was still going.  She’s proud of it, anyways…I’m fairly sure I spent 2 nights there, as I think the 2nd night was spent walking around the lake at night, bullshitting about everything going on in our lives.  It was great to meet up with her, and since then I’ve gotten a few subtle hints about needing to go out to visit her.  I usually play dumb, but she’s insistant. 

The next day is kind of a blur, except that I remember going out on the boat with my mother, my sister, Tommy, DevilSpawn, DS’s mom, PT’s favorite cousin Amy, and PT’s cousins Jack and Jim.  We went out there to do a little ceremony of our won.  We ended up sharing some stories.  Jim aske me to share one, and I felt like an ass.  I completely drew a blank.  I didn’t know what to say.  I just spent 6 months with him, but none of those stories really fit the situation.  I wanted to tell some amusing, yet endearing story and just couldn’t think of one.  Finally, one came to mind and I told it.  I later ended up using it as part of his eulogy a day or 2 later.  We all shared our stories, although I had to interrupt my drunk sister as she has no concept of what kind of stories are, or are NOT appropriate.  She also started rambling on about when she, my brother, and I were kids that had nothing to do with PT.  After all the stories, we brought out PT’s ashes (part of them, anyways.  The rest are yet to be spread) and each sprinkled a bit of him into the lake.  He grew up there, and we thought it’d be an appropriate place to spread them.  Before we went back in, cousin Jack said a few things, and while his intentions were good, they made me feel like shit.  He brought up how our family was a unique one, and how we had this great support system, and how that nothing like what happened to PT needed to happen again as long as we offer help to those that need it.  I felt like he was almost blaming me for what happened to PT, saying that I should have stepped in when he was drinking too much and done something about it.  Thing is, you have to want that help in order to receive it.  PT was so stubborn that if you ever tried to force him to do something, he’d go out of his way to spite you.  Tommy never understood that, which was just part of the reason why he and PT were so estranged.  I tried to say this, but Jack thought I was arguing his idea.  I cleared things up with him later, and let him know that it was a good idea and accurate, but PT was a special case.  I think he understood, and I don’t think his intention was to blame me, but I took it personally anyhow.  Part of me knows that this wasn’t my fault, but part of me will always wonder what I could have done differently.  I hate that part of me.

Before I forget, I think I’ve mentioned before that Steve was estranged from the family.  PT had kept his distance and he didn’t trust him, and we did our best to keep PT’s situation from Steve, so that he could keep his distance.  Well…Steve found out about PT’s death and wasn’t pleased that he didn’t know sooner.  I can’t blame him, but honoring PT’s wishes was more important to me.  He tried, as well as his new wife (although I hear they’ve split up…maybe), to call Tommy.  Tommy wanted no part of talking to them, so I volunteered.  I figure that Tommy wouldn’t handle it well, and my mother hates Steve with a fiery passion.  I was the best choice.  I got Steve’s number and called him up.  Steve wanted to know why he wasn’t told. Ugh…I told him that it was PT’s choice.  PT was the type of person that didn’t want people to know about this, so he asked us to keep it quiet.  That, and he wasn’t real sure of Steve’s intentions.  Amazingly, Steve understood and knew Pt was like that.  He then launched into a tirade against my mother.  I did a lot of turning the other cheek that day.  He basically said exactly how he felt about her, and said that out of everyone in the family that deserved to die, PT was last and she was first.  At this point, I asked, “Are you sure this is really the type of conversation you want to have with me?”  At that point, he backed off a bit, told me that if I ever needed anything, to let him know, but he wouldn’t be attending the service.  Even after all that was said, I didn’t want to back away from my earleir stance:  I had told him that he was welcome to go to the service if he so chose.  The party afterwards wasn’t a good idea, as relatives with axes to grind + alcohol was a bad combo.  I even told Tommy and my mom that Steve was going to be allowed to pay his respects if he so chose, and that I wouldn’t let PT’s life OR death be used to further anyone’s grudge.  My mom wasn’t thrilled with this, but I did say that if at any point Steve (or anyone else for that matter) decided to cause problems, they’d be escorted out politely.  I had already spoken to Parker, Chuck, and DJ about this since they were going to be my posse.

Either way, Steve still told me he’d stay out of the service, and that my mom could have her way and keep him away from the family.  At this point, I knew Steve just wanted to be a martyr, so I let him know that she had nothing to do with it, and that it was his choice alone that he was making.  *shrug*

I left the lake Monday morning, the day of the service.  I originally thought about speaking during it, along with DJ and my mom.  I figured that I knew PT best out of the family, and he would want me to say something.  I met up with Parker earlier that week and he told me that doing his grandfather’s eulogy was extremely hard, and I might want to think about it.  I stopped and thought that maybe I was trying to do too much.  PT obviously put a lot of responsibilty on me, but I was also trying to take on things that maybe were best left to others (the memorial services, being Steve’s liason, etc.).  That, and I kept drawing a blank on what I’d say.  The day of the service, I got there early to set up the pictures, make sure PT’s ashes were there, and to meet up with the pastor.  I told him that I was just going to let DJ and my mom talk, but I wouldn’t mind doing a reading of a passage or something.  I did that for my grandparents, before.  He told me that he thought I’d do a eulogy, and he’d just do the readings.  I said, “Well, I didn’t write anything but I had something in mind, I guess…”  He said, “Ok, great!”  Crap.  I then asked him for a tablet and pen.  I found a room off to the side and sat down.  I realized I had about 25 minutes to jot something down.  I guess I had some experience with this sort of thing – I’m a procrastinator and seem to work well under the gun.  I did many papers for school under severe time limitations, and while this was a bit more important, I think I did an ok job. 

During the service, my mom spoke first, and did it completely without notes.  I was somewhat impressed.  She told a story of how she honestly didn’t know PT as well as she would have liked.  She was in high school when he was born, and didn’t have the same close relationship that either DJ or I had.  She told a story, though, of how when my brother was born, he had complications.  She needed help getting stuff out of Lance’s hospital room, and since PT lived somewhat nearby…he was there within half an hour, and never complained once about helping out.  He got all the stuff loaded into his car, and helped transport it an hour and a half home.  She emphasized how PT was the type of person who’d do anything for anyone else, without complaint.  She then turned things over to me, and said that she was going to let others who knew him best speak.  I gave my bit of the eulogy next.  (I’ll include the text in another entry)  I drew upon the story I told out on the boat, and tried to tell both a bit of background on his and my relationship, as well as give everything a nice moral to the story.  Or something.  I had the notes I had written down, but like I learned in my public speech classes in college, I tried to give most of the speech to the audience without looking down every few seconds.  I wish I had spent more time on it, as I feel like he deserved more effort.  I honestly didn’t know I’d be giving a eulogy, though, and maybe it actually turned out better this way.  Who knows?   Dj spoke last, and had about 2 typed pages that he read word for word.  He obviously spent a lot of time writing it, and even included a reading that PT gave at DJ’s wedding…which oddly worked.

After the service, we all went out to this place 20 minutes away.  It was a bar/restaurant that my mom had reserved for a few hours.  While this was one of the things that I delegated to her, I wish she had gotten my opinion on the food that was to be served.  The choice of 3 entrees was kinda weak, and the appetizers?  She passed on a shrimp cocktail platter that was about $30 and instead chose a $100 CHEESE and CRACKERS platter!?!  I told her that for $10, I could get a few boxes of Ritz and a can of squeezy cheese.  And considering that the estate was footing the bill….meaning: my siblings and I, I think I should have given an opinion on the offerings.  It sucked that Anne couldn’t stay out for this, but obviously living 2 time zones away made that tough.  Parker and I hung out, though, and played darts.  My mom got a limo for this, so we wouldn’t have to drive back.  I thought maybe that was too flashy, but she was paying for it.  I made sure that she didn’t try to have the estate pay for it, anyways.  I didn’t think that was covered under normal memorial service costs…

The day of the memorial, my brother Lance started having stomach pains.  My first reaction was “maybe that’s karma eating at him from the inside.”  You see, my brother pissed me off during PT’s last week of life.  After I had met with the doctor and learned his time was short, I called home to let my mother and uncle know that they should come down to see him.  I asked my mom the night before she came down if Lance was coming, and she seemed agitated.  She said something non-committal, and said she would know later.  The next day, she and my sister came down alone.  (Tommy came the next day solo)  It seems that when she asked Lance to go, his response was that PT basically asked for this by how he lived his life, so he was getting what he asked for.  Lance decided he’d rather look down his nose at him from his high horse.  My response was to inform my mom that had he told me that, I’d have broken his fucking nose.  It just really chaps my ass to know that he could treat PT that way, after everything that PT had ever done for him, and would do, had he the chance.  But that’s Lance – one of the most selfish people I have ever known.  He actually attended the service, though, but I sat across the aisle from his pew.  Anyways, turns out that Lance had gall stones or gall bladder issues.  Maybe they’re the same.  I didn’t really care to pay attention.  Call me a bad person, but I thought it was kinda karmalicious to have Lance suddenly find himself in a hospital after making that statement.  And no – I didn’t visit.  My mother knew enough not to ask why.

I’ve since gotten over it, as I know PT wouldn’t want me to again: use his life or death to further a grudge.  I even gave Lance PT’s copy of the Batman comic “The Killing Joke.”  Of course, when he thanked me, I said, “Don’t thank me – thank PT.” 

That’s the thing that kills me – PT left everything to Lance, Morgan and I.  While I don’t know what all that entails yet, (although the will said I get the jeep) we’re supposed to go through the apartment and divy things up.  At first, I felt like a coackroach picking through his things, but I’m trying to get over the feeling of…wrongness by deciding who gets what.  Lance amazingly declined that part of things, and that’s either because he doesn’t want to trouble himself to come down…and possibly have to clean, or that he would feel hypocritical by snubbing PT during his life, yet accepting his stuff when he died.  I really don’t know which is the case, but it makes things simpler.  I know that things like this can cause rifts between family members – my mother and uncle squabbled over my grandparents’ belongings, and they would take things for no practical purpose, just to have them.  So far, my sister and I have been agreeable on just about everything.  We’re still both contending for the Foreman grill, however.  The laptop and desktop PC are another thing we haven’t decided on.  For now, I have the laptop, and as long as she can get any of the older laptops to work for her, she won’t need it.  She would only need one for if she goes back to school, where I would use it mostly for higer-end games.  If one of the older ones works – no problem.  The desktop PC is probably going to depend on who needs an upgrade the most.  She did take most of the furniture, though, so I don’t feel as bad about requesting the computer stuff.  Her husband’s a gamer, though, and he already helped himself to a spare hard drive, speakers, and head phones.  I wasn’t pleased, but I figure I can’t say much – I was given the jeep.

Most of my stress has come from trying to keep Tommy out of the proceedings as much as possible.  He tends to try to assume control of things, and this is something that PT knew.  That’s why he made sure both DJ and I were in charge of everything.  Tommy came down once so far to “help clean.”  Basically, he played Call of Duty on PT’s computer all fucking day, and when he did try to clean, he made more of a mess.  That lazy bitch took a scrub brush/mop and wet down PT’s bathroom floor.  He didn’t rinse, though.  He just made a dirty floor into a wet, dirty floor.  In the meantime, I cleaned the other bathroom, including tub/toilet/sink/floor and disinfected it as well.  I ended up having to redo the other bathroom later on.  It was actually easier to let him play the computer than letting him make more of a mess, so I let him be.

Tommy happened to overstep his bounds earlier, too.  He was outside when my sister’s husband was helping me fix a speaker in the jeep.  It’s a nice vehicle – V8 engine, Grand Cherokee, and is a 2003..maybe 2002.  Anyhow, Ben happened to ask me what was going to happen with the jeep.  Before I could answer, Tommy cut in with, “Oh I’m not sure what we’re going to do with it.  We’ll probably sell it….” After pausing to figure out exactly what to say, I ended up saying, “Uhm, I don’t think you should get ahead of yourself, there.  PT actually left that to me.”  I guess he didn’t expect that, and ended up mumbling, “Uh, oh..well that’s…good.  I mean, you, uh…deserve it.”  I haven’t had the heart to inform him exactly how little of a role PT wanted him to have, but I had to say something there.  Sigh.

Speaking of Tommy and the jeep, I knew this was going to happen…his car is a rolling death trap.  The tires are beyond horrible, and the gas tank is evidentally leaking.  That’s usually a sign to get it fixed.  Tommy doesn’t want to spend money, though.  Sure, he still hasn’t sold his former house, or even srarted the process.  Sure, he doesn’t mind spending money on women that won’t kiss him, let alone touch his peepee.  But when it comes to something that makes sense?  Nope.  I knew that when I got the Honda back, he was going to make a play for borrowing the jeep.  I think I’ve covered Tommy’s driving habits before.  I’m honestly amazed that he hasn’t wrecked, yet.  He can’t drive sober, and tends to drive home from bars when he shouldn’t, either.  I knew he was planning on visiting a stripper, since it was her birthday and she convinced him to visit her and spend money on her.  He thought that was something to brag about.  He finally approached me about it and said, “I got a proposition for you….”  Fuck.  He asked to borrow the jeep, and offered to pay me for the privilege.  I told him the truth,” Uh, you do know that this isn’t legal to drive, right?  It’s not technically mine, yet.”  Sure, I had driven it while the honda was STILL in the shop, but I had no insurance for it.  Thing is, I’d sooner drive it out of necessity than let a bad driver take it down to visit a stripper and have a few drinks.  He didn’t like the answer, and pouted for the rest of the day. *shrug*  I’m still looking into insurance.  I think I can get both cars insured for under $100 a month, but getting quotes is a pain.  I pay by the month on my honda’s insurance, so I’m fairly sure breaking it off with them is no problem.  They don’t seem to mind threatening to break it off when I’m late with a payment…

 

I guess that’s good for now.  I’m sure I forgot stuff, but that’s to be expected when I neglect this thing for so long.  I’ll try to write up an approximation of my eulogy, next, although I only have the notes to go from.  They’re the basis of what I said, but it won’t quite be word for word.

Time of Death: 2:53AM

R.I.P. PT

Yesterday sucked, too.

So I’m about to leave PT’s apartment, visit him, and then pack up my stuff to head home.  I had been there for a long time, and was getting antsy.  That, and his AC is on the fritz during a particularly hot period.  It works, but it condenses so much water that it drips.  How much, you ask?  I put a bucket underneath it and it only takes an hour to fill up.  Kinda makes it pointless to leave on unless I know I can monitor it.  Leaving it on overnight isn’t an option. 

I also needed some time away to unwind a bit.  I came to a scary realization when I was wandering down the hall in just my bath towel.  Since the fans were on, there was one big-ass fan in the hallway to circulate air and I paused when I walked past it.  It blew straight up my towel, which gave me a bit of a thrill.  I twisted this way and that, while letting the air flow around my naughty bits, while PT’s fat, mouthy cat stared at me with a look that was a mixture of apathy and disgust.  Right then I realized, that I’m this guy:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/gmg.jpg   (images are acting funky, so I’ll try to edit that later to something non-clicky)

Yes – I’m John Arbuckle.  That kind of hit home, so I retreated back to the bathroom.  I might be worried that I’m beginning to have some mid-life crisis or something, but I’m fairly sure that I had that when I was 19.  According to my math, I’m gonna be dead before I hit 40.  Whee. 

Anyhow, as I’m about to head out the door, I get a call from DJ.  He asked me, “Um…have you been outside yet?”  When I said I was heading out to see PT (although I was going to head to the apartment parking garage and take his car), DJ said I should take a look at my car.  I peeked out the window to see my bumper half-attached and lying on the road.  FUCK.  Seems some girl hit my car while trying to make too sharp of a turn into a side road.  I was parked legally and well before the turn, so it was not my fault.  Her mom left a note, which was cool, and asked me to call her.  I called “Tekla” up and got her insurance info.  She and her 18 yr old daughter have the same agent, I guess.  All and all, not really what I needed.   I checked the mailbox labels in the lobby and realized this woman lives right next door, on PT’s floor. 

This has not been the first run-in I’ve had with PT’s neighbors, particularly the ones on his floor.  There are 3 floors to his building, and the first 2 floors have 6 apartments each.  His floor is a bit nicer, and there are only 4 apartments taking up the same amount of space as the 6 per floor did below.  The neighbor directly across from him unfortunately thinks I’m a creepy pervert.  Be that as it may, she still got the wrong impression.  A while back, Pt and I were getting on the elevator on the 1st floor to head to his.  This was during his 1st stay at home, way back before his transplant.  I was half-asleep, as I had gotten little sleep before waking up early to take him into the hospital for blood work, and then to another doctor in a seperate building.  We then spent most of the day doing random errands and shopping for the apartment.  We needed something from his place, so we had to make a brief pitstop.  I wasn’t paying attention  in the elevator on the way up and the door opened.  Some 20-something, reasonably cute woman came in – I assumed that this was our floor, so I got out.  PT started to say something like, “Um…uh you might want to…”  I figured he was going to head back down to the car and wait or something, so I just assured him I’d be right back.  The confused woman got on, and I took a right towards PT’s door. 

I went to unlock the door and got confused.  On PT’s door, there’s a regular keyhole and a deadlock keyhole.  I only saw one keyhole and it wasn’t in the right place.  I was too tired to figure this out, so I tried my key anyways.  Nothing.  I wiggled it, retried it, and even tried the deadbolt key.  Suddenly, the door opened up and some very confused/wary black dude in a wife-beater tank top stared at me.  I looked at him, looked at the stairwell to my right, and realized there were still stairs going up.  I was only on floor 2.  Oops.  I mumbled to the guy, “Um..sorry, I must have the wrong door” and retreated upstairs.  As I left, I heard the door close and lock.  With me looking as tired and confused as I did, he must have thought I was some crackhead in the wrong neighborhood.  I made it up the steps and came out on the 3rd floor.  There I saw the woman from the elevator coming at me.  She got very confused.  Now let’s look at it from her point of view:

She gets on an elevator, and it opens up with 2 strange guys inside.  Knowing she can’t back out gracefully, she still gets on and sees one of them bolt for some strange reason, while the other guy mutters something almost unintelligible.  She stays on the elevator with the remaining guy, who clearly looks like he has some type of medical condition, both due to his appearance and his slower, uneven walking style.  She rides the seemingly slow elevator to the top and slides out past the strange man.  As she’s leaving, she becomes very aware that this guy is following her.  As she gets halfway to her apartment door, the door to the top of the steps (beside both her door and her neighboor’s door across the hall) opens up and the OTHER guy from the elevator comes bursting through.  She now realizes she’s trapped between 2 strange men, both looking slightly worn down and crazy, and pauses.  I somehow figured out what this seemed like, and merely turned towards PT’s door without a word to him, and opened it up.  She had to have thought it was a clever plan to corner her and have our way with her or something – I let both of us in and heard both the lock and deadbolt quickly slide into place in the neighbor’s door.  Nothing like creeping out 2 neighbors in the span of a minute, huh? 

That isn’t the only time I’ve creeped her out, though.  When it came clear that PT needed to go back to the hospital a few days ago, the visiting nurse called 911 and had an ambulance crew move him out.  I heard them buzz in below, so I figured I’d go out into the hall and direct them once they got off the elevator.  I stepped into the hallway and saw the woman from across the hall and some dude hanging out next to some boxes while waiting for the elevator.  I stopped, unsure of what to do while they stared at me.  Do I stay there and wait, further creeping her out?  Do I announce my intentions and tell them I’m waiting for ambulance people?  I figured both of those options were kinda weird, so I did the least weird thing I could think of and turned around back into the apartment.  Of course, they still had to wonder why I would come out, stare at them, then wander back inside without a word.  I heard her say something like, “what the hell was…” but at the time I was worried more about PT than being labeled “crazy neighbor guy.”  I listened at the door until I heard the elevator open.  I peeked outside, saw the ambulance people, and let them in.  I was kinda hoping the woman saw me doing that, so she’d know I was waiting for them, but who knows if she did.  Sigh.

Although I’m fairly sure this guy didn’t live in the apartment building, what exactly is the proper ettiquette for this situation?  I was heading into PT’s garage under the building with 2 bags of trash.  The dumpster is located behind the building, so the easiest way to it is through his garage door.  The door is automatic and will close at random intervals unless something blocks the sensor.  I had planned on quickly throwing the bags in, so I didn’t bother blocking the sensor first.  I walked through the door to see some guy piling different objects from the dumpster into piles.  Upon seeing me, he quickly said, “Don’t worry – I’ll clean it up!”

Do I say:

A)  “Thanks – I appreciate it.”

B)  “Doesn’t bother me a bit – I don’t even live here.”

C)  “Here are 2 more bags if you want.”

D)  mumble something that sounds like, “uh, ok.”

 

Looking back, I wish I had picked something similar to B.  I figure A comes across like he has to answer to me, and C comes across as being kind of a prick.  Unfortunately, I had no ready answer, so I chose D.  Just then, the garage door came down, so I had no easy way back out.  I just dumped the bags and said, “Take care” while he muttered something about, “The things people throw away…man.”  I walked the entire way back around the building and luckily had my key so that I could get back in.  So tell me – what’s the proper thing to say in that situation?

Getting back to the woman whose daughter hit my car, I was actually kind of worried that it might be the one from across the hall.  It was the one on the same side of the hall as PT, though.  That’s 2 out of 3 neighbors on his floor that I’ve had issues with.  The only one left are a korean couple that keep to themselves, so hopefully I won’t complete the floor.

Before I sign off on this puppy, I’ll leave you with a video I’m about to post in a sadly relevant topic on another message board.  Enjoy “Chinese M.C. Hammer:”

 

Today pretty much sucked.

PT got readmitted to the hospital today.  Over the last week, I had been taking care of both him and the apartment.  The hospital initially released him to help his mood, in hopes of that triggering his appetite.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.  Over the last week, he probably ate as much as I do in one sitting.  His legs/arms are frighteningly thin, for a guy who used to play defensive line in high school football.  At one point, he used to weigh in the 230 lb range.  Now?  155 lbs.  His musclature (fairly sure i misspelled that) is equivalent to that of a 6 year old, his physical therapist told him.  I tried to lighten the mood by assuring him that he could still kick my 3 year old niece’s ass, but it had mixed results.

I now have a ton of respect for those in the health care industry, especially nurses.  As PT was so weak, he really couldn’t get out of bed after the first night home.  That night gave me a crash-course on what I was going to be called into duty for.  I checked in on him late that night to find him in the bathroom and an ungodly smell was coming from his bedroom.  Evidentally, the bed pan was put into use.  After covering my lower face with my shirt, I attempted to hold it out at arm’s length and dump it in the spare bathroom toilet.  Normally, I pride myself on having a strong stomach, but I started dry heaving and realized I was about to puke inside my own shirt.  I kept it together and cleaned things up as best I could.  I then ventured back to the bathroom and checked in on PT.  From what he told me, he woke up, knew he wasn’t going to make it, and afterwards tried to clean up as best he could in the tub.  He then found he couldn’t get back out.  I steeled myself, opened the door, and did what i could to both help him out and make him feel less self-conscious.  Unfortunately, there was no easy way to help him out.  I still have a shitty knee, and there was a good amount of blood smeared around both him and the tub.  For some reason, his finger was pricked near the cuticle for a blood test, and hadn’t healed.  It continued to drip blood for 4 days straight.  I ended up calling PT’s friend DJ to help me get him back to bed.

The next morning, the home care nurse arrived.  She showed up every other day to take blood samples, and flush out the lines that he has attached to his arm to allow easy sampling.  That’s done with saline syringes.  On the days she doesn’t come, it fell to me or DJ to do this.  PT also has a “t-tube” which is a tube running directly from his gall bladder through his abdomen.  It drips bile into a bag, which needed dumped out every day.  When I first got the crash-course on doing all this, I was a bit overwhelmed.  Before the nurse arrived, however, I went in his room to find something that looked like a M*A*S*H unit.  PT was in bed, bedpan mercifully empty, but blood was EVERYWHERE.  He had it soaked through his shirt, all over the sheets, soaked into both the pillow cases and the pillows, and caked on his wrist/hand.  He has a tendency to fidget with bandages, and the bleeding soaked through them, so he just took them off.  I cleaned up as best I could before the nurse got there, but I wasn’t that effective.  The previous night’s events had gotten to me, so sleep wasn’t happening. I maybe got 3 hours.  In the span of 24 hours, I had to deal with blood, piss, shit, bile, puke, and needed to inject saline into his veins. I was also responsible for making sure that he got every single medication at the proper time, from 8am to 8pm, with stops along the way at noon and 5.  Needless to say, I was a bit frazzled.

It got easier to deal with throughout the week, although I never got used to bedpan duty.  PT got weaker and weaker, and refused to eat.  Both the depression and the meds he was on made food taste bad, but he wasn’t even trying.  He just had no desire.  He’d drink a supplement drink every now and then, but had hardly any solid food.  The thing about PT is that he’ll go out of his way not to do something if you’re pushy about it.  I didn’t know exactly the best method of getting him to eat, all the while letting him know how fragile his health was appearing.  I tried everything – taking a written inventory of what was available that I could make, asking for requests, placing unasked for food under his nose, guilt…everything.  After Monday’s blood test results came back, the transplant coordinator called me to give me the news.  His protein levels were a tad low, and his white blood cell count was something like…1200?  I think 5000 is normal.  I don’t know what that means, other than he had 1/4 what he should have had.  She asked me if I wanted him readmitted. 

I think I covered the whole role reversal thing earlier, and I was just starting to get used to the idea that my main role is to keep PT alive.   Now I’m supposed to make the call to get him out of his home?  He may not have been eating well, but he had his own bed, and could curl up with his cat.  He could sleep without being woken up repeatedly by nurses.  I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to let him stay there but reinforce the food concept.  Unfortunately, it didn’t work.  Today, the nurse came and got his vitals.  PT was weaker than before, and after being weighed, we saw he lost 9 lbs in the last week.  He had a low-grade fever at 100.2 and low blood pressure.  The decision was a lot easier, although I let the nurse play a bit more of the “bad guy” role.  I would nod my head up and down behind PT when she’d make a case for admitting him.  With PT being as stubborn as he is, he can hold a grudge for a LONG time.  I didn’t need him to hate me for wanting what’s best for him, although I obviously supported the nurse’s opinion.  She called 911, as I had no hope of getting him down his hallway, through the building’s hallways, and into the elevator and down 3 steps to his jeep.  They came quickly, and loaded him into a chair.  PT wasn’t thrilled, but he later confessed that he knew this was coming.  I did as well, and that’s a major reason why I’m running on 2 hours worth of sleep.

They took him into the emergency ward.  I stayed behind so that I could shower (bed pans, blood, and bile – oh my!) and gather up stuff he needed.  Luckily, a lot of it was still packed together.  I kinda wish I had decided to nap first, since I got there to find he wasn’t in a room yet.  I could either sit in the tiny room he was placed in for the time being, or spend it with the colorful cast of characters you find in the emergency room waiting area.  I chose the waiting area.  I stayed out there for 3 hours, trying not to make eye contact and avoid the guy who would randomly get REALLY LOUD, and then either burst into tears or fits of laughter, while confined to a wheelchair with a guard nearby.  He finally got moved up to his old floor, which was kinda nice, as he already knew the nurses.  The doc came in pretty soon after, and checked things out.  Evidentally I didn’t look so good.  Not only did one of the receptionists in emergency ask if I was admitting myself, but the doc upstairs told me I should go home and rest.  After checking PT out, he discovered that PT’s T-tube (bile) was funky, and that bile was gathering in PT’s abdomen, causing pain.  Lovely. 

He needed to go under for a minor surgery to correct this immediately.  I figured it would take a while, so I wanted to get back to the apartment.  To be nice, I asked, “Well, I guess I’ll take…um…unless you want me to stick around.”  He then said that’d be nice, as he was being wheeled away. 

…

I sat in his empty hospital room for 2+ hours.   No sign of PT.  I was drifting off, my head nodding like crazy, and finally realized that I could very well be in there for a long ass time, miss the Pens game, and find that PT was still conked out from anesthesia.  I didn’t feel great about leaving, but I at least left a note.  After all was said and done, I had been at the hospital for about 8 hours, and was barely running on any sleep.  I got back without crashing, drank some Mt Dew, and watched my Penguins lose the Stanley Cup to Detroit.  Honestly?  I was half-watching the game.  I had little interest in it.  Usually, I see the Stanley Cup and get chills.  When the Pens get eliminated from the playoffs, I always get depressed and sad.  I saw both the Pens lose AND Detroit win the Cup.  Nothing.  I just looked at the tv, shook my head, and switched it off.  After today, I guess it really didn’t matter.  Maybe a week from now I’ll randomly start swearing, but I just have no reaction for now. 

 

In other news, I think I just got another reader – my cousin just got a link to this puppy.  Hi Anne.  No sharing anything incriminating, or I reserve the right to edit that puppy right out. 

PT’s home and role reversal (Bonus story: the most disturbing IRC convo EVER)

Well, PT got released today.  He’s pretty weak and his skin color isn’t quite right, but the hospital peeps are hoping that the time at home does him some good as far as peace of mind.  Getting him up the steps to his apartment was a challenge, as I have one good leg, but I somehow managed. 

 

It seems that part of the reason why he went back to the hospital in the first place is because his medications weren’t being taken correctly.  He was given all the stuff along with a schedule, but due to his shitty sleep schedule and tendency to sleep through pill time, he wasn’t taking them when needed.  Now it falls mostly to me (With DJ on weekends) to make sure that he takes the correct pill at the correct time.  I hate this.  How can I say this without sounding like a bad person?

Ok, I probably can’t.  It’s just difficult for me to handle that I’m responsible for keeping another adult alive.  Especially one that I looked at as the older brother I never had.  I’m trying to toe that line between giving him dignity and being sure that he’s doing what needs to be done, but it’s not easy.  I have to make sure he takes his meds that are scheduled at all hours of the day, force him to eat something, and move around to help get some energy/muscle back.  I feel like I’m a new dad and just adopted a 41 yr old kid.  I know it’s frustrating for him and I try not to make him feel worse about it, but I don’t want it to always be like this.  I’m hoping that at some pointhe’ll recover enough to be able to do these things that need done to keep him well, but I’m not sure I can see far enough into the future to know when that’ll be.

 

Ok, enough emo bullshit.  Here’s an excerpt from an IRC conversation a few years back.  I REALLY wish I had been in on this topic, but wasn’t.  It involves people from a message board that I still frequent, so I knew/know all of those involved.  It’s about a guy nicknamed “Vesper,” who goes by the name “Threepercent” during this conversation.  It’s about him and his former job working in a mortuary.  The 6th line down kicks off the chat:

 

[21:27] *** Now talking in #wildfire
[21:27] *** Topic is ‘Welcome to The Asylum chat.’
[21:27] *** Set by GA on Fri Jul 25 21:51:44
[21:27] <Durin> Hey
[21:27] <Fenster> Hey
[21:27] <Durin> Vesper fucks dead people.
[21:28] <Durin> In case you didn’t hear
[21:28] <Fenster> Hehe
[21:28] <Fenster> I gotta sig you
[21:29] <Durin> lol
[21:31] <Vhp> ewwww
[21:31] *** Joins: Threepercent
[21:31] *** Vhp is now known as Ninety-SevenPerce
[21:31] <Ninety-SevenPerce> damn
[21:31] *** Ninety-SevenPerce is now known as NinetySeven
[21:31] <NinetySeven> Fucking
[21:31] <Threepercent> Past tense, folks… Dang you all to heck
[21:31] <Durin> Heh
[21:31] *** NinetySeven is now known as Ninety7percent
[21:32] <Durin> We’ll get over it
[21:32] <Durin> I… Eventually.
[21:32] <Fenster> Have you the key to the mortuary or something?
[21:32] <Ninety7percent> HE SAID HE WORKED THERE
[21:32] <Durin> Erm, I appear not to be able to type.
[21:32] <Ninety7percent> LEARN TO READ FENSTER
[21:32] <Fenster> :O
[21:32] <Threepercent> No… Worked in a crematorium..
[21:32] <Ninety7percent> He did em, then threw em in the burner
[21:32] <Durin> LOL
[21:32] <Fenster> Ah, burn the evidence
[21:32] *** Ninety7percent is now known as Vhp
[21:33] <Fenster> Well I suppose its a good way to pass a long night shift
[21:33] <Fenster> Give those poor suckers a good sendoff
[21:33] <Threepercent> Place was creepy, kinda had that effect on ya…
[21:33] <Vhp> I’m not sure man chowder can survive crematorium fires
[21:33] <Durin> Okay, I have to ask – you don’t have to answer – but was it intercourse or oral?
[21:33] <Fenster> :O
[21:33] <Vhp> I think oral would be slightly less than fulfilling.
[21:33] <Vhp> USE YOUR TONGUE, WHORE
[21:33] <Durin> I’d think either would be,
[21:33] <Threepercent> Hmm, how do you answer this, without shooting myself in the head..
[21:33] <Durin> LOL
[21:34] <Durin> No answer is acceptable
[21:34] <Threepercent> Look, it all started innocently enough…
[21:34] *** Joins: Maera
[21:34] <Fenster> Well, you know
[21:34] <Vhp> GOOD TIMING MA
[21:34] <Maera> hello!
[21:34] <Durin> LOL
[21:34] <Vhp> Vesper is telling us the corpse sex story
[21:34] <Threepercent> First, curious as to what it looks like, on a dead person..
[21:34] <Fenster> At Vesper’s age, he’s been married a while.
[21:34] <Fenster> He was probably getting better sex at home than at work.
[21:34] <Durin> What “it”?
[21:34] <Threepercent> Yeah, over ten years..
[21:34] <Threepercent> The crotch..
[21:34] <Durin> Ah
[21:35] <Threepercent> And chest
[21:35] <Vhp> on a.. chick.. right?
[21:35] <Threepercent> So… Yeah
[21:35] <Durin> LOL
[21:35] <Threepercent> Chick
[21:35] <Vhp> okay
[21:35] <Vhp> Does it look the same?
[21:35] <Threepercent> So, then, once you have seen it, and there ain’t no one else around, you wonder what it feels like
[21:35] <Threepercent> Yeah, pretty much, after it is cleaned up.
[21:35] <Threepercent> So you touch it… No one is looking, and they surely don’t care..
[21:35] <Vhp> Were they like, old ladies?
[21:35] <Threepercent> Naw, young and middle aged.
[21:36] <Vhp> whew.
[21:36] <Threepercent> So, then… once you have felt it with your hand, you wonder if it is damp? or Dry..
[21:36] <Threepercent> Dry, btw..
[21:36] <Durin> …
[21:36] <Vhp> SICK
[21:37] <Threepercent> …
[21:37] <Vhp> So you went straight for the backside?
[21:37] <Durin> Was this during your satanic stage?
[21:37] <Threepercent> So, then, you wonder, is it rigormortis like everything else? Or flexible..
[21:37] <Threepercent> No backside…
[21:37] <Vhp> Dude, wouldn’t that cause, like, chafing?
[21:37] <Threepercent> I will get to that..
[21:37] <Vhp> oh Lord
[21:38] <Threepercent> Well, it actually doesn’t rigor up…
[21:38] <Durin> my thoughts exactly Vhp
[21:38] *** Joins: sushi|went_out
[21:38] <Vhp> Oh no – virgin ears.
[21:38] *** sushi|went_out is now known as sushi
[21:38] <Threepercent> Once you find out that it can be inserted into… why not?
[21:39] <Vhp> Wow, that’d be quite disturbing to enter the conversation at this point.
[21:39] <sushi> hi people
[21:39] <Threepercent> So you have to get it wet… So you drop a whole lot of spit on your member…
[21:39] <Threepercent> Hi Sushi
[21:39] <Vhp> LOL
[21:40] <Durin> Sushi, either you have good timng or bad… depends on the way you look at it
[21:40] <Fenster> Nah, I was pasting all this for Sushi. :p
[21:40] <Durin> Ah, okay
[21:40] <Threepercent> The sheer naugtiness of it, makes you spew pretty quick..
[21:41] <Durin> OMG
[21:41] <Vhp> Whoa, whoa, whoa.
[21:41] <Vhp> You mean spew as in “finish” or spew as in puke?
[21:41] <Threepercent> Finish
[21:41] <Vhp> SICK
[21:41] <Threepercent> The puking comes afterwards, once you realize what you have done.
[21:41] <Fenster> >_<
[21:41] <Vhp> So, someone has an urn full of ashes and Vesper juice sitting on their shelf.
[21:41] <Threepercent> The guilt..
[21:41] <Fenster> lol
[21:41] <Threepercent> I cleaned it up, best I could..
[21:42] <Vhp> God damnit, Vesper.
[21:42] <Vhp> You’re going to hell for sure.
[21:42] <Durin> So there was guilt, I mean it wasn’t like you found a new activity at work?
[21:42] <Threepercent> Oh no… Guilt for sure…
[21:42] <Threepercent> Felt awful, for a long time..
[21:42] <Vhp> Did you give the family a call and say you’re sorry?
[21:42] <Vhp> or at least an apology letter?
[21:42] <Threepercent> Um, no..
[21:43] <Vhp> Like, “hey, sorry for deflowering your sister’s corpse?”
[21:43] <Threepercent> I was young, stupid, uninhibited, but not crazy..
[21:43] <Durin> Or “About those ashes of your mother…”
[21:43] <Fenster> naraiko: Eww. Remind me to never meet Vesper IRL
[21:43] <Fenster> Midnight Angel: lol
[21:43] <Fenster> Midnight Angel: don’t die around him either
[21:43] <Fenster>
[21:43] <Vhp> lol
[21:43] <Durin> LOL
[21:43] <Threepercent> Bastages…
[21:44] <Durin> Vesper, you need to write a biography.
[21:44] <Threepercent> It was a mistake.. From my past…
[21:44] <Threepercent> Not much I can do about it now..
[21:44] <Vhp> So, what about all the shit-eating questions?
[21:44] <Threepercent> I would never consider it again..
[21:44] <Threepercent> I dated a chick, who thought the smell of horse shit was a turn on..
[21:44] <Durin> … Oh boy.
[21:45] <Threepercent> Who am I to judge, when it is getting me laid..
[21:45] <Fenster> No more!
[21:45] <Fenster> My poor ears are burning!
[21:45] <Fenster> My sexual drive is gone! :[
[21:45] <Durin> … can’t breath… laughing… too hard…
[21:45] <Vhp> AAAAAAAAH
[21:45] <Threepercent> Kept a big ole box of it under her bed… straw and all..
[21:45] <Vhp> SIIIIIIIIIIIICK
[21:45] <Vhp> AKLSDJLakjdsalhi;vh;;sdv
[21:45] <Vhp> EDWEWWEWEWWWW
[21:45] <Fenster> STOP
[21:45] <Durin> OHHHHHHHHH
[21:45] <Durin> GOD WHY?
[21:45] <Threepercent> Nutty broad… I didn’t care..
[21:46] <Fenster> Umm. Did she ever smear herself in it?
[21:46] <Threepercent> Until the night she wanted me to wear it..
[21:46] <Durin> DAMN VESPER!… I bet you know how to kill a party
[21:46] <Vhp> CHRIST
[21:46] <Vhp> SICK
[21:46] <Vhp> SICK
[21:46] <Threepercent> She laid on top of it… normally..
[21:46] * Vhp vomits.
[21:46] * Fenster vomits.
[21:46] <sushi> i still need to read
[21:46] <Durin> no words. no words
[21:46] <Threepercent> That is how I accidentally tasted it..
[21:47] * Vhp vomits uncontrollably.
[21:47] <Durin> I”M OUT OF HERE!
[21:47] * Fenster shivers.
[21:47] <Durin> somebody keep a log
[21:47] <Fenster> I need a hug.
[21:47] <Fenster> I am
[21:47] <Vhp> haha, look at Elurai’s thread.
[21:47] <Durin> brb…. damn
[21:47] *** Parts: Durin
[21:48] <Threepercent> Like I said, I ain’t proud of it all, but I don’t have to hide it…
[21:49] <Threepercent> Do me a personal favor guys..
[21:49] <Fenster> This log cries for posting.
[21:49] <Threepercent> Don’t post the cadaver part, on the forums, as some of the folks that lurk there, work in the same company I do..
[21:49] <Vhp> Oh shiznit
[21:49] <Vhp> Sick
[21:49] <Threepercent> And know who I am in RL..
[21:49] <Threepercent> I don’t need the headaches..
[21:50] <Fenster> Do you grave rob socially?
[21:50] <Threepercent> No…
[21:51] <Vhp> You should change your board name to “The Undertaker” or something like that.
[21:51] <Threepercent> But I have performed a few rituals on top of them… And had sex on top of a witches grave..
[21:51] <Fenster> lol
[21:51] <Vhp> A witch? Lol.
[21:51] <Vhp> Sorry, I refuse to believe any of that ritual/magic crapola.
[21:52] <Threepercent> Yeah, they encased her in solid concrete, back in the 30’s, because they wanted to ensure she didn’t “rise from the grave”
[21:52] <Threepercent> You don’t have to believe, to believe that I did it…
[21:52] <Vhp> But, wow, big deal. A grave.
[21:52] <Vhp> I don’t think of it as any different than a regular grave
[21:52] <Threepercent> That was how I felt aobut it
[21:52] <Threepercent> er about it
[21:53] <Threepercent> I did it to prove a point, to some local nut cases..
[21:53] <Threepercent> Well, and to freak my girl out..
[21:53] <Fenster> lol
21:53] <Vhp> The girl that was giving you poon atop the grave?
[21:53] <Threepercent> Her nipples seemed just a bit perkier, laying bare chested on that concrete slab..
[21:53] <Threepercent> Yeah.
[21:54] <Vhp> I think you’d fit in at #the_lonely_inn
[21:54] <Threepercent> Why is that?
[21:54] <Vhp> gee
[21:54] <Vhp> <Threepercent> Her nipples seemed just a bit perkier, laying bare chested on that concrete slab..
[21:54] <Threepercent> LOL… Perkier because she was afraid… and turned on, at the same time..
[21:54] <Fenster> Isn’t that the plushies room?
[21:55] <Vhp> Dude
[21:55] <Vhp> I’d just be happy to get laid on a bed by a halfway decent looking chick.
[21:55] <Vhp> And Fenster, I know you’re a virgin
[21:55] <Vhp> No way you’re less than 90% pure
[21:56] <Threepercent> I ain’t all that good looking, but I have been around… Had some pretty nice looking ladies too..
[21:56] <Maera> vhp, fenster admitted doing a big girl. no way you’d admit that unless you did it
[21:56] <Vhp> Oh, Sorry Fenster. I forgot that shitting on yourself was one of the questions.
[21:56] <Threepercent> Nothing wrong with big women…
[21:56] <Vhp> Yes there is.
[21:56] <Vhp> They’ll crush me.
21:56] <Threepercent> They tend to extremely into it too..
[21:57] <sushi> i cant catch up to you guys lol
[21:57] <Threepercent> So you ride her… They typically can take quite the pounding..
[21:57] <Vhp> I don’t want to have to buy a new bed just for one night of good, fatty sex.
[21:57] <Maera> use her bed, vhp lololololol
[21:57] <Vhp> Sorry, call me superficial, but I don’t find heavy women attractive whatsoever.
[21:57] <Fenster> Yeah, smearing it all over yourself feels <3 <3
[21:57] <Threepercent> Or the floor… Either way, it can be fun..
[21:57] <Maera> fenster, you’re nasty
[21:58] <Fenster> The pot just called the kettle black. <3
[21:58] <Maera> shut up =/
[21:58] <Threepercent> Well, any more questions, before I go back to work?
[21:58] <Threepercent> Bastages, btw.. All of you.. =)
[21:58] <Fenster> KEKEKEKEKE ^_^
[21:59] <Vhp> Uhh
[21:59] <Vhp> What does shit taste like?
[21:59] <Fenster> Poo
[21:59] <Fenster> Duh
[21:59] <Threepercent> Like shit…
[21:59] <Vhp> Is it good?
[21:59] <Threepercent> There is no comparable taste, unless you have eaten gritty mud.. At least that would give you a texture comparison.
[21:59] <Fenster> Well its nutritious and it goes down well with some fresh piss
[21:59] <Threepercent> No
[21:59] <Threepercent> Not good tasting at all.
[22:00] <Vhp> What about piss?
[22:00] <Maera> fenster, you’re weird
[22:00] <Threepercent> Not really good tasting.. I try to avoid it..
[22:00] <Vhp> Which is worse?
[22:00] <Threepercent> Shit
[22:00] <Vhp> What kind of wine would you recommend with shit?
[22:00] <Fenster> Well if you’ve ever been with someone who had a fetish for pissing, you’d know all too well
[22:01] <Threepercent> Hmm, a red wine… More body, and a nice aftertaste, to override the scat.
[22:01] <Vhp> Sick.
[22:01] <Vhp> SICK SICK SICK
[22:01] <Vhp> SIIIIIIIIIIIICK SHIT IS NASTY SICK
[22:01] <Threepercent> you asked.
[22:01] <Fenster> Yeah
[22:02] <Vhp> Yeah, but shit is still nasty.
[22:02] <Threepercent> Yes, it is… In taste at least… It is tolerable, as a smell.
[22:02] <Vhp> Hell no
[22:02] <Maera> maybe it’s because i’m a female but i would never do anything i thought was gross just to get laid
[22:02] <Vhp> Neither would I
[22:02] <Fenster> She was a goth. I was a virgin.
[22:02] <Threepercent> Prolly Maera..
[22:03] <Fenster> Nasty combination.
[22:03] <Vhp> I have no freaky, kinky desires whatsoever.
[22:03] <Fenster> Not even girls with go faster stripes?
[22:03] <Threepercent> She was horny, I was horny… She wanted to smell scat, I wanted to get a nut.. Worked out great
[22:03] <Vhp> No way in hell I’d hit some chick that rolled around in shit
[22:03] <Threepercent> What I really hate, are women with Foot fetishes, who don’t clean their feet.. Now that is nasty..
[22:04] <Vhp> See, I think all fetishes are pretty nasty.
[22:04] <Vhp> What the fuck is wrong with regular sex, just in different positions?
[22:04] <Fenster> Boring.
[22:04] <Threepercent> I’ll suck on a womans toes all night, as long as they are clean..
[22:04] <Vhp> Bullshit, Fenster.
[22:04] <Maera> i would never let any dude around my feet if they were dirty. then i’d have to kiss him…no thanks
[22:04] <Threepercent> Exactly Maera..
[22:04] <Vhp> I’d be happy with regular sex for the rest of my life.
[22:04] <Fenster> You’d be happy just to get sex.
[22:05] <Maera> vhp likes the missionary position
[22:05] <Vhp> None of this shit-eating and foot fondling and bonding and gagging.
[22:05] <Threepercent> And I will be too VHP.. Believe it or not, my wife is pretty tame..
[22:05] <Vhp> No, MA, that’s Unreal.
[22:05] <Threepercent> And I am very happy..
[22:05] <Vhp> With his bed.
[22:05] <Maera> rofl vhp
[22:05] <Maera> his blankie
[22:05] <Fenster> I thought he liked it doggy style with the army recruiter? ?:|
[22:05] <Fenster> lol
[22:05] <Threepercent> Straight Oral, with just a few position changes, and we have a grand ole time
[22:06] <Vhp> Oh, oral is fine too
[22:06] <Vhp> No weird shit though
[22:06] <Threepercent> But doesn’t she sometimes taste a bit like urine? Even a hint?
[22:06] <Maera> lots of guys don’t do oral but you better believe they want it =/
[22:06] <Vhp> I had a dream where I was getting a blowjob last night, but then I realized that’d never happen and that it was a dream, so I was upset.
[22:06] <Threepercent> Not me Maera.. I give as good as I get, even better sometimes..
[22:06] <Fenster> Prawn cocktail=:/
[22:07] <Maera> fenster, you’re awful, i swear
[22:07] <Vhp> Wouldn’t you feel like a real dick if you get off but the chick doesn’t? Ya know, that’s where giving oral comes into play.
[22:07] <Vhp> WHYT AM I TALKING ABOUT THIS
[22:07] *** Vhp was kicked by Vhp (Vhp)
[22:07] *** Joins: Vhp
[22:07] *** ChanServ sets mode: +o Vhp
[22:08] <Threepercent> To answer his question, there have been several times, I have not “gotten off” and she has.. And I am fine with that..
[22:08] <Fenster> Well if she’s clean its fine, but if she’s all gooey, I gag.
[22:08] <Threepercent> Its about pleasure..
[22:08] <Threepercent> Well, I have an hour, I better get busy working…
[22:08] <Fenster> Later Vesper
[22:08] <Threepercent> Later all…
[22:08] *** Quits: Threepercent (Quit: http://cookie.sorcery.net/~ircd_/javachat/)
[22:08] <Maera> bye vesper

 

Hope you weren’t eating when you read that.