Yippie ki-yay, motherf$%#!

I have to be up in 4.5 hours (fully awake is another matter) so I won’t say much else.  I haven’t blogged since the playoffs started, as I didn’t want to jinx anything.  I’m way too superstitious as far as hockey goes, and I’ll try to go into detail later about just how neurotic I can be.  In closing:

Yay Pens.

Boo Detroit fans that cheered Crosby’s injury.

Haha Hossa.

Fuck Michigan.

Boo alarm clock.

Yay not being able to speak above a whisper.

Yay for me – I think I peed a little when Fleury saved the game with 2 seconds left.

As Coach (Disco) Dan Bylsma would say - peace out, yo:

I felt the need to share that I got my mom a Snuggie for her birthday.  You know – the robe/blanket that’s getting tons of TV ad time?  Well, I actually received a 2 for 1 deal, so technically she got the free one.  I came across this youtube video about the object of my affection:

  Jerks…

I’ll simply cut/paste an email I sent to someone else:

*******************************************

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.

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:

This is a theme I’ve been tossing around for a while in my head.  The older I get, the more I look back fondly on how things used to be.  It seems like the past is always more attractive than the future.  Lately, the past has been popping up more and more frequently, so I figured I’d wing a blog entry on the matter.  I’m still not quite sure yet where I’m going with this, but I’ll hopefully know when I’m done.

Back before I even knew what the internet was, I started a blog.  Well, a journal.  I was forced to by a 7th or 8th grade teacher.  I think it was Mister…Lockrey?  Luckily, I still have the thing, so maybe I mentioned his name inside.  I’m not quite sure what the idea behind it was, as far as us learning anything, but we were supposed to dedicate a certain amount of classroom time every week towards writing in them, and we would get graded on our efforts.  If we didn’t want him to read the entries, we were supposed to let him know and he’d just skim.  I never really wrote anything worth guarding, although I did invoke the “OMG PLZ DONT REED!!11!!” clause when I had my first encounter with true love.  Let’s open this puppy up and share.  Here’s my very first entry, with my nickname “Sparky” written at the top of the page.  My comments will be in bold:

“Well, I’m not sure what to name this journal so I’m not sure if I will.  Last weekend xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx (This part was later scratched out.  I think I might have bitched about a friend sitting nearby…wait.  I read through the scratching – it was just a typo.  My penmanship sucks…) I went to Canadohta Lake for Labor Day.  Up at the cottage, where we stay, Margot, Julia, and Pierre was (ugh – shoulda been “were”) there.  Margot was an exchange student in high school from Botswana, and stayed at my grandmother’s house.  Margot now has 2 kids – Pierre and Julia.  My grandmother & grandpa were there, too.  (I guess I was too cool to refer to them as “Mema and Papa”…)  At the cottage next door, my cousins Margaret (13), Anne (11), and Tommy(8) were there.  We stayed up the first night at their cottage just recording stupid things with a tape recorder, like the theme song from P.J. Sparkles.  Also, I will hopefully be in the last sailboat race this coming weekend.  Bye.”

Pure poetry, I know.  Anne, if you’re reading, I KNOW you’re all about that particular memory.  I look back at these entries and cringe.  I was awkward back then, and I had the overwhelming need to make my mark on each entry.  I figured I needed a catchphrase, or at least an ultracool way to end each entry.  Later on, I experimented with “bye,” “see ya,” and “Bye!”  Once, I even signed my name at the end.  A few months into that, none of those ideas really “clicked,” so I stopped ending them with a flourish.  Finally, I got the bright idea that I needed to trademark a signature, so I started putting a symbol at the end of each entry.  It was a circle, with the letter “S” fitting inside it.  It pretty much looked like the Yin and Yang symbol:

Of course, mine didn’t have the funky black/white effect or the eyes, and it was inverted from how this image appears.  But yeah – I thought it was cool.  It stood for “Sparky,” which again, was my nickname back then.  Through the years, I’ve been called by several nicknames and I’ve answered to all of them: Jerky, Sparky, Possum, Doc, and Doox.  Only one of those was self-given. 

Anyhow, I made it through the school year and stayed with the journal.  For some reason, I kept it.  Throughout the year, I talked about friends, one of my first crushes (much <3, Karla),  and family angst.  I decided to keep writing in it every now and then.  I continues to talk about my 1st girlfriend, and how we broke up.  Seems someone started a rumor about me doing something that I wasn’t, and she took it as gospel.  Actually, that REALLY sounds familiar as I’ve recently dealt with something similar.  It chapped my ass quite a bit, and stuff like that always has.

You see, I’ve never been a perfect angel, but when I fuck up, I react completely different than when I’m innocent.  I was a strange kid who would try things just to see what would happen.  Back when I lived with my mom and Dickhead (former stepfather), I got a hold of some green spray paint and decided that the bushes near the garage door weren’t quite green enough.  Don’t ask.  Later, he asked me if I had painted the bushes green, and I know I had a look of fear on my face that I was desperately trying to change into a look of utter confusion.  I think the end result was a look of terrified constipation.  I denied any wrong-doing, but half-heartedly while eyeing the nearest exit.  He stopped asking.  I think it was because he was trying not to laugh because of how ridiculous my lie was.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t always like that.

Around the age of 9 or 10, I was once accused by him of doing something that I truly didn’t do.  I forget what it was - I think something out on the porch spilled, and he blamed me.  For once, I was 100% innocent, but he had none of it.  DH was a guy that intimidated me, but then again, just about any adult intimidated me at that age.  I was still so infuriated by the accusation, that I yelled back at him.  For me, that was completely out of character.  He made me sit down and write 100 times on a piece of paper, “I will not spill blah blah blah.”  Again, I don’t remember exactly.  I was steaming over the injustice of it all, and realized that I had to write or I wouldn’t be able to leave the chair.  I did it, but I still rebelled in my own little way by only writing it 80+ times, and would every now and then write, “I DID not spill blah blah blah!”   To this very day, it still irritates me.  Unreal. 

Throughout the years, I’ve been faced with similar situations.  Back when I used to work at an oil refinery over the summer that my family once worked at, I was a summer scrub who did things like mowing, weed-eating, and clean-up.  I was having  issues with my weed-eater that day.  The damn spool kept on falling off, and while I was getting good at fixing it, nothing I did lasted long.  I finally got frustrated and told my boss I needed another weed-eater.  He then accused me of tampering with it, so I wouldn’t have to work.  My face quickly turned red, and I asked him to repeat himself.  He then accused me of “banging it on some rocks.”  By this point, I was furious, and yelled back that if I wanted to get out of working, I’d simply find a place to hide and take a nap.  He said something along the lines of that he’d find me, and I asked him if he wanted to bet on it.  I was ready to hit him, but he backed off.  Probably not the smartest thing I could have said/done, but it couldn’t be helped.

Normally, I have a decent hold on my emotions, but being wrongly accused of anything erases that.  Like I said previously, I was recently blamed for doing something.  I asked for the proof that supposedly incriminated me, but the most I could get was that this person assumed it had to be me.  I went to get the word of someone who could clear up the matter, and was assured I was in the clear.  Unfortunately, this wasn’t enough for the accuser, and they refused to hear it.  Now, as this was a person that I thought I could trust, this aggravated me beyond belief.  It would have been nice, for this person to for ONCE, have the same blind loyalty that they extend to their other friends, especially when I even as much as question their actions or words.  Apparently, it was a one-way street, and I’m relieved not to have to worry about it or that person anymore.  I’m also relieved I can get off the soapbox, and stop referring to this person in vague terms.  For all I care…: http://www.leftlaneends.net/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/crash-1w.jpg

By the way, this happened a bit ago and kinda sucked:

PokerStars Game #25396586240: Tournament #142277460, $1.00+$0.10 Omaha Hi/Lo Limit – Level I (20/40) – 2009/02/26 23:30:00 ET
Table ‘142277460 18′ 9-max Seat #2 is the button
Seat 2: leiny22 (1500 in chips)
Seat 3: Doox (1500 in chips)
Seat 4: Del Mar 2 (1500 in chips)
Seat 5: finnbogi39 (1500 in chips)
Seat 6: poker6608 (1500 in chips)
Seat 7: kimchiB (1500 in chips)
Seat 8: Wng’n'apryr (1500 in chips)
Seat 9: mymymy (1500 in chips)
Doox: posts small blind 10
Del Mar 2: posts big blind 20
*** HOLE CARDS ***
Dealt to Doox [Ad Ac Jd 2s]
finnbogi39: calls 20
poker6608: folds
kimchiB: calls 20
Wng’n'apryr: folds
mymymy: folds
leiny22: folds
Doox: calls 10
Del Mar 2: checks
*** FLOP *** [Ah Kh Ks] Whee! Full house!
Doox: checks
Del Mar 2: bets 20
finnbogi39: calls 20
kimchiB: calls 20
Doox: calls 20
*** TURN *** [Ah Kh Ks] [6h] (let’s pretend I have a flush… and hope someone else actually does)
Doox: checks
Del Mar 2: bets 40
finnbogi39: raises 40 to 80
kimchiB: calls 80
Doox: raises 40 to 120
Del Mar 2: raises 40 to 160
Betting is capped
finnbogi39: calls 80
kimchiB: calls 80
Doox: calls 40
*** RIVER *** [Ah Kh Ks 6h] [Kd]  (motherhumper….)
Doox: bets 40  (apparently, I refuse to believe I got hit with the only card in the deck that could beat me….)
Del Mar 2: raises 40 to 80
finnbogi39: raises 40 to 120
kimchiB: calls 120
Doox: calls 80  (sigh)
Del Mar 2: raises 40 to 160
Betting is capped
finnbogi39: calls 40
kimchiB: calls 40
Doox: calls 40 (double sigh)
*** SHOW DOWN ***
Del Mar 2: shows [9d Kc 4c 6s] (HI: four of a kind, Kings)
PAPA716 is connected
Doox said, “argh.”
finnbogi39: mucks hand
kimchiB: mucks hand
Doox: shows [Ad Ac Jd 2s] (HI: a full house, Aces full of Kings)
Del Mar 2 collected 1440 from pot
No low hand qualified
*** SUMMARY ***
Total pot 1440 | Rake 0
Board [Ah Kh Ks 6h Kd]
Seat 2: leiny22 (button) folded before Flop (didn’t bet)
Seat 3: Doox (small blind) showed [Ad Ac Jd 2s] and lost with HI: a full house, Aces full of Kings
Seat 4: Del Mar 2 (big blind) showed [9d Kc 4c 6s] and won (1440) with HI: four of a kind, Kings
Seat 5: finnbogi39 mucked [Tc As 5d 9s]
Seat 6: poker6608 folded before Flop (didn’t bet)
Seat 7: kimchiB mucked [3c 8c 2d 8s]
Seat 8: Wng’n'apryr folded before Flop (didn’t bet)
Seat 9: mymymy folded before Flop (didn’t bet)

Yup – very first hand of the tournament, and my flopped fullhouse gets beat by quads.  Anyhow…

So back to this journal – I got a bit sidetracked.  I continued to every now and then make entries about the significant things going on in my life.  After my tragic break-up, I wrote this girl a nasty message that got great reviews from my friends.  In fact, I was even commissioned by a few friends to help them write THEIR break-up or revenge letters when they were wronged by someone.  I guess back then I was decent at putting words together in an attempt to once and for all let people know how others (or myself) felt about them.  It was like the movie “Hitch,” only the exact opposite.

I stopped writing for a few years, until my freshman year of college.  I won’t go into too much detail, but it involved a break-up…again.  I was home from school, just about beside myself and was honestly worried that I was losing it.  This journal entry started at 3 am and didn’t end until 4:20.  I know this, because I started putting the time at the beginning and end of each entry.  I also used to sign it with 2 adjectives that I was feeling at the time, a song lyric that seemed appropriate, and a quote from someone I knew.  The signature was “Confused and tired – Sparky” and the lyric was:

Picking up the pieces of my life, with no directions for re-assembly” – From Damaged by Queensryche on “Promised Land.” 

Yeah, I wasn’t in the best of moods, but the funny thing was – it helped to write them down.  I went on for the next few days to chronicle each and every relationship that I had up to that point, and talk about what was good and what wasn’t.  By the end of the weekend, I had made many pages worth of text, and wasn’t looking forward to heading back to school.  Evidentally, Parker was going to set me up with some hoochie from Butler but I wouldn’t be able to go out with her due to classes.  Unfortunately, I did eventually go out with her and it was a flaming trainwreck of an outing, so it’s irrelevant.  My self-esteem was horrible back then, and this didn’t help matters all that much.  Other stuff I chronicled during freshman year included my first visit to a strip club, joining a fraternity, meeting up with long-lost friends, and dating the infamous Niki (the first in the evil trilogy.) 

 Going into other entries would take up way too much time, although I *do* feel like sharing this: http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/conspiracy.jpg

I drew that to explain the flow and direction of a fart during a fraternity meeting somehow managed to defy the laws of physics.  The president in the entry was located  at seat “G.”  Anyhow…more stories were written, some of which I won’t bore you with, some of which I’m not brave enough to share.  I even write about losing the closest thing to a father figure that I had in life – my grandfather.  Why is this relevant?  Because as of an hour ago, it’s officially his birthday.  Happy Birthday, Papa. 

What else?  Broke up with whatshername, got back with her, got hit by a train…that’s where I finally stopped writing in it.  That was August of 2002.  That’s 12 years of my life, arguably the best years, all wrapped up into one little notebook.  Since then, I got lazy about writing in it, and figured out how to blog.  Obviously.

What else have fits the “Glory Days” theme?  Well Whatshername decided to get back in touch with me a few months ago out of the blue.  (weirdly enough, I happened to be talking to her while, in the span of 10 minutes, an exiled ice skater AND the 3rd in the Nicki trilogy decided to get a hold of me, through email and Facebook.  I thought that was kinda odd, anyhow.) She’s still living out in NJ and we’ve met up twice since she got back in touch.  While talking to her again and conjuring up old memories is great and all, her goal is to eventually get me to move out east either with or near her.  Sigh.

Now, if she lived near me, this wouldn’t be as much of an issue, but I, in all honesty, am having a hell of a time picturing myself moving out to NJ.  Shay, if you ever read this, don’t take offense.  It’s not you – it’s me.  I’m sure you love your state and the people in it, but I just don’t fit.  Everything’s way more expensive (except gas), the people are rude, and the sports fans….ugh.  That area is right near a ton of Phillies, Rangers, Devils, Yankees, Flyers, and Eagles fans.  I’m a western PA guy, and those teams have always been the enemy.   Call me shallow, call me selfish, but I don’t know if I could handle leaving everything and everyone I know, to completely uproot myself into an area that feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable.  She’s probably the sweetest girl in the world, and if it wasn’t for her job (she’s a teacher and needs to get tenure), she’d easily be able to make that sacrifice for me.  This has already caused friction, because in her mind, she feels that the years-long break in the relationship doesn’t matter.  To me, it’s like we’re just getting to know each other again.  I’m afraid that if I would make a move of that sort, it might not end well, and I’d resent her for it.  I feel more comfortable where I am, but do I really have anything to stick around for?  I know Anne….Colorado is lovely this time of year   Whatshername wants me to meet back up with her over Easter break, so I’ll see what happens if I do head out.

Speaking of Facebook earlier, I decided to do some searching.  If I know you, I’ve probably googled you or facebook searched you.  I can’t help it.  I’m a serial googler.  I’ve googled myself numerous times, so I cover all the bases.  I went on yet another Facebook adventure, where I try to think of someone I used to know, then check out their friend lists to see if I know anyone on there.  On this particular trip, I found a guy who I used to go to school with.  He was in my fraternity and lives somewhat near me.  His profile was open to the public, which is rare, so I decided to poke around.  I found a pic of him on his wall, from an album labled “Random ZBT stuff” from a girl’s page.  This girl, Tanni, used to be one of my better friends up at school.  I can’t remember there ever being any hint of romantic interest between us, though.  I used to consider her the female version of me – we got along real well, and even played the same sports.  As I was our fraternity’s Intramural Chairman, I got teams together, signed them up, and helped schedule them for sports through the college.  Tanni and I were always co-ed partners for any sport involving a net.  Tennis, badminton, ping pong…we were a given.  We played together pretty well, too.  I believe we won a co-ed tennis championship, and I think we took a close 2nd in badminton.  Anyways, I found that I was able to search through her entire album and came across a pic of the 2 of us from a past formal:

I look kinda drunk, yet happy.  I was kinda touched to see she had a pic of us up, so I decided to “tag” it with my info and send her a quick message.  Since then, we talked a bit back and forth.  Seems she lives ridiculously close to me, and we’re both amazed that we haven’t run into each other sooner.  As soon as I added her as a friend, I got another request from her former sorority sister, who eventually married one of my frat brothers.  Now I’m wondering if this is going to mean that a bunch of people I never expected to talk to again are going to want to pop in.  Tanni’s cool, though, so I’m glad I hit her up.  I also found a pic of my former roommate that is WAY too awesome not to share:

Seriously – how awesome is this picture?  My former roommate is the one on the right, btw.  I should probably message her, if only to compliment her on this picture.  Her face cracks me up to no end…

I guess that’s the end of my yesteryears trip for now.  I might add on to this theme with old pics of me at different stages of life, along with amusing anecdotes.  I got a great one that I was thinking I had documented, but I can’t find it in my journal.  Maybe it was in an earlier blog entry, but it involves me, my friend, bottle rockets, roller skates, roadkill, loose highschool girls, minor vandalism, and temporary unconsciousness.  That’s gonna have to wait, though.  I’m tired of writing, and I’m approaching the bubble of this poker tournament (35th out of 49 with 45 getting paid.)  Maybe I’ll get a good return on that entire dollar entree fee.  Whoot.

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….

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.

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

My grandmother had Paul when she was 45, and my mother had me when she was just 21.  As a result, there was only a 9 year age difference between Paul and I.  I grew up with him for much of my life, and he ended up being more like an older brother to me than an uncle.  I, in turn, annoyed him much like a younger brother should.

Later on in life, I stopped taking for granted the type of person he was, and started spending more and more time with him.  Not only did I look to him as a brother, but he became a good friend, as well.  I’d like to tell a story that I think captures Paul’s regard for others:

About 10 years ago, or so, Paul, my friend Jeremy Parker and I went down to a place in Pittsburgh called Market Square.  In the summer, the city would block off the square and bring in a band.  It was a large, outdoor block party with music, college-aged people, and alcohol.  Obviously, that type of atmosphere can sometimes cause friction, and it just so happened that a fight broke out amongst 2 twenty-something guys just a few feet away.  My friend and I, along with almost everyone else, turned to watch.  All of a sudden, someone waded through the crowd towards the 2 guys fighting – It was Paul.  He reached the 2 men, grabbed one from behind, spun him around, and held the other one back with an outstretched arm.  While holding the one guy back, he whispered something into his ear, and then let him go.  The guy looked at him for a bit with a measuring gaze, then wandered off. 

Needless to say, I was amazed.  When I got back to Paul’s side, I asked, “What exactly did you say to that guy?!?”  He just told me that he said, “I told him, ‘you don’t want to do this’ and ‘Pittsburgh cops are near and aren’t to be messed with.’”

It took me a long time before realized the significance of that moment.  In fact, I don’t think it occurred to me until just a couple days ago as I was recalling this story.  Why would someone risk harm just to help two random strangers?  What would cause someone to stop a conflict that had no bearing on themselves, while risking themself in the process?

It really just goes to show the strength of Paul’s care for others, as well as his generosity.  Paul was always generous, even almost to a fault.  Even towards the end of Paul’s life, he was still worried and concerned for others.  I had injured my knee earlier in the year, and even with everything going wrong medically for Paul, he still took time to ask how my knee was feeling.

Looking back, I honestly can’t think of one person who got to know Paul that wasn’t changed for the better.  No matter what he was to you: brother, cousin, uncle, or friend…I know you feel the same way, too.  Thank you.