I hate taking long breaks from blogging only to come back and write an entire blog begging for forgiveness.
So I won't.
Since I've last blogged, I've started a new job. I work for Domestic Uniform Rental. It's not exactly the most prestigious job in the world, but I'm hoping my lack of shame in earning more money and being more responsible makes up for that lack of prestige.
My job consists of delivering uniforms, towels, rugs, and other linen-associated things. And, yes, picking up the dirty ones to be brought to our plant for cleaning. So now you see the entire cycle. A majority of my time is spent driving an obnoxiously large truck. I'm used to driving a 98 Dodge Neon, which is about as big as a large dog. Then I get in this huge truck and have to meander the streets of Center City with inches of room on either side. A bit unnerving to say the least. The mooney is good, and it's only going to get better. I'm working 3 hours earlier than I'm used to, but leaving about 3 hours earlier as well. That, in itself, is worth the job change. Especially now that it's warm out, because I get to do nice stuff outside with my pretty girlfriend.
I work with a LOT of cool guys. Not a bad one in the bunch. It's obvious that they dread the work they have ahead of them, but look forward to getting together at the end of the day to shoot the shit. Some guys stay an hour or two after they're done. I haven't really opened up to all of them yet, so I typically leave as soon as the opportunity presents itself. But I can see myself being friendly with these guys. I actually find it harder to AVOID that.
Well, I'm on the road now and that should also pretty much explain my absence from blogging.
Apologies.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Inbound and Outbound
I'm catching the train late today after I finished some paperwork for the new job I start in about a week. The sun is bright, the temperature is perfect, and the wind is slow but steady. I already find it hard to get on the train and leave all this, but now I'm watching something that makes it even harder.
A man has rode his bike to the train and taken a seat, by himself, on the outbound platform, opposite me. He's eating a pretzel covered in mustard and it's getting all over his face. He begins to mumble to himself and it occurs to me the man is mentally retarded. His bike is next to him, but it's not locked up. This man isn't catching a train anywhere. He came to watch the trains. On a sunny day like this one I can't be anything but jealous about his planned activities. He waves hello to everyone who walks by. If there's a train approaching the station he warns them about it. He mimicks to himself, word for word, the voice over announcing the approaching train.
"Caution. A train is approaching. Please do not cross the tracks."
He puts his 1 liter soda down and stands up to face the outbound train approaching. He waves vigorously and smiles to the conductor of the train. As the train leaves and I once again gain view of him, he is sitting down, devouring his huge salted pretzel.
I think about what he sees in me. Maybe he is jealous that he isn't as capable as I am. Maybe he wishes he could have a job and be normal. But I wish there was some way to prove to him that the people on the opposite side of the tracks envy him the same. And the direction we're headed is probably not as enviable compared to the direction he's headed.
As I got on the train I looked out to see him, standing in the sun, waving to the conductors. Without a care in the world.
A man has rode his bike to the train and taken a seat, by himself, on the outbound platform, opposite me. He's eating a pretzel covered in mustard and it's getting all over his face. He begins to mumble to himself and it occurs to me the man is mentally retarded. His bike is next to him, but it's not locked up. This man isn't catching a train anywhere. He came to watch the trains. On a sunny day like this one I can't be anything but jealous about his planned activities. He waves hello to everyone who walks by. If there's a train approaching the station he warns them about it. He mimicks to himself, word for word, the voice over announcing the approaching train.
"Caution. A train is approaching. Please do not cross the tracks."
He puts his 1 liter soda down and stands up to face the outbound train approaching. He waves vigorously and smiles to the conductor of the train. As the train leaves and I once again gain view of him, he is sitting down, devouring his huge salted pretzel.
I think about what he sees in me. Maybe he is jealous that he isn't as capable as I am. Maybe he wishes he could have a job and be normal. But I wish there was some way to prove to him that the people on the opposite side of the tracks envy him the same. And the direction we're headed is probably not as enviable compared to the direction he's headed.
As I got on the train I looked out to see him, standing in the sun, waving to the conductors. Without a care in the world.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head
I have an important job interview today. I'm taking a half day from my current job so that I can do it. I wore my interview-clothes to work so I had more time to go straight there when I was done. I thought I would do a last minute errand which was about 7 blocks away, and it wasn't raining so I left the umbrella behind thinking it would only slow me down (plus the rain had subsided for the time being). As I stepped outside it got real dark. There were shadows from car's headlights and streetlights. It looked like either a normal midnight, or an apocalyptic noon. I got to where I needed to be -- a business which no longer occupies the given address (thanks mean doorlady) and turned back to walk to City Hall.
BOOM!!
The loudest and most severe thunder clap I think I've heard in years. And, as if signaled to release upon the clap, a million arrows of rain simultaneously blanketed every square inch around me. People began running and using flat, large things to shield them from the rain. Knowing I had quite a walk in front of me, I continued my pace as normal submitting my dry, clean interview-clothes to the rain's wishing.
By the time I got to 15th and Market I was soaked from head to toe. Rain water dripping from my beard and spritzing from my lips as I blew the drops off into a mist.
At this point most people would be very upset. Rain, after all, is very symbolic of all things depressing. I'm sure you can picture a child with his head looking out the window at his brand new playset, with the shadows of the raindrops on the opposing side looking ironically like teardrops as they're cast on his face. Or the image of a field crew running across the baseball field, tarp in hands, as they cover the field in front of thousands of now-miserable fans. And you could just as easily picture me at that very moment. As I look up at the clock on City Hall clocktower (I like looking at that clock. It feels cool.) I lose track of where I'm going and step right into a huge puddle. I'm leary on calling it a puddle, because I'm pretty sure I could have sailed across it. My foot sinks in a good two inches, and as if to celebrate this occasion, a jerktaxi speeds into the same lakepuddle I was now drowning in and douses my already douses khakis. They were wet, now wetter. I couldn't get mad at him. At this point it would be like getting angry at someone who scratched your car after you slammed it into a telephone pole.
I came into City Hall looking like I was in the front row at a really interactive Sea World show. Everybody expected the drenched clothes to be accompanied by a frowny face, but I lacked a frowny face. I got the "Mann, I would be pissed!" and the "Ohh damn. Guess you can't make your interview, huh?", but I shrugged my shoulders as I rung out my favorite button down.
There's some things in life that make you so happy, not even vicious acts of nature can wash them away.
Wish me luck at my job "interview".
BOOM!!
The loudest and most severe thunder clap I think I've heard in years. And, as if signaled to release upon the clap, a million arrows of rain simultaneously blanketed every square inch around me. People began running and using flat, large things to shield them from the rain. Knowing I had quite a walk in front of me, I continued my pace as normal submitting my dry, clean interview-clothes to the rain's wishing.
By the time I got to 15th and Market I was soaked from head to toe. Rain water dripping from my beard and spritzing from my lips as I blew the drops off into a mist.
At this point most people would be very upset. Rain, after all, is very symbolic of all things depressing. I'm sure you can picture a child with his head looking out the window at his brand new playset, with the shadows of the raindrops on the opposing side looking ironically like teardrops as they're cast on his face. Or the image of a field crew running across the baseball field, tarp in hands, as they cover the field in front of thousands of now-miserable fans. And you could just as easily picture me at that very moment. As I look up at the clock on City Hall clocktower (I like looking at that clock. It feels cool.) I lose track of where I'm going and step right into a huge puddle. I'm leary on calling it a puddle, because I'm pretty sure I could have sailed across it. My foot sinks in a good two inches, and as if to celebrate this occasion, a jerktaxi speeds into the same lakepuddle I was now drowning in and douses my already douses khakis. They were wet, now wetter. I couldn't get mad at him. At this point it would be like getting angry at someone who scratched your car after you slammed it into a telephone pole.
I came into City Hall looking like I was in the front row at a really interactive Sea World show. Everybody expected the drenched clothes to be accompanied by a frowny face, but I lacked a frowny face. I got the "Mann, I would be pissed!" and the "Ohh damn. Guess you can't make your interview, huh?", but I shrugged my shoulders as I rung out my favorite button down.
There's some things in life that make you so happy, not even vicious acts of nature can wash them away.
Wish me luck at my job "interview".
On Littering
The other day I was walking along Market Street and I noticed a woman drinking a very big energy drink from a can bigger than her head. The kind that split their nutrition facts into 8 servings. She turned it bottom-side up to get every last sugary, artificially flavored drop. As she came down from her motion she simply let go of the can. It dropped to the curb at the bus stop she was standing at. She smacked her lips and let out a satisfied "Ahhh" as I began to boil with rage. Before I even formulated what I was going to do I already began to do it. I said to her, in a very sarcastically nice manner, "Excuse me ma'am. You dropped something." She looked around her immediate area and said "What? No I didn't." at which point I made her notice the behemoth of a can she had so graciously thrown to the ground. At this point another man walking by had brought her attention to the same thing. She told me she didn't want it anymore and if I wanted it, I could pick it up. I went on to tell her how it wasn't mine and I was just doing her a favor by pointing it out. She said something along the lines of "Well it's trash now." in a very mean manner to which i slyly responded "Doesn't that belong in a trash can then?"
She yelled at me incoherently as I continued to walk by, but I know I did the right thing. (She was also ten feet from a trash can.)
If there is one thing that pisses me off more than anything it's when people purposely leave their trash on the ground because they are too lazy to find a trash can. The average littering individual may believe their contribution won't matter when looking at the grand scale of how dirty our city can sometimes look. But if EVERY littering individual just casually took four seconds out of their life to approach a trash can, we wouldn't have such a filthy city. Hold on to your bottle caps, your cigarette wrapper, your plastic bags etc. Because as an individual you're just a lazy slob, but as a group of lazy slobs we gain an image that isn't as easy to just leave by a curb and hope someone else takes care of.
She yelled at me incoherently as I continued to walk by, but I know I did the right thing. (She was also ten feet from a trash can.)
If there is one thing that pisses me off more than anything it's when people purposely leave their trash on the ground because they are too lazy to find a trash can. The average littering individual may believe their contribution won't matter when looking at the grand scale of how dirty our city can sometimes look. But if EVERY littering individual just casually took four seconds out of their life to approach a trash can, we wouldn't have such a filthy city. Hold on to your bottle caps, your cigarette wrapper, your plastic bags etc. Because as an individual you're just a lazy slob, but as a group of lazy slobs we gain an image that isn't as easy to just leave by a curb and hope someone else takes care of.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Boring Update
Good morning.
I am a bad blogger. It's been entirely too long.
Today I woke up with only minor symptoms of the mystery stomach bug that invaded my body Saturday night. Ever feel like your intestines were literally flipped backwards and inflated? So weird. Well the doctor gave me a neat magical pill which straightened everything out. I ate like twice in the past three days.
No trees have been planted yet. We are not good at getting together on the same day and remembering to do so. Maybe we'll do it this weekend if we have time. I feel I need the proper necessities first. I have a good shovel (even though a small handshovel will work fine), but we could use some soil and maybe a chicken wire fence (to keep away chickens?). Gatsby hasnt grown much in the past week. i think he wants out. It's also been dreary and overcast the past few days so maybe he just needs a little sun and he'll get back into the swing of things.
Here I go, off to work. I have a job interview tomorrow so I have to leave early. I took off Monday and left early Tuesday due to the stomach bug. It's going to suck to ask to leave a few hours early Friday, because this whole week has just been real shitty for everyone, but I have to do it so I can only hope they'll understand.
Later!
I am a bad blogger. It's been entirely too long.
Today I woke up with only minor symptoms of the mystery stomach bug that invaded my body Saturday night. Ever feel like your intestines were literally flipped backwards and inflated? So weird. Well the doctor gave me a neat magical pill which straightened everything out. I ate like twice in the past three days.
No trees have been planted yet. We are not good at getting together on the same day and remembering to do so. Maybe we'll do it this weekend if we have time. I feel I need the proper necessities first. I have a good shovel (even though a small handshovel will work fine), but we could use some soil and maybe a chicken wire fence (to keep away chickens?). Gatsby hasnt grown much in the past week. i think he wants out. It's also been dreary and overcast the past few days so maybe he just needs a little sun and he'll get back into the swing of things.
Here I go, off to work. I have a job interview tomorrow so I have to leave early. I took off Monday and left early Tuesday due to the stomach bug. It's going to suck to ask to leave a few hours early Friday, because this whole week has just been real shitty for everyone, but I have to do it so I can only hope they'll understand.
Later!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Shadows
I took down all the posters in my room last night. I felt I was getting too old to have movie posters hang in my room. That night, as I laid in bed, I could see the shadow of my blinds created from the streetlight across the street. I hadn't seen them for about five years -- when i put up the posters. As I looked at the shadows on the wall I felt as if I was 17 again. But it was a short-lived moment, because nothing will ever be the same as it was five years ago.
I slept very well last night.
I slept very well last night.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Return!/Gatsby
Wow! It's been so long! Well, fret not my loyal army of readers, my phone is back in action and that also means I am too. I will blog about my tree since I haven't been able to do so since I purchased it.
On the last day of the Philadelphia Flower Show, Kristin and I got a sweet ass deal on two infant redwoods. They were practically screaming for us from the "3 for $6" table. I was anxious to not return home empty handed so when I saw a twig in a pot of soil I said, "Why not?". I grabbed one for Kristin and one for me (the two biggrest twigs I saw) and was about to get in line to purchase them. We both figured "Cool. A nice little plant for us each to take care of and talk about." Wrong. I asked the friendly sales-lady what two objects I held in my hands and a little bit about how to take care of them. To our surprise I was holding two infant trees. She told us to keep them moist and give them plenty of sun. And not to plant them until the first day of Spring. We obliged. I asked her how tall these trees typically grow. She said "One fifty". We paused waiting for some unit of measurement we've never heard before. "Feet" she said. To which Kristin hastily responded "Sold!"
We chose our individual plants and took them to our respective houses. After a week of watering and feeding it sun via my bedroom window, my tree has grown about half an inch and has sprouted MANY tiny green leaves. It has also gained a name; Gatsby. I'm a sucker for literature and he's by far one of my favorite characters in any book ever.
Tomorrow is the first day of Spring. Tomorrow is when I plant Gatsby where he'll be (hopefully) for the next 1000 years. It will be a joyous occasion, but it will be terribly sad to see Gatsby out in the real world all by himself. Instead of a little plastic pot on my windowsill.
On the last day of the Philadelphia Flower Show, Kristin and I got a sweet ass deal on two infant redwoods. They were practically screaming for us from the "3 for $6" table. I was anxious to not return home empty handed so when I saw a twig in a pot of soil I said, "Why not?". I grabbed one for Kristin and one for me (the two biggrest twigs I saw) and was about to get in line to purchase them. We both figured "Cool. A nice little plant for us each to take care of and talk about." Wrong. I asked the friendly sales-lady what two objects I held in my hands and a little bit about how to take care of them. To our surprise I was holding two infant trees. She told us to keep them moist and give them plenty of sun. And not to plant them until the first day of Spring. We obliged. I asked her how tall these trees typically grow. She said "One fifty". We paused waiting for some unit of measurement we've never heard before. "Feet" she said. To which Kristin hastily responded "Sold!"
We chose our individual plants and took them to our respective houses. After a week of watering and feeding it sun via my bedroom window, my tree has grown about half an inch and has sprouted MANY tiny green leaves. It has also gained a name; Gatsby. I'm a sucker for literature and he's by far one of my favorite characters in any book ever.
Tomorrow is the first day of Spring. Tomorrow is when I plant Gatsby where he'll be (hopefully) for the next 1000 years. It will be a joyous occasion, but it will be terribly sad to see Gatsby out in the real world all by himself. Instead of a little plastic pot on my windowsill.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
WHERE is a Keith????
Hello FOK (Friends of Keith):
This is a message for all (three) of you out there reading this (or trying to). I would like to apologize on his behalf for the absence of Keith over the past several days. Try as he might, he cannot get his not-so-cool-anymore Google phone to work. At all. So between bouts of saying, "I wish I'd gotten the iPhone," and tossing the G1 against walls and car floors, he hasn't had the time or technology (his loaner phone is not nearly as advanced as the aforementioned Google) to update his blog as of late. He hopes you will forgive this when he comes back and blogs happily away.
Thank you all for your support in this trying time,
Kristin
This is a message for all (three) of you out there reading this (or trying to). I would like to apologize on his behalf for the absence of Keith over the past several days. Try as he might, he cannot get his not-so-cool-anymore Google phone to work. At all. So between bouts of saying, "I wish I'd gotten the iPhone," and tossing the G1 against walls and car floors, he hasn't had the time or technology (his loaner phone is not nearly as advanced as the aforementioned Google) to update his blog as of late. He hopes you will forgive this when he comes back and blogs happily away.
Thank you all for your support in this trying time,
Kristin
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Snow Delay (Please?)
Today I woke up, after having a day off due to snow, not wanting to go to work. The same snow that closed the city down yesterday is still piled in my street, so it's pretty ironic the city took a day off and couldn't even get plows to take care of our streets.
Well anyway, I woke up about ten minutes late, but didn't worry because the trains are typically delayed several minutes during shitty weather. I got some clothes on, brushed my teeth, blah blah typical morning routine. By the time I got to the train station it was right when the train usually arrives. I still had to buy a ticket so I was glad it wasn't right on time like I predicted. As I crossed the tracks I found out my prediction was wrong. Its light turned the corner and the bells began going off where it was about to cross the road -- where I was standing. I jumped off of the tracks, not to get out of the way, but to race the train to the ticket office.
So here I am. Wearing sneakers and no socks, plowing through the snow with my jacket unzipped and my bag hanging off one of my arms. Of course I make it to the office in good time, but alas... Deborah Debit-Card was making a purchase. I waited for ten seconds and then jumped on the now-leaving train. I had to pay a $1.50 surcharge. That could have bought me coffee to make this morning a little less suckier.
Well anyway, I woke up about ten minutes late, but didn't worry because the trains are typically delayed several minutes during shitty weather. I got some clothes on, brushed my teeth, blah blah typical morning routine. By the time I got to the train station it was right when the train usually arrives. I still had to buy a ticket so I was glad it wasn't right on time like I predicted. As I crossed the tracks I found out my prediction was wrong. Its light turned the corner and the bells began going off where it was about to cross the road -- where I was standing. I jumped off of the tracks, not to get out of the way, but to race the train to the ticket office.
So here I am. Wearing sneakers and no socks, plowing through the snow with my jacket unzipped and my bag hanging off one of my arms. Of course I make it to the office in good time, but alas... Deborah Debit-Card was making a purchase. I waited for ten seconds and then jumped on the now-leaving train. I had to pay a $1.50 surcharge. That could have bought me coffee to make this morning a little less suckier.
Friday, February 27, 2009
First Day of Shooting - At Best I am a Beast - Pennies
On my way to play my role in a few scenes of an independent film being shot near Kutztown, PA.
I took a nasty spill a few days ago while skiing and the pain in my back was excruciating for a bit. Today it felt a lot better, but just now, as I got in the car, it felt as if someone shanked me in my kidney.
It will be an interesting experience, to say the least. I've been looking forward to shooting these scenes for quite some time now and now that it's here I'm hoping that nothing goes wrong. My role is crucial and (at risk of sounding arrogant) I think it may be the main point of this independent movie.
I get to wear a tie and shoot fake automatic weapons. Hell yeah!
Keep checking for more updates.
I miss my brand new girlfriend.
I took a nasty spill a few days ago while skiing and the pain in my back was excruciating for a bit. Today it felt a lot better, but just now, as I got in the car, it felt as if someone shanked me in my kidney.
It will be an interesting experience, to say the least. I've been looking forward to shooting these scenes for quite some time now and now that it's here I'm hoping that nothing goes wrong. My role is crucial and (at risk of sounding arrogant) I think it may be the main point of this independent movie.
I get to wear a tie and shoot fake automatic weapons. Hell yeah!
Keep checking for more updates.
I miss my brand new girlfriend.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Poem Story
Last night during President (so weird/awesome to say that) Obama's address to Congress, Kristin and I did like Kristin and I do best, and laid on the couch. After a rough day of dealing with a lot of things I was just comfortable to be with her, and all of the anxiety of the day manifested itself into a deep sleep within MINUTES of her laying down next to me on the couch. I had a dream and in the dream I came up with a spoken-word poem that I considered magnificent. In my dream, I told it to Kristin, who smiled and told me it was good. Turns out I wasn't dreaming. Today, when reciting the poem, she told me I had already told her last night. I was so comfortable with her, I thought I was dreaming. Makes sense considering I have to pinch myself everytime she refers to me as her boyfriend.
Here is the poem:
Looked left, looked right.
I was right. She had left.
There's nothing left to write.
Here is the poem:
Looked left, looked right.
I was right. She had left.
There's nothing left to write.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Ten (six) questions.
I asked people on Facebook to give me questions I could answer in my blog. The first ten would be answered. I made it to six.
1. Why? (Erik M.)
Because I am self-centered, totally full of myself and nothing gives me more pleasure than Q+A sessions. And because I'm fresh out of ideas on things to write and Kristin will make fun of me.
2. Personally, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the impending zombie apocalypse. (Jesse C.)
Well. I think as long as we don't run up any stairs to seek safety, and keep plenty of shovels and icepicks nearby we should be okay. Also, don't go outside looking for a loved one or a pet, because, man, they're gone.
3. Have you ever heard the phrase "Shake your money maker" and, upon following the instructions, had money follow your actions? (Brian F.)
Thanks, Brian. I'm trying to think of a way to answer this question. Oh wait. No.
4. Why do you suck at life? (Kenny F.)
I don't. You just see what you want to see. You have what many optometrists refer to as "Mental Retardation".
5. Have you ever used your talent to open your throat and chug beer for more practical uses? (Patrick F.)
Yes. Good question. I use it to swallow cats by the whole. You may not consider that practical, but you'd say different if stray cats kept you up all night. Problem: solved.
6. When did you realize you and Brian were meant for each other? (Rachel S.)
One night Brian came over and asked if I had Will and Grace - Season 3. I said "Yes. And every other season before and after." We watched every episode while holding hands. Even the special features.
1. Why? (Erik M.)
Because I am self-centered, totally full of myself and nothing gives me more pleasure than Q+A sessions. And because I'm fresh out of ideas on things to write and Kristin will make fun of me.
2. Personally, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the impending zombie apocalypse. (Jesse C.)
Well. I think as long as we don't run up any stairs to seek safety, and keep plenty of shovels and icepicks nearby we should be okay. Also, don't go outside looking for a loved one or a pet, because, man, they're gone.
3. Have you ever heard the phrase "Shake your money maker" and, upon following the instructions, had money follow your actions? (Brian F.)
Thanks, Brian. I'm trying to think of a way to answer this question. Oh wait. No.
4. Why do you suck at life? (Kenny F.)
I don't. You just see what you want to see. You have what many optometrists refer to as "Mental Retardation".
5. Have you ever used your talent to open your throat and chug beer for more practical uses? (Patrick F.)
Yes. Good question. I use it to swallow cats by the whole. You may not consider that practical, but you'd say different if stray cats kept you up all night. Problem: solved.
6. When did you realize you and Brian were meant for each other? (Rachel S.)
One night Brian came over and asked if I had Will and Grace - Season 3. I said "Yes. And every other season before and after." We watched every episode while holding hands. Even the special features.
The Real Problems That Affect Modern Society
I don't like how a lot of people complain about the economy. I personally think there's a lot more that we could all focus our negative energy on. Like, for instance, the fact that all shoes don't have velcro straps. I don't know about everyone else, but baby Keith rocked velcro shoes better, and more often than other people. When friends would come knock for my brothers and I, there was no "Wait as I tie my shoes." for this guy. Nope. Right out the door. I switched when I found the choice in shoes was much more abundant in the laced variety. And also, because, as my Father put it, "You're a grown man. Stop wearing velcro strapped shoes." Whatever Dad. I'll rock my Adidas' for now, but can't nobody hold me down.
It's people like my Dad who worry about dumb things like the economy and recession and analog to digital TV conversion kits and run-on sentences. Doesn't anybody worry about the small things? Like, we're entering the second decade of the new millenium and people still can't travel by tube. Baby Keith used to stay up late, looking outside of his bedroom window and thinking "Boy oh boy. Can't wait until 2009 when I can take a tube to Mom-mom's house instead of hitchiking there every weekend with my family." Well it's 2009 now, and I still look out the same exact window as a 23 year old man and hate the world (partly because I sleep in the same room I did when I was 7). My friend has a hamster who has two cages connected via tubes. Jealous. If hamsters ruled the world, things would be different. Much different.
I just wish people would open their eyes to the real problems that are tearing our country apart. Like velcro shoes, and lack of tube-travel.
It's people like my Dad who worry about dumb things like the economy and recession and analog to digital TV conversion kits and run-on sentences. Doesn't anybody worry about the small things? Like, we're entering the second decade of the new millenium and people still can't travel by tube. Baby Keith used to stay up late, looking outside of his bedroom window and thinking "Boy oh boy. Can't wait until 2009 when I can take a tube to Mom-mom's house instead of hitchiking there every weekend with my family." Well it's 2009 now, and I still look out the same exact window as a 23 year old man and hate the world (partly because I sleep in the same room I did when I was 7). My friend has a hamster who has two cages connected via tubes. Jealous. If hamsters ruled the world, things would be different. Much different.
I just wish people would open their eyes to the real problems that are tearing our country apart. Like velcro shoes, and lack of tube-travel.
Fight weekend
Coming back from skiing now. In a great deal of pain. Not necessarily because of skiing (I'm an expert skier. It says so on my lift ticket.), but mostly because of the drunken brawl that happened Friday night.
We had a few to drink before we left and by the time we got to our hotel in East Stroudsburg we were feeling good. We went right to the bar and proceeded to drink more. They had dollar beers! I have no idea how many I drank, but we took a cab back to the hotel and the fight began.
There was no real reason to fight, but when sleeping arrangements were agreed upon, it was also like choosing sides in the most brutal rumble you could imagine. It was one bed versus the other. Me and my old man versus my two brothers. I'm not too sure on the details, but I know some serious injuries occurred. I chipped Kean's tooth with a vicious uppercut. He also had my right arm pinned and just punched it a dozen or so times as hard as he could. My Dad tackled Kean through a closet and they both emerged with head wounds. I got punched pretty bad in the lower lip and that had me sidelined for a bit with blood pouring out. My Dad's got some serious rib bruises, and a nice gash on his head, but it's safe to say he dealt the most damage out of all of us. It's been two days since that fight and I'm still discovering bruises and cuts.
It wasn't a serious fight. We just tend to do that whenever we get drunk.
Also, later that night I woke up in the middle of sleepwalking outside a man's hotel room, in my underwear as he asked me "What the hell do you want?".
I had no answer for him.
We had a few to drink before we left and by the time we got to our hotel in East Stroudsburg we were feeling good. We went right to the bar and proceeded to drink more. They had dollar beers! I have no idea how many I drank, but we took a cab back to the hotel and the fight began.
There was no real reason to fight, but when sleeping arrangements were agreed upon, it was also like choosing sides in the most brutal rumble you could imagine. It was one bed versus the other. Me and my old man versus my two brothers. I'm not too sure on the details, but I know some serious injuries occurred. I chipped Kean's tooth with a vicious uppercut. He also had my right arm pinned and just punched it a dozen or so times as hard as he could. My Dad tackled Kean through a closet and they both emerged with head wounds. I got punched pretty bad in the lower lip and that had me sidelined for a bit with blood pouring out. My Dad's got some serious rib bruises, and a nice gash on his head, but it's safe to say he dealt the most damage out of all of us. It's been two days since that fight and I'm still discovering bruises and cuts.
It wasn't a serious fight. We just tend to do that whenever we get drunk.
Also, later that night I woke up in the middle of sleepwalking outside a man's hotel room, in my underwear as he asked me "What the hell do you want?".
I had no answer for him.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Skiing
I'm going skiing this weekend.
We (me, my brothers, and our Dad) go once a year around this time to Shawnee mountain. The three of us pay for my Dad's whole trip as a Christmas gift every year. If you knew my Dad you'd realize it's getting increasingly hard to buy gifts for him since all we can think of is usually ties, and golf balls. So every year for the past three years, we've all chipped in for a ski & stay package. It's like a Christmas gift for all of us, to be honest.
We'll plan to leave around six or seven o'clock, but we probably won't until eight or nine o'clock. There might be a few beverages shared amongst the passengers, but not too much to interrupt our collective decision-making. We'll check in incredibly late, put our suitcases on the floor, argue briefly about sleeping arrangements, and walk to a nearby bar. We'll play pool and carry on until very late. The next morning, we'll get breakfast (hungover?), and get ready to go skiing.
Skiing with my brothers and Dad is an experience in and of itself. Everyone will try their hardest to top the other one in displays of skill and it typically ends in brutal crashes, and run-away skis. Our Dad is reaching the age where he might not be in perfect physical condition to do what he used to do, but he still manages to get through it with minimal injury. It will start out slow. Maybe one trip down the bunny hill to get used to it again. Then if anybody mentions anything harder, we HAVE to do it or else we look cowardly, and the rest will make this known with crybaby gestures and whimper noises. This year will be different, because the last one has turned 21 so we can all drink in the lodge. I always said the only thing more fun than skiing is drunk skiing. This should be exciting.
That night we'll sleep before we go out again, and carry on as usual, telling stories about the day's earlier outing. The next morning we'll wake up with ten minutes until check out and we'll stop somewhere for breakfast before going home and bringing an end to our yearly tradition.
We (me, my brothers, and our Dad) go once a year around this time to Shawnee mountain. The three of us pay for my Dad's whole trip as a Christmas gift every year. If you knew my Dad you'd realize it's getting increasingly hard to buy gifts for him since all we can think of is usually ties, and golf balls. So every year for the past three years, we've all chipped in for a ski & stay package. It's like a Christmas gift for all of us, to be honest.
We'll plan to leave around six or seven o'clock, but we probably won't until eight or nine o'clock. There might be a few beverages shared amongst the passengers, but not too much to interrupt our collective decision-making. We'll check in incredibly late, put our suitcases on the floor, argue briefly about sleeping arrangements, and walk to a nearby bar. We'll play pool and carry on until very late. The next morning, we'll get breakfast (hungover?), and get ready to go skiing.
Skiing with my brothers and Dad is an experience in and of itself. Everyone will try their hardest to top the other one in displays of skill and it typically ends in brutal crashes, and run-away skis. Our Dad is reaching the age where he might not be in perfect physical condition to do what he used to do, but he still manages to get through it with minimal injury. It will start out slow. Maybe one trip down the bunny hill to get used to it again. Then if anybody mentions anything harder, we HAVE to do it or else we look cowardly, and the rest will make this known with crybaby gestures and whimper noises. This year will be different, because the last one has turned 21 so we can all drink in the lodge. I always said the only thing more fun than skiing is drunk skiing. This should be exciting.
That night we'll sleep before we go out again, and carry on as usual, telling stories about the day's earlier outing. The next morning we'll wake up with ten minutes until check out and we'll stop somewhere for breakfast before going home and bringing an end to our yearly tradition.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Another Blog About Kristin Rotondo
I told you she would be hard to keep out of my blogs.
Yet another beautiful day passed and again she was constantly in my thoughts. Although we were very far apart she managed to make the distance feel a lot less as she continuously told me nice things via text message. Working full-time and going to school definitely sucks when there's a pretty girl you don't get to see in the daylight.
That will change though. We're both equally excited about each other, and our excitedness just makes us more excited. I guess you could say our feelings for one another are growing exponentially. We have exciting plans for the near and distant future and it generally makes life NOT suck.
I told her something I'll say here. Typically, I'm not worried about getting hit by cars at work. It would hurt, but i would have a neat story, and I would (probably) get lots of money. But ever since Kristin Rotondo came in the picture, the idea of getting slammed by a car has become less awesome. I wouldnt, for one day, want to miss out on any day with her. She is definitely what keeps me looking both ways when crossing the street now.
God. I am crazy about her.
Yet another beautiful day passed and again she was constantly in my thoughts. Although we were very far apart she managed to make the distance feel a lot less as she continuously told me nice things via text message. Working full-time and going to school definitely sucks when there's a pretty girl you don't get to see in the daylight.
That will change though. We're both equally excited about each other, and our excitedness just makes us more excited. I guess you could say our feelings for one another are growing exponentially. We have exciting plans for the near and distant future and it generally makes life NOT suck.
I told her something I'll say here. Typically, I'm not worried about getting hit by cars at work. It would hurt, but i would have a neat story, and I would (probably) get lots of money. But ever since Kristin Rotondo came in the picture, the idea of getting slammed by a car has become less awesome. I wouldnt, for one day, want to miss out on any day with her. She is definitely what keeps me looking both ways when crossing the street now.
God. I am crazy about her.
Monday, February 9, 2009
My Most Loyal Reader
I would like to thank one of my most loyal readers by showing everyone a video of him performing at Penns Landing.
Hi Tim!
Hi Tim!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
On Being Tall
There are a lot of benefits of being tall. Shorter people could probably list them better than I could because they dwell on it much more often than I take advantage of it. You tend to remember things more clearly when they limit your daily activities. Such as reaching for a glass in the cupboard, changing a lightbulb, or being more physically attractive.
What most people don't realize are the downsides of being large. Those I can list.
It's impossible to lay comfortably on a couch.
Doorways.
You get spotted ANYWHERE you go.
"Oh you're nice and tall. Could you be a nice boy and grab that industrial sized jar of pickles up there?"
Not only can you drive with your knees, but in some cases (like a Dodge Neon...) it's almost impossible not to.
Ever hear you're too tall to ride a rollercoaster? I have. (Imagine me standing, holding my cotton candy, looking up through tears as the rollercoaster ascends the lift)
Trampolines? Nope!
Not being able to sit Indian style.
Not being able to wrestle your 114 pound girlfriend without breaking her nose by accident.
"Let's go start a fight with that super-tall dude. He probably thinks he's so freakin' cool."
After doing your business in a bathroom stall, you can stand up and make eye contact with everyone who now knows you just did your business in that bathroom stall.
Group photographs.
Being first pick in basketball when you're really not that good at basketball.
Typical first reaction to a severe fall is usually laughter.
Buying pants.
The list goes on and on. There are also small events during the day which make me wish I wasn't so tall. For instance, I recently held the door for a midget (an actual midget). I was walking out as he was walking in. My first instinct was to not stare (or feed him skittles, or open my bag towards him while pointing inside of it). I would hold the door for him as I would any person twice his size. But in the matter we exited and entered simultaneously, I was forced to arch my arm above him to make sure the heavy glass door didn't squish him. He stopped and looked up. I kept my eyes level staring at the wall. He then thanked me and walked right underneath my outstretched arm. Like a bridge of sympathy, I stood staring at the adjacent wall. Using my peripheral vision, as well as my 3 foot height advantage, I surveyed the lobby to see if anyone else was catching a glimpse of the most awkward moment in human history. There was one man holding a newspaper who took an extra second before getting on the now-waiting elevator to make sure he knew what he was seeing.
I exited quickly and got my laughs out for a good ten minutes.
In a building later in the same day, I waited for an elevator going down. One opened and as I stepped in it occurred to me I was easily two feet taller than any other passenger. Of course the only spot left for me to stand was right in the middle. The mirrored doors closed about two feet in front of me and I could clearly get a third person's view of how dumb I looked. There I was... a 6'4" bearded man surrounded by the lollipop guild. What should have been a short (no pun-intended) ride turned out feeling like a 70 story trip from Munchkinland. When the doors opened, I was happy not to see a yellow brick road, and I once again left the building without laughing until I was outside.
It's moments like these that make me wish I wasn't tall. My mental image of myself is roughly around 6' tall and when stuff happens to remind me I'm considerably bigger than that, it tends to ruin my day.
What most people don't realize are the downsides of being large. Those I can list.
It's impossible to lay comfortably on a couch.
Doorways.
You get spotted ANYWHERE you go.
"Oh you're nice and tall. Could you be a nice boy and grab that industrial sized jar of pickles up there?"
Not only can you drive with your knees, but in some cases (like a Dodge Neon...) it's almost impossible not to.
Ever hear you're too tall to ride a rollercoaster? I have. (Imagine me standing, holding my cotton candy, looking up through tears as the rollercoaster ascends the lift)
Trampolines? Nope!
Not being able to sit Indian style.
Not being able to wrestle your 114 pound girlfriend without breaking her nose by accident.
"Let's go start a fight with that super-tall dude. He probably thinks he's so freakin' cool."
After doing your business in a bathroom stall, you can stand up and make eye contact with everyone who now knows you just did your business in that bathroom stall.
Group photographs.
Being first pick in basketball when you're really not that good at basketball.
Typical first reaction to a severe fall is usually laughter.
Buying pants.
The list goes on and on. There are also small events during the day which make me wish I wasn't so tall. For instance, I recently held the door for a midget (an actual midget). I was walking out as he was walking in. My first instinct was to not stare (or feed him skittles, or open my bag towards him while pointing inside of it). I would hold the door for him as I would any person twice his size. But in the matter we exited and entered simultaneously, I was forced to arch my arm above him to make sure the heavy glass door didn't squish him. He stopped and looked up. I kept my eyes level staring at the wall. He then thanked me and walked right underneath my outstretched arm. Like a bridge of sympathy, I stood staring at the adjacent wall. Using my peripheral vision, as well as my 3 foot height advantage, I surveyed the lobby to see if anyone else was catching a glimpse of the most awkward moment in human history. There was one man holding a newspaper who took an extra second before getting on the now-waiting elevator to make sure he knew what he was seeing.
I exited quickly and got my laughs out for a good ten minutes.
In a building later in the same day, I waited for an elevator going down. One opened and as I stepped in it occurred to me I was easily two feet taller than any other passenger. Of course the only spot left for me to stand was right in the middle. The mirrored doors closed about two feet in front of me and I could clearly get a third person's view of how dumb I looked. There I was... a 6'4" bearded man surrounded by the lollipop guild. What should have been a short (no pun-intended) ride turned out feeling like a 70 story trip from Munchkinland. When the doors opened, I was happy not to see a yellow brick road, and I once again left the building without laughing until I was outside.
It's moments like these that make me wish I wasn't tall. My mental image of myself is roughly around 6' tall and when stuff happens to remind me I'm considerably bigger than that, it tends to ruin my day.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Train Claim Man
This guy on the train is trying a move on this girl he likes. He's sitting in the middle of a fully occupied 3-person bench. His crush is sitting on the left side, next to the window. He's awkwardly got his left arm around her to signify "She's mine." (ease off, Barry-Body-language. She's not the prize catfish you think she is. We'd all like her on your line more than our own.)
Our friend Barry (I'm giving him that name) has pretty much sacrificed comfort in order to pull off this acrobatic stunt. Being as crowded as it is, to pull his arm away once it gets tired or -- like the man sitting next to me -- falls asleep, he will definitely cause a disruption to the middle aged secretary-woman wearing a fleece sweater sitting to his right. The whole point of getting this girl is to make it look natural and effortless. Now your dumb ass is being forced to mimick a scarecrow in your attempt to let people know you forcefully Christopher Columbus'd her North America.
My stop is coming up. I'd love to stick around and see if your eye-level pit-stain becomes apparent to your claim, but I have my own girl to put my arm around.
Our friend Barry (I'm giving him that name) has pretty much sacrificed comfort in order to pull off this acrobatic stunt. Being as crowded as it is, to pull his arm away once it gets tired or -- like the man sitting next to me -- falls asleep, he will definitely cause a disruption to the middle aged secretary-woman wearing a fleece sweater sitting to his right. The whole point of getting this girl is to make it look natural and effortless. Now your dumb ass is being forced to mimick a scarecrow in your attempt to let people know you forcefully Christopher Columbus'd her North America.
My stop is coming up. I'd love to stick around and see if your eye-level pit-stain becomes apparent to your claim, but I have my own girl to put my arm around.
A letter to the woman-in-the-office
Dear Woman-in-office,
You may know me as the guy who comes into your office three days a week via the door right in front of your cubicle. You may know me as the tall bearded guy with a smile who says hello to you every afternoon without fail. This letter is from me to you, in an effort to let you know how much I despise every single inch of you.
Never have I ever met someone who so obviously turns a blind eye to friendly salutations as you. I thought it was a fluke at first and you just didn't happen to hear me as I said "Hi, how are you?" and you just looked at me and turned your head. After a year of you sitting in that same seat, and after a year of saying hello with no response, I am convinced you are just a miserable witch.
Being an extrovert I am fueled by interaction. To be shut down so bluntly day after day is taking a severe toll on my ego and I vow not to lose. Yes, you still refuse to say hi to me even after looking me dead in the eyes as I say hello, but I'm still going to do it because you're an evil evil woman and I won't let you change my outward personality. Even though in my dreams you're being burned alive I would still cherish the day that you atleast smiled at me, or gave a wave. Not as an invitation to be best friends, but a friendly "Hey, I exist and so do you." acknowledgment.
So in reality, woman-in-office, I would enjoy stapling your eyelids open and punching you repeatedly in the ribs. But instead I'll just keep saying hello and being totally ignored.
Love always,
Keith Maynard
You may know me as the guy who comes into your office three days a week via the door right in front of your cubicle. You may know me as the tall bearded guy with a smile who says hello to you every afternoon without fail. This letter is from me to you, in an effort to let you know how much I despise every single inch of you.
Never have I ever met someone who so obviously turns a blind eye to friendly salutations as you. I thought it was a fluke at first and you just didn't happen to hear me as I said "Hi, how are you?" and you just looked at me and turned your head. After a year of you sitting in that same seat, and after a year of saying hello with no response, I am convinced you are just a miserable witch.
Being an extrovert I am fueled by interaction. To be shut down so bluntly day after day is taking a severe toll on my ego and I vow not to lose. Yes, you still refuse to say hi to me even after looking me dead in the eyes as I say hello, but I'm still going to do it because you're an evil evil woman and I won't let you change my outward personality. Even though in my dreams you're being burned alive I would still cherish the day that you atleast smiled at me, or gave a wave. Not as an invitation to be best friends, but a friendly "Hey, I exist and so do you." acknowledgment.
So in reality, woman-in-office, I would enjoy stapling your eyelids open and punching you repeatedly in the ribs. But instead I'll just keep saying hello and being totally ignored.
Love always,
Keith Maynard
Friday, January 30, 2009
Footprints
My boots crushed the thin layer of ice atop the previous day's snowfall as I approached her front door. It had been three weeks since I had ended our relationship and I was here to see how she felt, what she'd been doing, and to beg for her forgiveness. The crunchy snow had ceased at the beginning of her patio. Someone had shoveled it the day before, and at the edges what was once fluffy snow was now miniature frozen mountains, encased in the overnight rain. The same rain that fell on me now and threatened to freeze the flowers in my hand.
I ran a huge risk coming without telling her I would be here. I could easily be setting myself up for a major letdown. Before I knocked I caught a glimpse of her on the living room couch. Her hair, dark wet and tangled, her face red, and her body encased in the down-blanket my mother bought her for Christmas. Her head was tilted back onto the wall behind the couch, her mouth wide open, and eyes closed, she was asleep. It was a joy to watch her sleep for a few moments. I remembered one of her quirks was that she was always grumpy when waking up. I found that to be a challenge in asking her for her forgiveness, but I also found it incredibly cute and so I smiled. Two things were strange about seeing her that morning; she never slept sitting up, and there were a pair of men's boots next to the couch. I saw a shadow approaching from the kitchen and as I jumped out of view I could smell the sausage and eggs. My flowers and my heart fell to the ground.
As I faced out towards her front lawn I had noticed something I should have noticed before. Footprints. Everywhere. The lawn was almost full of them. They seemed to generate towards a four foot tall snowman who had his back to me. The footsteps surrounding him were not carefully made. Evidence of slipping, falling, and laying down were obvious. I wondered that if I had thought hard about what mistake I was making three weeks ago, those footsteps could be mine. I wondered for a moment, if she thought of me while making those footsteps.
I followed my own footsteps back to my car. I turned to see the snowman with an expression of regret, and loneliness, but only seeing a wide, welcoming smile. I started my car and it now seemed colder than it was when I got out. And then I went to a diner to enjoy some sausage and eggs, alone.
I ran a huge risk coming without telling her I would be here. I could easily be setting myself up for a major letdown. Before I knocked I caught a glimpse of her on the living room couch. Her hair, dark wet and tangled, her face red, and her body encased in the down-blanket my mother bought her for Christmas. Her head was tilted back onto the wall behind the couch, her mouth wide open, and eyes closed, she was asleep. It was a joy to watch her sleep for a few moments. I remembered one of her quirks was that she was always grumpy when waking up. I found that to be a challenge in asking her for her forgiveness, but I also found it incredibly cute and so I smiled. Two things were strange about seeing her that morning; she never slept sitting up, and there were a pair of men's boots next to the couch. I saw a shadow approaching from the kitchen and as I jumped out of view I could smell the sausage and eggs. My flowers and my heart fell to the ground.
As I faced out towards her front lawn I had noticed something I should have noticed before. Footprints. Everywhere. The lawn was almost full of them. They seemed to generate towards a four foot tall snowman who had his back to me. The footsteps surrounding him were not carefully made. Evidence of slipping, falling, and laying down were obvious. I wondered that if I had thought hard about what mistake I was making three weeks ago, those footsteps could be mine. I wondered for a moment, if she thought of me while making those footsteps.
I followed my own footsteps back to my car. I turned to see the snowman with an expression of regret, and loneliness, but only seeing a wide, welcoming smile. I started my car and it now seemed colder than it was when I got out. And then I went to a diner to enjoy some sausage and eggs, alone.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Poetry Geek
So there is a kid in my poetry class (I'm taking it because I have to) who really grinds my gears. Let me describe him in a very unorganized fashion. I'm sure whoever reads this and has taken at least one class in college has seen one of these kids.
His name is Steve. He has the kind of facial hair where it's obvious he didn't mean to have it on purpose. He also has the same kind of haircut. He wears sweatsuits to class EVERY night. Not the kind of sweat pants you would find at a nice store, but the kind you see at Modell's 2 for $15 that cling to your upper thigh and show your sack. Now I'm not totally judgmental on guys according to their how they look, but when a guy takes no consideration to his physical appearance it says a lot about how much he respects himself. I don't consider myself a handsome man by any means, but I at least like to keep my beard trimmed and wear normal clothes. But this fact is just the beginning of what pisses me off about him.
He sits in the VERY front and center row. And as if this doesn't scream, "Please Professor! Look at me!" enough, he verbally agrees with every statement the teacher makes. Everything the teacher says is followed by some sort of word from Stevie boy that tells the teacher he is in accordance.
"And the type of device used here is personification."
"Yeah."
"You'll see Emily Dickinson has a unique use of proper nouns."
"Oh yeah. I see that."
"Shakespeare's target audience in this poem is also the subject of it."
"Yes. Yes it is."
Every time Steve does this it makes me want to throw my desk at the back of his head. I actually told the girl next to me who in response said "That wouldn't be very nice."
He is also the type of person who, if the teacher speaks about something he knows a little bit about, he can't just let it slide. Without raising his hand he will blurt out things like "Oh yeah! I read a lot of Edgar Allen Poe and I have all of his books and audiobooks!".
I can describe his world. In his world he is front and center of this class and instead of 18 other students behind him, paying the same amount of tuition and trying to express the same amount of opinions towards credit in the class, he is alone in the class and only his opinions are worthy enough to be heard. He will readily tell people they are "wrong" and laugh at other opinions. I have opinions on every poem we read, but I only offer it if his is different. So as not to be annoying by repeatedly blurting out answers, and to make him look incredibly dumb. I have no tolerance for people like him and I can tell you right now that by the end of this semester I will have punched him in his dumb face.
His name is Steve. He has the kind of facial hair where it's obvious he didn't mean to have it on purpose. He also has the same kind of haircut. He wears sweatsuits to class EVERY night. Not the kind of sweat pants you would find at a nice store, but the kind you see at Modell's 2 for $15 that cling to your upper thigh and show your sack. Now I'm not totally judgmental on guys according to their how they look, but when a guy takes no consideration to his physical appearance it says a lot about how much he respects himself. I don't consider myself a handsome man by any means, but I at least like to keep my beard trimmed and wear normal clothes. But this fact is just the beginning of what pisses me off about him.
He sits in the VERY front and center row. And as if this doesn't scream, "Please Professor! Look at me!" enough, he verbally agrees with every statement the teacher makes. Everything the teacher says is followed by some sort of word from Stevie boy that tells the teacher he is in accordance.
"And the type of device used here is personification."
"Yeah."
"You'll see Emily Dickinson has a unique use of proper nouns."
"Oh yeah. I see that."
"Shakespeare's target audience in this poem is also the subject of it."
"Yes. Yes it is."
Every time Steve does this it makes me want to throw my desk at the back of his head. I actually told the girl next to me who in response said "That wouldn't be very nice."
He is also the type of person who, if the teacher speaks about something he knows a little bit about, he can't just let it slide. Without raising his hand he will blurt out things like "Oh yeah! I read a lot of Edgar Allen Poe and I have all of his books and audiobooks!".
I can describe his world. In his world he is front and center of this class and instead of 18 other students behind him, paying the same amount of tuition and trying to express the same amount of opinions towards credit in the class, he is alone in the class and only his opinions are worthy enough to be heard. He will readily tell people they are "wrong" and laugh at other opinions. I have opinions on every poem we read, but I only offer it if his is different. So as not to be annoying by repeatedly blurting out answers, and to make him look incredibly dumb. I have no tolerance for people like him and I can tell you right now that by the end of this semester I will have punched him in his dumb face.
Monday, January 26, 2009
A Blog About Kristin Rotondo
I'm writing today about Kristin Rotondo.
When the weather became oddly warm the day I couldn't get her out of my mind. Did you ever meet someone who compliments the weather that day? Well, neither did I until now. I generally look forward to the warm weather, but now I can honestly say I'm looking forward to it more now that she and I do neat stuff together. I appreciate a lot more of the free things in life with her.
This past Saturday we spent our night baking brownies and doing a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle (of which we connected 57 pieces before going to bed). We passed the point of regular dates about a month ago. The occasional night out to the bar is OK, but now we get a bigger kick out of doing nothing. When the joy of time spent together doesn't need to come from the event it takes place during, is when you know it means something.
Me and Kristin could ride a train all day long and get more pleasure out of each other's company than most couples this short into a relationship would get in a year.
Bottom line is that I am incredibly happy with Kristin Rotondo, and it's going to be hard to keep her out of my mind, let alone my blog posts.
When the weather became oddly warm the day I couldn't get her out of my mind. Did you ever meet someone who compliments the weather that day? Well, neither did I until now. I generally look forward to the warm weather, but now I can honestly say I'm looking forward to it more now that she and I do neat stuff together. I appreciate a lot more of the free things in life with her.
This past Saturday we spent our night baking brownies and doing a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle (of which we connected 57 pieces before going to bed). We passed the point of regular dates about a month ago. The occasional night out to the bar is OK, but now we get a bigger kick out of doing nothing. When the joy of time spent together doesn't need to come from the event it takes place during, is when you know it means something.
Me and Kristin could ride a train all day long and get more pleasure out of each other's company than most couples this short into a relationship would get in a year.
Bottom line is that I am incredibly happy with Kristin Rotondo, and it's going to be hard to keep her out of my mind, let alone my blog posts.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Squirrely Man
He was a squirrely man. The kind of man you always see riding the bus, but never see get on or off. He appeared in front of the convenience store I worked at for the third time this week. The storefront faced the setting sun that he almost seemed to materialize out of as he approached the door. His face was indistinguishable as he stood between me and the bright orange rays, but as he came in and stopped to wipe his forehead I saw the same expression he had as he entered each of the past two days. A look of bitterness. He approached me with something in his hand. I knew immediately what it was and I hid my smile behind the Maxim magazine I was reading. His third straight day in here and I was now sure why this miserable little man needed to come here every day. As he approached the counter I put my magazine face down in order to keep the page on "6 steps to flat abs".
Monday had been different. After his job (I wasn't sure what he did, but his repetitive sporting of solid ties, short sleeved dress shirts, and pleated khakis told me he was a city employee) he came in searching for something that he definitely needed. It turned out being a loaf of bread. He took the bread up to the register without giving it much examination. He had his money ready, so the transaction was a quick one. About 30 minutes later he came back, still wearing the solid tie, short sleeved dress shirt, and pleated khakis. He came to the counter and we caught eyes over the latest issue of Men's Health I was reading. "This bread is past expiration." he said. His tone was that of a Father telling his child for the last time he wasn't allowed to get a toy.
It was apparent he had either eaten or cleverly hidden one quarter of the loaf he was now angry about. I had every intention of letting him exchange it for a non-expired loaf, but I wanted to at least let him know I was aware of his ploy before I did so.
"It doesn't matter. You sold me bad food. You should be aware of that before I come in here to buy your products. This mistake needs to be rectified immediately." After this little tiff it was obvious he wasn't used to sticking up for himself, and it was even more obvious he had practiced this speech before confronting me.
I found his little rant oddly adorable. The smile on my face could easily be mistaken for a the sign of a good customer service attitude. To be truthful, I cared as much about generating good customer service as much as I did about arguing with squirrely, miserable men about stale bread. I kept the bread on the counter, and with a smile I put down my magazine, walked to the bread, grabbed a fresh loaf and handed it to him before returning back to the "employees only" side of the counter. He held it in the same hand he once held the 3/4ths of a stale loaf in and stared at me anticipating something. I apologized with my faux customer-service smile and told him it wouldn't happen again. He took a look at the new loaf, and then back at me. And then, without a single additional word, he walked out of the store.
Then there was yesterday. He came in differently. He wasn't necessarily rushing the first time, but today he was obviously taking his time. He paused after he walked in and looked at me. I nodded and continued reading the Popular Mechanics magazine I'd borrowed from the rack. I didn't wait for his response to my nod, because I'd assumed he wouldn't give one. For a moment it occurred to me that he might be coming back to apologize, and that he wasn't such a squirrely, miserable man after all. I adjusted my position on the stool I was sitting on and used the opportunity to covertly track his path. He did the same thing he did earlier today. With hands on his hips he visually scanned our meager attempt at groceries. He pulled the ID attached to his waistbelt with elastic string, and let it snap back to his hip, much the way a cowboy would boastfully spin his six-shooter.
An old Russian man came in and started asking me questions in a language I did not understand. I told him I didn't understand him, and when he continued speaking it I said it louder and slower. I immediately remembered he wasn't hard of hearing, just hard of English, so my yelling wasn't helping. This made me laugh, which made him angry. I apologized and he now began yelling. He pointed at the cigarettes and as I pointed at each brand hearing "niet's" and waiting for a "da", I gave squirrely man a look. He was headed to the freezer. I figured he was in the mood for dessert tonight.
"Da! Da!", my new Russian comrade shouted, as I pointed at a pack of Parliaments. I rang him up as he mumbled, and I continued to laugh. He shouted "Metchess!" and I looked over his shoulder at the squirrely man who was now pulling out multiple boxes of ice cream sandwiches -- inspecting them. Boris pounded his fist.
"Metchess!". His face was getting red, so I stopped laughing and put on my "customer service" smile. I made the universal sign for striking matches, assuming he was from our universe, and that he wanted matches. "Da! Da!" he shouted as he grabbed them from my hand and quickly exited the store. The squirrel-man was right behind him, hating everything.
He put two boxes of ice cream sandwiches on the counter and picked up a magazine to look through while I practiced my trade. It was obvious something was afoot, because the magazine he skimmed through was Bridal Monthly. If our angry little friend was ever fortunate enough to have found someone to marry him, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have been the bride. He put it down after looking through a few pictures, glancing at the cover, and realizing what he was looking at. He paid for his ice cream sandwiches and turned down my offer to put them in a bag. In taking them out I realized one box had an expiration date which had recently passed. In the split second before he turned down my bag-offer, it occurred to me what this squirrely little man was doing. He's slowly becoming addicted to being right.
Our angry little friend is coming here after work, from being behind a desk surrounded by desks, with people whose only celebrated individuality is the name on their elastically fastened ID badge. His ego is shattered nine 'til five. He came in here yesterday night because he wanted to feel like something he said mattered. After buying the expired bread and getting what he demanded, he realized he liked the feeling. Now he's doing it right here in front of me on purpose.
Normally, I would have put the ice cream sandwiches aside and explained to the customer why, but he looked diligently at these boxes and he knew better than anyone what was wrong with them. I gave him the boxes in hopes to see if I was right. To see if he would come back with a box of ice cream sandwiches sans one ice cream sandwich and demand action.
No more than two hours later he was exiting the store with a box of unexpired ice cream sandwiches in his hand, and a victorious smirk on his face.
And, as it finally occurred to me what he was definitely doing and why, he approached me on this third day, after being in here earlier today to pick up some canned goods.
"I was really in the mood for Goya beans tonight. And your store's inability to maintain products in a proper manner has ruined that for me. I would like one can of unexpired Goya beans now. And if you keep this up I'll have you reported to the FDA."
"I apologize sir," I said through a smile. "this is a definite problem, and we're glad you brought it to our attention."
As I turned the corner approaching the Goya beans I gave him a passing glance. He was staring at the ground with a surprisingly wide smile and now I am too.
Monday had been different. After his job (I wasn't sure what he did, but his repetitive sporting of solid ties, short sleeved dress shirts, and pleated khakis told me he was a city employee) he came in searching for something that he definitely needed. It turned out being a loaf of bread. He took the bread up to the register without giving it much examination. He had his money ready, so the transaction was a quick one. About 30 minutes later he came back, still wearing the solid tie, short sleeved dress shirt, and pleated khakis. He came to the counter and we caught eyes over the latest issue of Men's Health I was reading. "This bread is past expiration." he said. His tone was that of a Father telling his child for the last time he wasn't allowed to get a toy.
It was apparent he had either eaten or cleverly hidden one quarter of the loaf he was now angry about. I had every intention of letting him exchange it for a non-expired loaf, but I wanted to at least let him know I was aware of his ploy before I did so.
"It doesn't matter. You sold me bad food. You should be aware of that before I come in here to buy your products. This mistake needs to be rectified immediately." After this little tiff it was obvious he wasn't used to sticking up for himself, and it was even more obvious he had practiced this speech before confronting me.
I found his little rant oddly adorable. The smile on my face could easily be mistaken for a the sign of a good customer service attitude. To be truthful, I cared as much about generating good customer service as much as I did about arguing with squirrely, miserable men about stale bread. I kept the bread on the counter, and with a smile I put down my magazine, walked to the bread, grabbed a fresh loaf and handed it to him before returning back to the "employees only" side of the counter. He held it in the same hand he once held the 3/4ths of a stale loaf in and stared at me anticipating something. I apologized with my faux customer-service smile and told him it wouldn't happen again. He took a look at the new loaf, and then back at me. And then, without a single additional word, he walked out of the store.
Then there was yesterday. He came in differently. He wasn't necessarily rushing the first time, but today he was obviously taking his time. He paused after he walked in and looked at me. I nodded and continued reading the Popular Mechanics magazine I'd borrowed from the rack. I didn't wait for his response to my nod, because I'd assumed he wouldn't give one. For a moment it occurred to me that he might be coming back to apologize, and that he wasn't such a squirrely, miserable man after all. I adjusted my position on the stool I was sitting on and used the opportunity to covertly track his path. He did the same thing he did earlier today. With hands on his hips he visually scanned our meager attempt at groceries. He pulled the ID attached to his waistbelt with elastic string, and let it snap back to his hip, much the way a cowboy would boastfully spin his six-shooter.
An old Russian man came in and started asking me questions in a language I did not understand. I told him I didn't understand him, and when he continued speaking it I said it louder and slower. I immediately remembered he wasn't hard of hearing, just hard of English, so my yelling wasn't helping. This made me laugh, which made him angry. I apologized and he now began yelling. He pointed at the cigarettes and as I pointed at each brand hearing "niet's" and waiting for a "da", I gave squirrely man a look. He was headed to the freezer. I figured he was in the mood for dessert tonight.
"Da! Da!", my new Russian comrade shouted, as I pointed at a pack of Parliaments. I rang him up as he mumbled, and I continued to laugh. He shouted "Metchess!" and I looked over his shoulder at the squirrely man who was now pulling out multiple boxes of ice cream sandwiches -- inspecting them. Boris pounded his fist.
"Metchess!". His face was getting red, so I stopped laughing and put on my "customer service" smile. I made the universal sign for striking matches, assuming he was from our universe, and that he wanted matches. "Da! Da!" he shouted as he grabbed them from my hand and quickly exited the store. The squirrel-man was right behind him, hating everything.
He put two boxes of ice cream sandwiches on the counter and picked up a magazine to look through while I practiced my trade. It was obvious something was afoot, because the magazine he skimmed through was Bridal Monthly. If our angry little friend was ever fortunate enough to have found someone to marry him, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have been the bride. He put it down after looking through a few pictures, glancing at the cover, and realizing what he was looking at. He paid for his ice cream sandwiches and turned down my offer to put them in a bag. In taking them out I realized one box had an expiration date which had recently passed. In the split second before he turned down my bag-offer, it occurred to me what this squirrely little man was doing. He's slowly becoming addicted to being right.
Our angry little friend is coming here after work, from being behind a desk surrounded by desks, with people whose only celebrated individuality is the name on their elastically fastened ID badge. His ego is shattered nine 'til five. He came in here yesterday night because he wanted to feel like something he said mattered. After buying the expired bread and getting what he demanded, he realized he liked the feeling. Now he's doing it right here in front of me on purpose.
Normally, I would have put the ice cream sandwiches aside and explained to the customer why, but he looked diligently at these boxes and he knew better than anyone what was wrong with them. I gave him the boxes in hopes to see if I was right. To see if he would come back with a box of ice cream sandwiches sans one ice cream sandwich and demand action.
No more than two hours later he was exiting the store with a box of unexpired ice cream sandwiches in his hand, and a victorious smirk on his face.
And, as it finally occurred to me what he was definitely doing and why, he approached me on this third day, after being in here earlier today to pick up some canned goods.
"I was really in the mood for Goya beans tonight. And your store's inability to maintain products in a proper manner has ruined that for me. I would like one can of unexpired Goya beans now. And if you keep this up I'll have you reported to the FDA."
"I apologize sir," I said through a smile. "this is a definite problem, and we're glad you brought it to our attention."
As I turned the corner approaching the Goya beans I gave him a passing glance. He was staring at the ground with a surprisingly wide smile and now I am too.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Train: Cancelled
So I know most of my stories involve trains and commuting, but today is a day I can't possibly avoid writing about.
I'm at the station on my way to work. It's about 8:30. The train was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago, but it was CANCELLED! A severe inconvenience to say the least. When I heard the news I just called my boss and told her I would be late. She responded with a grunt, but knowing it was out of my control she said "Okay. See you when you get here."
She knows as well as I know that I didn't break the train. She knows it is the train I catch every single day, like I have for the past 3 years, and she isn't mad. Just like me. Sure this is going to make me 30some minutes late for work, but I'm not mad. This is the 2nd or 3rd time this has happened. But there's nothing I can do to make it any better. So rather than get angry about something I can't control, I just deal with it. Unlike the man who heard the news after I did. He demanded an explanation from the ticket agent, who had none. She was nice enough to inform everyone as they bought their tickets, but I guess she forgot her tools to fix the train at home. He goes to her window about once every three minutes to get a status -- as if his repeated treks to her is going to make the next train arrive miraculously early. This man will probably let this affect his whole day. When someone asks him why he doesn't want to go out with everyone at lunch he will respond "Ugh. I'm just having a bad day." It makes me happy that stuff like this doesn't ruin my whole day.
Of course now this train will probably be crowded and I will hate the world.
I'm at the station on my way to work. It's about 8:30. The train was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago, but it was CANCELLED! A severe inconvenience to say the least. When I heard the news I just called my boss and told her I would be late. She responded with a grunt, but knowing it was out of my control she said "Okay. See you when you get here."
She knows as well as I know that I didn't break the train. She knows it is the train I catch every single day, like I have for the past 3 years, and she isn't mad. Just like me. Sure this is going to make me 30some minutes late for work, but I'm not mad. This is the 2nd or 3rd time this has happened. But there's nothing I can do to make it any better. So rather than get angry about something I can't control, I just deal with it. Unlike the man who heard the news after I did. He demanded an explanation from the ticket agent, who had none. She was nice enough to inform everyone as they bought their tickets, but I guess she forgot her tools to fix the train at home. He goes to her window about once every three minutes to get a status -- as if his repeated treks to her is going to make the next train arrive miraculously early. This man will probably let this affect his whole day. When someone asks him why he doesn't want to go out with everyone at lunch he will respond "Ugh. I'm just having a bad day." It makes me happy that stuff like this doesn't ruin my whole day.
Of course now this train will probably be crowded and I will hate the world.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Blog off?
Skrubby88: let's have a blogging contest
whatisakeith: what are the details?
Skrubby88: we have to post everyday
whatisakeith: I'm very interested.
Skrubby88: whoever has to most readers in the month of February and gets a free pitcher from Miller's Ale House
whatisakeith: that's worth $5. you're on.
Skrubby88: is there a way to tell how many viewers we get?
whatisakeith: I haven't posted since March of last year. I have no idea how to check my views.
Skrubby88: i'm sure there's a way, google is smart.
whatisakeith: okay, so when does this begin?
Skrubby88 signed off at 9:23:49 PM.
Go look at John Wilson's blog (or don't and I will split a pitcher of free beer with you).
Skrubby88 signed off at 9:23:49 PM.
Go look at John Wilson's blog (or don't and I will split a pitcher of free beer with you).
Crashing someone's car.
So Sunday I crashed someone's car into someone else's car.
It was the first time I have ever hit a car, which sucks because now after almost 8 years of perfect driving I can't say "I never once got into a car accident" anymore -- although since it wasn't my car I crashed I can say something like "I never crashed my car once", and still be telling the truth (or at least convince myself I am.)
Quick description of the incident:
Me and Kristin were in her car. I was driving down my street towards my house approaching a curve to the right. I applied the brake about 70 feet back and the brakes locked because of ice, causing me to have no control over the deceleration of the vehicle. We hit a curb and got sling-shot into the back of an SUV. The airbags deploy, we cough, I apologize. I give Kristin my coat and she gives me a kiss. The police come, think I'm drunk, I prove them wrong. Insurance is exchanged, and Kristin, whose toes are near frostbite status at this point, is carried 6 houses down the street by me to a bed and a warm heating pad. I go back to take pictures of the area. I check the car for anymore belongings and come home to an asleep Kristin.
I would like to (for myself, mostly) try to go through the thought process I had after colliding with the parked car.
Fear - I wanted to make sure Kristin knew we were going to crash. I believe my exact words were "Holy shit, Kristin!".
Understanding - I remember thinking in the last .05 seconds before impact that there was nothing I could do to stop this from happening. I just asked someone if this could all just end nicely.
Disbelief - The moment I tasted the acidy powder I didn't want to accept what just happened.
Worry - I pushed the bag away to make sure Kristin was okay. She looked scared, but assured me she was okay. I apologized and didn't hear what she said after that. I got out on my side and someone was asking me if I was okay. I walked over to her side to open her door and I helped her out. She was okay.
Disbelief - "Did I really just nail a car?! Is this what it's like?! What do I do now?! This isn't even my car! Am I hurt?!"
Apologetic - I think I apologized to an innocent bystander thinking it was his car. I apologized to Kristin one thousand times and then to a man who told me I was bleeding from my mouth.
Fear - "Holy shit. This is happening. I have to deal with this. Don't freak out."
Comfort - I was thankful Kristin was okay and I was also thankful there was no human beings between me and the parked car. The mantra "Things could have went a lot worse" circled through my head a dozen times as we waited for the police. They were going to ask if I had any drinks that night and I wasn't going to lie to them, "One or two earlier in the night". The police were going to have their suspicions and I was not going to tell them how to do their job. It was something I couldn't run away from and I just had to accept. It's sort of the same way I look at going to the dentist. He's going to do some shit that's going to hurt. It's going to hurt a lot. But there's nothing I can do to get past this without getting hurt. So in order to get past the pain I need to think of the relief I will feel when it's done.
Fear - Without even getting out of his car the cop already made it known that he didn't like me. Maybe I just physically don't seem like the kind of guy people would immediately get along with? (Infact, he told me later he was angry about having to be at Cottman and Frankford all night, for the possible Eagles win). Kristin was very beneficial at this point after the officer cut me short of my explanation. She looked me in the eyes and told me to be calm and that everything was going to be okay. He was going to give me a sobriety test and I had a lot riding on it. I had my license, which if taken away would significantly impact my entire life. I had J--- who, as my little brother in the big-brother/big-sister program looked up to me as a mentor... and to have him taken away from me for a mistake like this would crush him. I had future job opportunities which would be severely diminished if I failed this test. I'm sure that anyone who's gotten a DUI can also come up with a million other reasons why it SUCKS to get one, but those are the ones that came immediately to mind.
Determination - The officer was very stern with his instructions during the sobriety test. I didn't approach the test with the "I am drunk, how do I convince this man I am not?" mentality. Instead I told myself that, since I'm not drunk, this test would accurately be able to tell him so, and we could just put this behind us. He tried confusing my left and my right, but I saw through his superior officer-intellect. I passed the test with flying colors.
Apologetic - Now that the worst part was over I had to focus on correcting the problem I had created in smashing Kristin's car. I apologized profusely (and I still am), and told her I would do whatever I could to rectify the situation.
Determination - I know what I did and demanded responsibility in correcting the problem. The feeling of not being allowed to help truely hurt, so I continued on with persistence that no matter what was needed to make this better I would do it. Again, this is a lot like the dentist. What ever I have to do is going to suck because if I just hadn't slipped on that ice I wouldn't have to do it. But now it's my responsibility and I'm not going to run away from it. I'm going to deal with the pain because I know there will be relief afterwards.
My worst fear was that I messed up so bad that Kristin wouldn't let me take part in fixing it. But as I went to the mangled car this afternoon, when I got home from work, she had left a note on it. It was telling the owners of the parked car that her now-destroyed vehicle would be towed away the following day. Instead of signing it Kristin she signed it "Kristin + Keith".
Whew.
It was the first time I have ever hit a car, which sucks because now after almost 8 years of perfect driving I can't say "I never once got into a car accident" anymore -- although since it wasn't my car I crashed I can say something like "I never crashed my car once", and still be telling the truth (or at least convince myself I am.)
Quick description of the incident:
Me and Kristin were in her car. I was driving down my street towards my house approaching a curve to the right. I applied the brake about 70 feet back and the brakes locked because of ice, causing me to have no control over the deceleration of the vehicle. We hit a curb and got sling-shot into the back of an SUV. The airbags deploy, we cough, I apologize. I give Kristin my coat and she gives me a kiss. The police come, think I'm drunk, I prove them wrong. Insurance is exchanged, and Kristin, whose toes are near frostbite status at this point, is carried 6 houses down the street by me to a bed and a warm heating pad. I go back to take pictures of the area. I check the car for anymore belongings and come home to an asleep Kristin.
I would like to (for myself, mostly) try to go through the thought process I had after colliding with the parked car.
Fear - I wanted to make sure Kristin knew we were going to crash. I believe my exact words were "Holy shit, Kristin!".
Understanding - I remember thinking in the last .05 seconds before impact that there was nothing I could do to stop this from happening. I just asked someone if this could all just end nicely.
Disbelief - The moment I tasted the acidy powder I didn't want to accept what just happened.
Worry - I pushed the bag away to make sure Kristin was okay. She looked scared, but assured me she was okay. I apologized and didn't hear what she said after that. I got out on my side and someone was asking me if I was okay. I walked over to her side to open her door and I helped her out. She was okay.
Disbelief - "Did I really just nail a car?! Is this what it's like?! What do I do now?! This isn't even my car! Am I hurt?!"
Apologetic - I think I apologized to an innocent bystander thinking it was his car. I apologized to Kristin one thousand times and then to a man who told me I was bleeding from my mouth.
Fear - "Holy shit. This is happening. I have to deal with this. Don't freak out."
Comfort - I was thankful Kristin was okay and I was also thankful there was no human beings between me and the parked car. The mantra "Things could have went a lot worse" circled through my head a dozen times as we waited for the police. They were going to ask if I had any drinks that night and I wasn't going to lie to them, "One or two earlier in the night". The police were going to have their suspicions and I was not going to tell them how to do their job. It was something I couldn't run away from and I just had to accept. It's sort of the same way I look at going to the dentist. He's going to do some shit that's going to hurt. It's going to hurt a lot. But there's nothing I can do to get past this without getting hurt. So in order to get past the pain I need to think of the relief I will feel when it's done.
Fear - Without even getting out of his car the cop already made it known that he didn't like me. Maybe I just physically don't seem like the kind of guy people would immediately get along with? (Infact, he told me later he was angry about having to be at Cottman and Frankford all night, for the possible Eagles win). Kristin was very beneficial at this point after the officer cut me short of my explanation. She looked me in the eyes and told me to be calm and that everything was going to be okay. He was going to give me a sobriety test and I had a lot riding on it. I had my license, which if taken away would significantly impact my entire life. I had J--- who, as my little brother in the big-brother/big-sister program looked up to me as a mentor... and to have him taken away from me for a mistake like this would crush him. I had future job opportunities which would be severely diminished if I failed this test. I'm sure that anyone who's gotten a DUI can also come up with a million other reasons why it SUCKS to get one, but those are the ones that came immediately to mind.
Determination - The officer was very stern with his instructions during the sobriety test. I didn't approach the test with the "I am drunk, how do I convince this man I am not?" mentality. Instead I told myself that, since I'm not drunk, this test would accurately be able to tell him so, and we could just put this behind us. He tried confusing my left and my right, but I saw through his superior officer-intellect. I passed the test with flying colors.
Apologetic - Now that the worst part was over I had to focus on correcting the problem I had created in smashing Kristin's car. I apologized profusely (and I still am), and told her I would do whatever I could to rectify the situation.
Determination - I know what I did and demanded responsibility in correcting the problem. The feeling of not being allowed to help truely hurt, so I continued on with persistence that no matter what was needed to make this better I would do it. Again, this is a lot like the dentist. What ever I have to do is going to suck because if I just hadn't slipped on that ice I wouldn't have to do it. But now it's my responsibility and I'm not going to run away from it. I'm going to deal with the pain because I know there will be relief afterwards.
My worst fear was that I messed up so bad that Kristin wouldn't let me take part in fixing it. But as I went to the mangled car this afternoon, when I got home from work, she had left a note on it. It was telling the owners of the parked car that her now-destroyed vehicle would be towed away the following day. Instead of signing it Kristin she signed it "Kristin + Keith".
Whew.
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