Cars and Cribs

Well, now that my Geo Metro has rendered a less-than-what-we-put-into-it check (see 3 Bad Things), the family is shopping for a new vehicle. We’re hoping to not only replace the Metro, but the two-door Pathfinder that we’ve had since before the Emancipation Proclamation. I’d have to say that the most interesting place to look for cars, in my opinion, is Craig's List. It's a customizable classified advertising website. Most web users know about it and if you don’t, you might want to check it out. In some ways, it is superior to eBay, depending on what you want from it.

I’m hoping the wife will allow us to buy a nicely-running, kid-friendly, semi-gas-efficient vehicle for family use and a nicely-running, Wildcard-friendly, semi-gas-efficient sports car for the guy who always tries to fold his 6’1” 280-pound frame into such breadboxes as Geo Metros and prehistoric Toyota Corollas. I don’t really mind the fact that I tend to attract the attention of smaller vehicles, considering that I don’t think huge trucks and SUVs speak my language.

We did, however, purchase a family-friendly Dodge Caravan for an outstanding price (thanks, Craig’s List). We’ll be taking it in for some minor work on Monday, but this will allow us to possibly sell the SUV and snag a decent car for me.

It’s rather fun traveling as a family. Maybe not quite as much as National Lampoon's Vacation fun, but it nevertheless has its shining moments.

During one of our recent quests to diminish the volumes of baby clothes that our children have outgrown, our family arrived at a certain shop that dealt not only in secondhand clothing, but also other items for smaller children. It’s a nice store. There’s a huge selection of clothing to choose from. It’s located only a sort distance from a state highway and the front of the building is all plate glass, allowing the proprietors to display all manner of rug-rat paraphernalia.

As our vehicle pulled neatly into the parking space, my daughter piped up from the back seat, “Poppy, I want to go in and see the animals.”

At first, I glanced around at the various other shops located next door and nearby. None of them were pets shops, nor were any animals apparent. Confused, I turned in my seat and asked her what she meant. She pointed directly at the store in front of us, the children’s store, and restated that she wanted “to go in and see the animals” and added “in their cages.” I turned back to look at the shop and saw what she did through her eyes. You see, our children co-sleep. It’s a healthy, natural process that involves loving your children more than desiring to lock them away in a dark and lonely room for 10 hours.

“Oh my,” I said, suddenly feeling a bit sad for all of those children that have been stored in one of these, “Those aren’t cages for animals, honey, they are cribs.”

“Cribs?”

I found it difficult to explain to her that they were, in fact, beds for small children. She didn’t understand why they looked like cages. Unfortunately, I do. It’s because they are.

Three Bad Things in a tree? How can THAT be?

Do “bad things” happen “in threes?”

I can vouch for the fact that at least minor “bad things” can happen in any damn number they want to. I can burn my mouth, overdraw my checking, miss a bus, drop my milkshake, forget to do a household chore, stub my toe and bump my elbow (simultaneously) all in one relatively short period of time. Then, for no apparent reason, I can go weeks without any minor bad things happening and then BAM! I leave my ID badge at home and have to go through the trouble of getting a temporary badge.

You can say that having a temporary badge isn’t really a “bad thing” but I’m here to say that, where I work, it is. Anyone with a temporary badge must make sure that someone that has an issued badge has the temp’s paperwork and the two cannot get more than 10 feet away from each other. Imagine entering an area where you suddenly have a ten-foot leash attached to you. It’s bad enough having to go to the bathroom in a pair, at least as a grown man, but its even worse if only one of you is a smoker. You have to either beg or follow your host to go outside whilst either he or you chuffs down a Camel.

Okay…chuffing down a Camel really sounds like an Enumclaw term. While my apologies go out to those Enumclawians (?) that were in no way connected to the horrid incident that took place out there, the fact remains that Enumclaw is now infamous for that reason. After all, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind when I say “Chernobyl?” I’ll bet you a buttered biscuit that you didn’t answer “Home of the 1996 Summer Olympics.” Not that Chernobyl ever hosted ANY Olympics. Not that anyone wants to be his or her own nightlight, but it’s a safe bet that you mentioned something about a nuclear power plant. You see what I mean?

I’m starting to get a little suspicious about the major bad things, however. My wife contracted Pertussis, cut and broke her finger at a restaurant, and then proceeded to throw her back out. So, every time she coughs, her finger throbs and her back muscles try to murder her. Slowly. With a red-hot poker and a pair of long-handled pinchy things. Not only THAT, but she can’t knit until her finger heals, damn it all.

Now we take my example. I’m not entirely sure that I had Pertussis, but I do know that I’ve been hacking up lung-fulls of stuff that could hold bricks together. Coughing over a period of time makes my temples try and escape from under my skin. This is really bad news for my brain and it knows that, so it convinces my skin to keep my skull intact, against my somewhat addled wishes.

Earlier this week, my car was rear-ended with me in it. He hit me hard enough to throw my already-stopped car into the car in front of me. Strangely enough, the car in front of me (a nice maroon mini-SUV) actually drove off when the light changed moments later. Luckily, the car behind me didn’t take off, too. That might have had something to do with the fact that his radiator had just about become his dashboard. Don’t ask me how a 2-door hatchback Geo Metro manages to completely destroy the front end of an 80’s le Baron. I could actually drive my vehicle to the side of the road and indeed 20 miles more to get home. I also drove it another 35 miles to a rebuild shop to get it checked out. HIS car, however, barely managed to get to the side of the road and had to be towed away. I completely thought that the only damage to my car was a bent hood from the car in front of me.

The rebuild shop proved me wrong.

They lifted up the floorboards in the back and showed me where the frame had buckled about 3 inches. My little economically sound car is totaled. Not only that, but a side effect to getting rear-ended that hard is a little-known debilitating injury commonly referred to as “whiplash.” I steadfastly refused to see a doctor knowing that, because I am so laid back that La-Z-Boy chairs recline on ME, my injury was minor. I turned out to be correct. Luckily.

So, I ended up with (1) a head-rupturing cough extravaganza and (2) an accordion-shaped car. What is the third thing? It hasn’t really come my way yet. I’m looking over my shoulder and under the bed for it, trust me. I can’t really count the fact that a semi truck took out our cable and Internet for a day because that mostly impacted my kids and wife. I can’t count getting laid off because in my line of work it’s part of how things run. I get laid off after every job I do. Help me out here, folks. What terrible thing do you think would fit in nicely with the predecessors that I have talked about?



Side note: Looking up Chernobyl and finding a story about someone that took a motorcycle trip through the area and took pictures shocked me. It’s awesome to try and comprehend the damage that incident caused for that region for CENTURIES to come. Check it out: Chernobyl.

Childhood dreams +bonus!

When I was in elementary school, it was rather fashionable to declare which line of employment is going to appeal to you. At the age of 10 years, I couldn’t imagine any job being more desirable than the President of the United States, an astronaut or a fireman. All three of these are professions that we have been taught to believe are high profile and much sought after.

Time, reality and experience have eroded my interest in the Presidency and astronautics. Unless, of course we could combine the two, firing our current President into orbit permanently. That would be interesting and humorous. Unfortunately, that would simply allow our Vice President to become the President while simultaneously filling another astronaut job, neither of which assist me in accomplishing my childhood goals.

I briefly pursued employment with the firefighters. Several obstacles prevented me from serving with them. Tacoma proper does not accept applications for volunteer firefighters and I live too far away from outlying coverage areas to serve as an “on call.” That and the fact that I absolutely refuse to shave my goatee as an employment prerequisite.

So, we’re 0 for 3 here in present day. I’ve been in the Army. You can bet that THEY made me shave that goatee. Of course, this was before I’d grown fond of it. Perhaps my attachment to facial hair derived from that circumstance. If you get told throughout your childhood “You cannot have caramel apples,” what’s the first food you’re going to eat when you are out from under your parents’ thumb? I’ll bet you a caramel apple that it’s a…um…caramel apple.

I was a security officer for a brief period of time. For some deranged reason, I thought this might be the civilian equivalent of a soldier - what with the uniforms, time schedules and possible sidearm (I never got to carry one). Let me tell you, folks, that even though I met a lot of ex-military security officers at the buildings I guarded, comparing Army life to private security is like saying to your wife “I cooked a full turkey supper for you” and handing her a thawed-out TV dinner. Not only are they dissimilar but also you end up paying alimony from your basement apartment and riding the city bus.

So my childhood dreams have been dispelled. I’m currently hoping the post office will call me soon so I can deliver mail to peoples’ houses. I think I’d like that. Leave a comment and tell me: What did you want to be as a kid? And is it anything like what you are today?



Side note: Once again my wife feeds me something blog-worthy. I’m not sure whether this is an honest “Jesus sighting” or if it’s poking fun at them, but it sure made me laugh.

The First Week of November, 2006

Have you ever just plain forgotten what day it is? Not as in, “Oh! It’s our 5th anniversary and I don’t have any flowers!” but more like “Saturday? What are you talking about?” It’s a rare time when I forget what day of the week it is and this isn’t one of them. I actually just chose to do something else last night instead of posting.

You have my apologies, readers.

My family has been sick with Pertussis (whooping cough) for a few weeks. I’m starting to feel bad, because I haven’t contracted it from them. At the same time, I’m grateful that I’m not coughing until I vomit. The good with the bad, you know. My daughter says, “My cough is following me.” I expect her to start running around the house trying to outpace it.

They cough all day and night. It’s almost like I’m living in an alien home where there is a language that I don’t understand being used.

Cough cough cough cough = “Is the human ready for consumption yet, Mommy?”
Hack cough cough cough hack = “No, darling. He’s fat, but we have to wait another week”
Blech cough hack yark yark blech coff = “But I’m hungry now, Mommy!”
Cougha blech hack hack…uhhhh….uhhh…BLEH = Cougha blech hack hack…uhhhh…uhhh…BLEH

We watched X3: The Last Stand this weekend and, although the plot had more holes than my work clothes, it was pretty good for (A) a superhero movie and (B) a second sequel. Why have Rogue but not Gambit, folks? That’s like seeing a steak and cat food meal on the menu and ordering it without the steak. Want a side order of Jubilee with that? Geeks.

Besides that, there hasn’t really been a whole lot of anything going on around here. It rains. It’s getting colder. My son continues to slide down the stairs on his belly faster than I can go down them.

Uh oh. I hear a distinctive cough hack blech coming up the stairs. They know I’m on to them…


Some of the things I enjoy on the web:

Homestar
Ask A Ninja
News of the Weird
The Whimsey of Wildcard