Why are they so mad? The minivan driver

Angry Drivers


I have realized something and it has been bothering me for a while.

You hear people talk about S.U.V. drivers and how they think they own the road, or semi drivers and the way they expect people to just keep away from them, or clear the way. There are also motorcycle riders who travel in pack making it impossible to pass while they are cruising.

There is a strange new beast emerging though, they are angry, aggressive, fast and ruthless. They are the new breed of Minivan drivers.

When the minivan was first introduced, they were built with little power and little comfort, so they were utilitarian at best. Now, they are mobile homes with full climate control, refrigeration with video games theatre movies and seating rivalling the La-Z-boy. This is not always a good thing, because hockey dad's, soccer mom's and the like are piling into these machines with their 4.0 litre v-6 moving comfort icons and getting to the game (usually in record time) and paying little regard to the other people outside of their utopia-like retreat.

Now, you would think that being surrounded with quiet children watching movies or playing games or sleeping in their equine cocoons would soothe the NASCAR driver within, but it isn't. If you ever pull up to a stop light and a Dodge Caravan pulls up beside you 9 times out of 10, you will be breathing exhaust and eating dust, because they be gone! And occasionally to further prove the manoeuvrability of their van, they'll pull in front of you with evasive (invasive) turning and manoeuvring.

I'm not saying that I drive like a normal human either. I have an SUV that has a good little engine, and can rival most new model cars, but when I'm "sidled" by a Newer minivan, I back off, because that sucker is there to win, and if you try to overtake, you'll get a crazy look before ZOOOM, they're gone; kids, movies, cold sodas and all.

It's not pride that propels the operator, no, and don't try to tell me that it's just because they're in a hurry. These people are motivated by something much greater: Anger. They're pissed off, I can't guess about what, but I have a few ideas about what might send me over the edge if I were them.

1. Kids yelling. When did you ever watch TV next to your brother or sister and not try to get them bawling? Same rules apply when traveling, except dad's too busy to set you straight and mom can't leave her seat, or vice versa. It's the perfect spot to unleash a merciless onslaught of sibling bashing, and the best part is, they are restrained! So, they turn the channel, pause the movie, bait each other with chants about how they suck at video games with the result of screaming crying and idle threats from Mom and Dad of “I’ll stop this van right now!"

2. Driving a minivan. They look back to a time not long ago when they drove a cool car, or truck, and rue the day that they folded and became "van people". So they spend their time in the vehicle proving that their machine is just as ballsy as their 2 door GTP was, and had as much pulling ability as their Dakota (especially with a 20 foot camper in tow). So they use the power of the new breed of minivans to vent their fury.

3. Knowing the next vehicle is either going to be a Lincoln or a hearse. That's it buddy, you are either going to drive the van until you die, or you'll trade it just after the kids are moved away (20 years from now) and you only have enough marbles rolling around to navigate a BIG Car around, because as a rule, the bigger the car, the older the driver, people stay clear. Or maybe you are lucky and will drive an economical Toyota car that will get you from A to B cheap and efficient. The luckier among us will have a toy, or a mid life crisis car that we'll only use for driving on Sundays and cruise to the restaurant with on summer nights. But you'll still be parking it at home, beside that damned van.

Now there are few select people who have resisted the change, they have taken a stand and said: "No way will I ever be caught dead driving one of those." These people are the first to fall. Usually mid way through their 1st year with their first child, they cave, claiming that; they need more room or; it's just way more comfortable to travel in. I think the only chance that you will never become "Van People". Is to get it out of your system, don't deny change and don't make excuses, buy one. This way you aren't pressured into becoming Van People and that is 1/3 of the rage gone. If not? Cling to your coupes, 1/2 tons and 69 Chevelle SS's for as long as you can, but keep in mind you will be one of them soon.

This story is a tribute to the men and women, who transport the masses, take junior to practice in 0:06:53 flat from door to door. Who never need to look over their shoulders to see if someone is creeping up in your desired lane. Who put up with screaming kids and blaring Spongebob. Who tolerate spilled sodas and juice boxes crammed between the seats. And finally who can locate the window open button with so much ease that flipping the rest of us the bird is nothing more than habit.

Go ahead and be an "Angry Minivan Driver" the rest of us now understand.

Antics of the nit wits

Alright, I want to try something new. I have checked my statistics and it says I get about 17 visits per day, Thanks! I want to turn it over to you all, I'll give a subject and I want you to click on the comments link below this post and voice in.

I want to know the most embarassing stupid thing that has ever happened to you, you can stay anonymous or just fill on a name or nickname and write in a little blurb (or big if you like). Now, I'll get the ball rolling.

It was the summer of 2000, August actually and I was in the process of moving from my appartment to a house still in Saskatoon, that I was going to share with my university going cousins (Jaja and Bubbles (if you ever seen her baby picture and you have seen Trailer Park Boys, you'd understand)).

About 2 weeks earlier I had yet another of many surgeries to repair a hand I hurt while working for a tire repair company. This surgery was quite unique because it involve partially removing a large flap of skin from my groin area (remember partially) and replacing the tight and scarred skin on the palm of my hand with this new piece. Now the nifty part of this procedure is that the skin stays attached to the groin and the hand at the same time to increase the bloodflow to the place you hope for the skin to stay.

In the summer of 2000 I got to spend the month of August and part of September with my hand attached to my groin (involuntarily). In hindsight maybe it was a piss poor time to move, but nonetheless, I started to move small boxes and other easy to move items into the house. After a few loads I decided to kind of have a look around the yard. I walked out the back patio door and looked around at the set up while shuffling my feet around the patio, in fact, I managed to walk myself about 1 foot too far over the edge of the patio. My foot finally settled on the bottom step about 4.5 feet down where I was lying on my side (yes the side with the arm growing from my groin) I had sprained my ankle and done a small amount of (new) damage to my miracle of modern science. I fell down the stairs.

I sprang to my feet and quickly looked around to make sure I wasn't seen. After I confirmed that I was not seen I limped back up the stairs and into the house. My brother Pokey then decided to hire a mover to "help" move me. Best decision ever.

It was about a month later when I was moved in, that my neighbor came forward and admitted that she saw the whole thing. That stung.

So come on people, dish the dirt, I want some good stories! I know that Bubbles, Jaja and Boner have a few gems, not to mention Pa! Eeyore and SOL are givens.

To my wife with Love

Dear Wife,

Things are still good here; Jackal finished the treats that your Dad sent for him. I'll never understand why he would get dried beans for a dog; it actually has a much worse effect on animals as it does on humans. I guess he must not have known, silly guy!

I am considering becoming a Big Brother, but I don't know if the little fellow that I followed home the other day needs one. His mommy seems like a lot of fun, I think she was playing dress-up when he got there, because his uncle or brother or whoever came running out of the back yard with a bunch of clothes in his arms and only his boxers on. I didn't get to meet his dad, because he just got home and was busy trying to play tag or hide and go seek with his mom. Maybe tomorrow I'll hide in her closet just before his dad gets home.

I shovelled the driveway yesterday. We got a pile of snow over night, and I was going to use the snow blower, but I got my pants caught when I tried to pull it out of the shed. Those big blades sure do move fast! I had to wait until it ran out of gas before I could get out of there! Lucky for me there was a nice neighbour watching for the first few hours, just in case something bad happened. It made me feel better to see him smiling, that way I knew it would be ok.

I changed the bed yesterday. The feather pillows sure are taking a long time to dry! And I'm not too sure about your new vacuum; it seemed to slow down a lot after I sucked some of the water out of them. But that bag-less thing is great, you wouldn't believe how much water I got out of there!

I play hockey on Thursday this week. I think I am going back to using my cup. Those guys have terrible aim; they must have hit me there like 20 times! They said I can use all my stuff this time, which is good because I'm not sure that "no helmet day" was ever a really good idea.

Well, look at the time! I completely forgot about supper. Like you said it should only take like 10 minutes to whip up a can of tuna, and the microwave is making some funny noise so it must be ready, sounds good though, it's sizzling and popping and kind of smells like hickory! Yummy!

Miss you lots,

JIM

P.S. I hear the Fire Trucks! I hope they come near our street! I love Fire Trucks!

The legend continues... and spreads like insanity

I had another post all ready to go, but when you live where I live and work the places I do, along with know the people I know, sometimes you have to allow for the unforeseen.

I was trying to come up with a clever name for Eeyore's wife for a week now, and other than a few inside jokes, there was little to choose from especially when she shares the company of a guy like Eeyore. Sort of makes it hard to measure up.

Well there has been a new development in the black cloud that hovers over Eeyore's head, it seems that just when you think it's finished pissing on you, it moves one space over, to your wife.

I was on call last night and there hadn't been really anything to speak of until I got a call to pull a Honda out of the ditch. A few minutes and very little effort later, the car was free and I was on my way. (Ring), my cell phone starts to ring, I answer, and damned if it isn't my old buddy Eeyore, sounding like he had a birr up his ass. "What are you up to?" he asked, "not much, just did a ditch pull." "Frickin lovely". I ask:” what’s the matter?" The wife got in an accident, she's ok, but the truck is busted up." I was already in the area, so I started towards where they were.

The large Buick S.U.V. was parked on the side of the road with the front divers side banged up. Parked behind her was a small Hyundai S.U.V. with no apparent marks at all. After examining the two vehicles, it was pretty clear that the Hyundai won this battle. I saw only two small scratches on the bumper next to the Licence plate that read something along the lines of "NO HITTER", well it looks like the plate may need revising now.

We waited for the police for a while and it was concluded that there were slippery conditions, nothing more, just bad luck. Go figure.

So I have decided that since she is only the victim of Eeyore's bad luck that she will be a.k.a.'d as S.O.L. (Shit Out of Luck).

The twist is this, any of my friends and family that got my e-mail yesterday and asked a bunch of "get to know you" questions, will notice that one of the questions was about driving history, well for your enjoyment, here is a snippet of S.O.L's answers:

9. Ever been toilet papering? yes
10. Love someone so much it made you cry? yes
11. Been in a car accident? no
12. Croutons or Bacon: croutons
13. Favourite day of the week: Thursday

It seems that life is not without its sense of irony.

Fun and Games second installment

Daytime game #2: Fireball

Category: outdoor all season fun

Required: Tennis ball doused in lighter fluid; lighter or matches; old ball glove; equally old tennis racket; minimum 2 persons; large playing area, preferably away from buildings or dry conditions.

Goal: To pass the flaming ball from player to player in any fashion or speed in an attempt to make opponent(s) miss or drop the ball, and to catch or directly return the ball using only the glove and racket, never letting the ball burn out.
The player who misses, or receives a ball that burns out, loses one point per offence. There are no points given. Games are decided from 1st place (closest to 0) to last place (the most negative number, or, the biggest loser)

Rules: Protective gear is not to be worn unless voted and agreed upon by majority of the players. While wearing more than underwear is encouraged, excessive coverage may make you look like a pansy.

Only the referee is allowed to handle the lighter fluid during play. Guidelines for selecting referee may be the person with the most burns on their body, or terms agreed upon by the players.

Time outs may only be implemented in extreme situations (Burnt/burning crotch, loss of fireball over fence, or arrival of fire department.)

Nomex may not be worn at any time by anyone other than the spectators.

Ball may be returned by using racket only, but only if velocity of fireball increases. In which case the ball is to be continually sped up, until a catch or miss is made, both resulting in -1 point.
As always crying is frowned upon, as are groin shots. Groin shots resulting in crying however are considered for the weekly “highlight reel”.

On this note I would like to point out that these games are not intended for the use of persons who live near or are limited to spaces near fueling stations, hay fields or fertilizer plants.

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!

I went to a bar on Saturday, not just a bar, but one of those dance bars I can't stand.

A friend of mine (Grumpy Old Man) plays in a local band, and On Friday night a buddy and I went to check them out, the music was great, but the attendance was, well there was none. Other than My Friend and me, there were maybe another 20 people, employees included. In between sets I spoke with my guitar playing buddy, and it turned out that Fridays are not the best night to come to this bar. I decided to go back the next night, after a birthday party I was to attend with Eeyore and Eeyore's wife (soon to be re-named).

I got there late and the place was full, Grumpy Old Man was finishing up a set, so I sat back and ordered a drink. When the set was done he came over and sat with me and had a beer. A few things were noted in my first five minutes there:
1. I hate dance bars
2. I can't believe I still pass as a minor
3. I was among the youngest people there
4. The dance floor was more than entertaining enough to keep me there.

I guess every party has one. The young, attractive, not terribly bright, very uninhibited girl getting stares from every "bar predator" that exists. Since I'm not much of a dancer I assumed my normal pose, leaning on the railing surrounding the dance floor as Grumpy Old Man took to the stage.

Part 1

The first song started and the young lady (BarHo) lures her first partner (The Dude) onto the floor. Seductive stares exchanged (actually The Dude had no idea what day of the week it was so he was trying to focus on horizontal vs. vertical), the two started to dance. BarHo wasted no time and she put her back to him and started to grind, grope, grasp and rub The Dude, who was obviously proud (he was waving his hands in the air and laughing at his buddies who were sitting watching him). Then BarHo turned looked right into his eyes and moved closer as if to try and kiss him, the dude lunges at her for the kill, and is met my a smack. Not from lips, but from the palm of an open hand. BarHo storms off angry with the audacity of this guy who tried to kiss her. The Dude is still excited and is smiling from ear to ear as he makes his way to his buddies who are roaring at him.

Part 2

Before the next song even starts, BarHo is back on the floor with a 30 year old guy (Kim Mitchell look alike) who obviously caught the beginning of Part 1, but not the second. She starts into this guy wrapping one leg around him and grinding his mid section like a Britney Spears on Spanish fly. He is smiling and his eyes are WIDE open. You can read his thoughts;
"Man this chick wants me bad! I guess the "vibe" I was putting out must have caught her eye! If I play this right I will definitely get some tonight! Mom's gonna make us breakfast in the morning! (long pause) I Love her!"

The song passes and Kim Mitchell has "the look", he is into her, she says thanks and walks away. Kim Mitchell follows, she has obviously moved on, but this poor bastard is not giving up, so he lurches around following her.

Part 3

She hits the floor with her latest find. This guy has missed Part 1 and Part2. He's a well dressed young man, obviously with no need to pick up BarHo. Kim Mitchell is around though, dancing with himself, never more than 8 feet from BarHo and her new catch. He (GQ) shuffles his feet as she pole dances around him. GQ is getting less and less impressed. Then it happens. She backs her rear right into him and rubs into GQ's mid section. GQ is not impressed, he leaves. BarHo follows him visibly upset. An exchange ensues near the door where GQ is obviously not bothering to reply.

Out of nowhere Kim Mitchell intervenes dancing like a fool. Smack! Kim Mitchell's heart is broken.

This is the last we see of BarHo for a while, then during the last song, she re-appears, barely conscious with a biker (Harley), Harley is smiling at his buddies who are cheering him on from the side, as she sort of hangs off of him. She should have stuck with Kim Mitchell.

After this little slice of the "Night Life" I have re-kindled my hatred of the bar scene; but the music was great, the beer was cold, and I must have passed for "acceptable" by some miscellaneous ladies who were determined to get Jim to dance, but if you know Jim, Jim don't dance with anyone, except Wife. I know. I'm a "prude".

Misfortunes? Me?

Ok, ok, after reviewing the stories of Ior and doing some review of my own life I have concluded that there may be some good (true) stories from my upbringing.

Early years:

I was about 6 years old when the first weird accident happened, I was riding my Banana seated bike and if you have ever owned one of the old fashinned bikes, you know that the pedals didn't stand up to wear and tear. Usually after a few seasons of use you would see only a steel peg remaining of the pedal. It couldn't be trusted for foot stability, but still functionned for pedaling, or as I found, for ripping through your flesh and plunging itself 2 inches into your ass crack (no not there, about 7 inches up from there).

It happened as I laid down my bike on its side, and started to occupy myself with some other things. I sort of stumbled back and caught one of my feet on the tires and back I fell. To this day I have the scar of what appears to be a second poo chute. Now the quirky thing here is, that my older brother Boner had the same thing happen to him at some point in his youth (does he have a second poo chute?), we both had the moments recorded in still pictures of a bandage covered bottom. As if somehow this seemed like something we should look back on with fondness.
There ought to be a public service announcement.

PSA; excessive and improper use of bycicle and related equipment may cause mild to severe physical alterations such as: missing teeth, lacerations, bruising, broken limbs, loss of eye and establishment of new orifices.

A little later (12 or so):

Other older Brother Pokey was in possession of his learners driving permit when the family made it's way to town for groceries and doctor's appoinments. On the way home as I way slobbering all over my ice cream treat from behind the driver's seat. I remember mom saying; "Pokey, you can't turn a corner at this speed" to which I remember a reply of "watch me!" Then, a weird thing happened, we were turning right, down the access road to our small town when the next thing I knew I was lying on my back in a ditch.

Still wearing a better part of my Revel on my face I peered at my toes and beyond to the car, now stopped, 100 feet away from me. There stood up in disbelief outside the vehicle, was Pokey. I sat for a moment and then worked my way to my feet. My first swear words in the presence of my Ma were; "asshole".The rest of the trip passed with not so much as a whisper, except for mother who repeatedly shook her head saying: "my God". I was teary and had only the Revel on my face to sooth the sting to my pride and the raspberry on my ass. It seems the door was not properly closed and I wasn't wearing a seatbelt. There is a Public servise announcement.

As for the rest of my youth, those are the two and only accidents (humorous in nature) I have ever had. Except for falling off a treadmill during peek gym time, and sliding on a shale infield while playing softball, after the third out... Long after. I know.

My Bad

Upon further review I must admit I am completely illiterate when it comes to Disney, as it turns out I've been spelling this poor sucker's name wrong for weeks. Sorry Eeyore. Promise to use this spelling from now on. Unless you would like me to call you something else? Nah.

Why Self-Help isn't always the solution

Dear Doctor Phil,I would like to take this time to thank you for setting me straight on my “Life Path”; I am working on making some changes to myself, both physically and emotionally. I realize that you likely get more letters from women than men but thanks for taking time to answer me.

I was a little confused by your letter, but I now see that you weren’t trying to tell me, what to do but to set out guidelines for me to make the right choices on my own. I guess that’s why you called me Mrs. Bunkerbank. Thank you for your infinite wisdom, and for trusting me to make these realizations.

First of all I want you to know I took your advice and threw caution to the wind so I could address every single thing you pointed out. You, Dr. Phil, may have some strange remedies, but you can’t argue with the statistics.

The rather difficult decision that deals with what you called a fear of being responsible for another human was a difficult internal struggle, but as I grew inside I realized what you meant when you suggested I visit the possibility of bearing children. While that is physically impossible for me, I have not only adopted a cat but, I quit my job to care for a family of 6 Libyan refugees. There is a language barrier, but that’s what you likely meant by learning to “speak the same language as your life mates”. I’m not so slow am I Doctor Phil? Thank you, thank you, and thank you.

Now when you spoke of getting some surgical enhancements to make me feel more whole as a woman, I guess you were referring to my problem with intimacy and my being out of touch with my feminine side. So I went ahead and had breast augmentation. I am now a B cup and have never felt more secure in my manhood. I guess it’s like you say, you can lead a donkey to water, but you can’t make him sing moon river while blowing bubbles in the star light. It seems so obvious to me now. Thank you Dr. Phil, you are a genius.

And now your final point, stepping outside my “comfort place”. Well my most comfortable place is my home, and yes that’s right, I sold it to a homeless person for a dance and I now live at the YMCA with my new family. The soup is great and the kids keep me busy all day, they chase me all over the lot trying to hug my neck. Those guys are strong, a few times I almost blacked out!

Anyways, Doctor Phil, I am on the road to being happy and I can’t wait to see what the end result will be. I await your next letter!

Awaiting anxiously,
Frank Grant

Reply:

Dear Mr. Grant,
Please accept our apologies your letter was accidentally mixed up with another of Doctor Phil’s “people’s” letters.

The letter you received was for a struggling housewife whose ailments cause one of her breasts to not develop as normal. You may remember the show called “I need a fabulous new body, before I can give birth”. During which we addressed numerous concerns of spouses and their life partners.

The letter you received was to address the issues raised by our guest Mrs. Bunkerbank.

Thank you for tuning in to Dr. Phil!

Producer

Fun and games first installment

So, What does a guy like me do during a Lockout of his favorite sport?

I invent ways to occupy myself.

I Have come up with a variety of games (indoor and outdoor) to pass the time and keep you under the radar of any persons seeking to limit you fun intake/output. I will release these games as time permits.

Daytime Game #1: Office Dodgeball

***Warning*** These games may cause such side effects as; Dismissal from employment; Eye injuries; Heart attacks; elevated Blood pressure; Diarrhea; Constipation; Bloating; Dizziness; Lack of Sexual Interest; Increase of Sexual Interest (depending on uniforms); Mild to severe burning and itching; Loss of client base; and sneezing.

Category: Indoor all season fun (office)

Required: Paper Ball and at least 2 (maximum 10) good humored co-workers.

Goal: To bean at least 1 player per quarter (a quarter is the time between start of day and break; between end of break and lunch, etc…), the location of the hit does not matter.

Mid section shots are not lethal but are frowned upon in the office environment.

Rules: There shall be NO sneak attacks from behind walls, players must be able to see each other for at least one second prior to release. (Turning away to avoid a hit (Turn aways) are not permitted)

You may hit the same person as often as you wish through a quarter, but repeat attacks automatically re-activate the player.

Heckling downed players is encouraged, but indoor voices are to be used at all cost. Unless Downed player cries, then the indoor voice policy may be reviewed for the enjoyment of others.

A Throw may only be nullified by;
A. Stepping out of the way of incoming paper ball, or;
B. deflecting the shot with another Paper ball. * Note * a maximum of 2 paper balls may be used per player.

Players may be recruited by simply attacking with a paper ball. If they do not react, send second paper ball to make sure they get the point.

Games will go on as long as they have to within the confines of the set quarter times. Overtime pay may not be claimed for matches that are not decided within the 4 quarters of a normal work day. Government employees may modify this rule according to local regulations.

Penalties will be assessed for Improper paper balls (dimensions may not exceed 1 cubic foot);
-Telling management is an automatic suspension;
-For heckling, while it is encouraged, may not extend outside business hours to the player’s home (except under circumstances covered by the Halloween amendment or the April fools day clause);
-Physical contact that is deemed more severe than a hip check (contact may be used only while trying to save an ally) will result in a 2 minute “time out”.

Stay tuned for more fun with the Happy Gapper, next week we’ll make watching Oprah with your wife fun!

Saddest Valentine's ever

I ate SPAM for supper last night.

We grew up in a small town that was about a block and a half from school, so we used to come home for lunch. The daily menu varied from soup and sandwich, macaroni and hot dogs, hamburgers, subs, Schwans mini pizzas, etc... On the odd occasion we would have fried SPAM sandwiches.

It wasn't until later in life that I realized that SPAM was the: other other red meat. It was usually the butt of a welfare joke or two. But my rather bulbous physique quite enjoyed the canned fatty block of goo sliced and pan fried, on homemade bread with mustard and mayo.

On Valentine's Day I tried to re-kindle a little romance with this, culinary delight. I had never actually made this before.

I opened the can using this peculiar sort of key that rips the tin open exposing the pink block of meat within, along with the familiar scent not unlike that of a can of dogfood. I shook the container until the block settled on my plate. When I examined the inside of the can I noticed that the thick white fatty remains had separated themselves from the meat. Not so fatty after all, right?

I proceeded to slice and fry the SPAM until nice and crispy. And there swimming in a pool of its own rendered fat two sliced of browned Sandwich meat sat ready to be eaten. I placed the slices on bread with mustard and mayo, just the way I remembered enjoying in throughout my school years.

What I did not remember was the speed with which the gelatinous substance was rejected from my stomach and returned through the orifice through which it came. It was not pretty.

Sick as a dog running for the bathroom, trying to keep my new puppy from witnessing the ordeal, I barfed. I barfed long and hard and somewhere on **** Avenue, a child cried.

I felt like three sacks of smashed arseholes. I layed there on the floor groaning for a few moments, then mustered up the strength to get a glass of water. Relief.

I proceeded to remove the goo from my home. The smell was heavy in the air and I wore my shirt over my face to filter the odor. Eventually I lit a few of the wife's smelly candles to get rid of the smell.

Later that evening I sat there on my couch with the taste of vomit in my mouth and the smell of fried spam and cinnamon heavy in the air. I did not eat anymore last night. I did however take my dog for a 1 hour tour of the neighborhood. He hasn't "been right" since valentine's day.

To my Wife with love on Valentine's Day

Dear Wife,

It's valentines day and I am at work. Things are going great, Jackal pooped on the floor so I guess he is still regular.

Good News, I think his worms are gone, because I didn't see a single one when I scraped his poop off my bare foot. By the way, those Swifter wipes are good at taking poop off the floor, and it's way easier than using a mop all the way up and down the stairs.

The Kitchen renovation is all done, the new flooring stands up quite well to the water dripping down from the ceiling fan, and the copper caraffe you baught at Winners is the perfect size for catching most of the drops.

I realized something today, the front stairs to our house must be resistant to freezing rain, because when I ran down them this morning in my PJ's I only noticed the icey conditions when I leapt onto the driveway and slid under the towtruck on my bum. Those stairs are Great!

That new detergent you baught was great, after only 30 minutes of scrubbing you can barely see the oil stains on my PJ's! And those Swifter wipes are good for taking oil off the floor too!

Good news I had time to eat breakfast this morning, I sure did enjoy that new milk you got, it's way more filling than the old stuff, but they should supply floss for afterwards, hahaha!

Well, I should be going the boss looks like he wants to give me a valentine, he has been walking around the office with a really red face with a pink piece of paper in his hand! Oooh I hope it's one of those funny elephant cards!

See you later sweetheart, I shouldn't be late, I let the nice fellow with the white cane that sings those exagerated sad songs in front of my office building borrow the car, as long as he has it here at 4:00 sharp. He smiled and laughed so it should be no problem.

Love Jim

P.S. Don't forget I have hockey with the guys tommorow, they said that this time I get to use the chest protector, but I have to give them my protective cup, which is fine with me, they only hit me in the chest last week.

The Misfortunes of Ior, take two

It never ceases to amaze me how good humored this poor bastard is.

About the same time I created my first post on poor Ior (see below), a half washed load of darks slowed from a vigorous agitation to a screeching halt, full of water of course.

It seems that the machine that had served them well for years, gave up. Ior examined the damage, and reached the conclusion that it needs to be replaced. Off to the store he goes.

It should be noted that Ior has a small child, which added to the immediate need for a working washing machine. The child (Elly-Mae) is growing like a weed and needs to wear her clothes as often as possible because she will be tearing out of them soon.

Ior returns with a new machine, problem solved.

Or, not.

As they are bringing the new machine in, Ior's new cell phone somehow falls under the new unit, and when they set it down, crunch. New Cell phone is broken.

Now the old saying goes bad things come in threes so good ol Ior, so as not to dissapoint...

On the way to work the next day, Ior is driving along in his 2000 Kia, when; clunk, the driver side suspension coil breaks, yes it just, broke! A quick assesment shows that it will need to be replaced, not only that but it seems that you can't just replace one, no, you have to replace the driver and passenger side coils.

Of course when you talk to Ior about it, he simply rolls his eyes and says; "Oh well!".

Prediction: One of these days Ior is going to snap. He is going to tie his old washing machine to the bumper of his Kia and drive it into their basement window, and as he walks away, he'll use his cell phone to call the Fire Department before he sets it all ablaze. But with his luck the waterlines in the house will burst and put out his match.

Kids these days

That is a common phrase that I have likely heard as often as any one of the people I know.

Has the world changed any? Are there still "those" kids? More importantly, for those of us that have just grown up, when do we start looking at those kids and start comparing them to "our day"?

I look at kids in front of 7-11 and see them messing around chasing each other, picking on the slower fatter one among them, and when I walk by they mockingly say "peace brother!" and as I continue past them with a pff, they begin to roar.

At this point I think to myself; "you little bastards, If you had known me at your age you would have worshipped me". Yeah, I was the cool guy. At least that's what my friends let me believe. But, when did I become the Butt of a joke? When did I become a target? Did I ever do this kind of stuff?

Answers: The minute you Graduated; the second I put on khakis, or a golf shirt; and Oh my lord, did I ever.

But I can honestly say, in my opinion, kids are no worse now than they were. The trends have changed in such a way that i disagree with; music because it is less interesting, I have closed my mind and regressed into the mid 90's for my music; Anything "reality" based on TV more recent than Survivor is foolish; and fashion, I would rather wear a Moomoo than let my wife pick my clothes.

I am an old man.

My wife tells me it regularly, I am a crusty old man, I look at the people around me as I grew up, and I can see the signs;

1. The old guy at the party drinking with the 16 year olds, playing cards and talking loudly, drawing unnecessary amounts of attention towards himself. Of course I was 20, and it was my party, but I felt like that guy;

2. I drink Tea instead of slurpees;

3. I watch what I eat, and feel guilty after a McD-s binge.

I have aged terribly. I am 28. I hate Much Music, MTV and celebrities. I mock them every chance I get, my wife is 25 and is still "up to date", this makes me feel even older. I regress further, deciding to throw out anything seemingly stylish and revert to T-Shirts and Jeans. I laugh at anyone wearing something new and hip and promise myself that I'll never let my wife dress me.

I focus the attention of my life on keeping the wife happy, golfing, playing ball, hockey, eating wings and drinking beer. I work because I have to, and I look forward to quitting time.

When I was 16, I never tried to be popular guy, I gave that up when I was dubbed the biggest loser at a boarding school I went to. Then when I returned, I was the man. Go fig.

Now, it's time to accept my most excellent life. Play the old guy for the kids at 7-11 and enjoy every moment that MTV is not on my TV. I will wear pants that fit and drive an SUV. I will reject change not initiated by my boss (or at least the guy that pays me to accept it), and I will make fun of Ior every time he wears slightly green dyed jeans A.K.A. Fancy Pants, only because he'll listen and his wife got them for him).

I figure it will be a great couple of years... Until I reach 30, then it's over!

My Friend Ior

"Why does this always happen to me?" The lament of the droopy eyed hapless donkey that has a grey cloud over his head all the time.

I have recently named a good friend of mine IOR.

Middle of may Jim gets a panicked phone call; "my basement is flooded and I need help".

Jim closes books (was studying up for upcoming job interview) and heads outside where buddy IOR is waiting in truck, we tear out and head to pick up Shop vacs, Iors Brother-in-law obliges, then it's on to Beer Store for mandatory case of OV. Now we're set!

Walk into basement... Squish! Basement is wet.

Begin taking out furnishing and other items. I want to cry for them. Ior grins and makes reference to obvious indoor swimming pool joke. I smirk, not wanting to laugh.

A quick side note about Ior, everything that involves friends and disaster, involves a few beer a few laughs and a few breaks for composure sake.

We drain about two 20 gal tanks of water from shopvac. This calls for a quick dip in the frigid, but refreshing OUTDOOR POOL.

A few quick wobbly pops and we're back at it. Carpet needs to be removed and put outside where a torrential downpour has evolved. This could spell disaster for Mr. Shopvac! We labor on.

At this point Ior's wife is advised there may be no insurance to cover this. Ior's wife is not happy.

Carpet and underlay is rolled up in center of floor. Carpet is 30 feet by 20 feet and weighs 2 tons. If you know Jim you know he's gonna try it (especially when he gots the fuel fer his mule in him). I take the front and Ior (quite a powerful fellow himself and just as determined) brings up the rear. I grunt and start walking not looking back and Ior pushes, we are movin up the stairs.

I get my end well over the top and need to rest. I set my end down and look back for the first time. Ior is covered in Dirty rug water up to his shoulders. It seems that when a soaked rolled carpet is placed on an angle the water flows freely to the lowest point. Ior grins and says; "ooh my indoor Pool has a waterfall". Ior had been pushing with his shoulders on the end of the carpet. Ior is wet and dirty, but still smiling. Rain has let up, for now. We drag the carpet onto the driveway to drain, Jim is going to use this carpet in his Garage-den (A.K.A. Doghouse).

This latest effort calls for a, you guessed it, break. We trudge around evaluating the situation. Slam back another couple and keep on going. All flooring is removed, Ior's Wife on hands and knees trying to remove "god damned peel and stick flooring", with a flat screwdriver. Jim credits Ior's wife with a great deal of patience. And lends a hand.

By the end of the day, carpet and flooring is removed 24 Beer have vanished and floor is as dry as it can get for now. The rain starts to fall again, nothing further came of it though. Insurance ended up replacing all the damaged items and rebuilt the basement.

This may seem like a pretty ordinary thing to anyone who has been involved in a basement flood. The trick to this one is;

Right around Mid-December Ior's wife comes home to find that she now has a floating carpet in her basement. Yes, the one that was just replaced. The walls are soaked and this time, there are some victimized appliances. ie, computer power tools, TV's etc... Here we go again.

The worst part of this whole thing is that I have only known Ior and family for a year. I have been told stories of dishwasher leaking and ruining entire kitchen and most of upstairs, as well as basement ceiling.

I will track the progress of Ior's misfortunes and report them directly.

If Tommorow Starts Without Me

Some poems just say it all. This was forwarded to me, but rings very true, I posted this on an old draft Thursday May 4, 2006 at 11:11 while listening to my and Sue's song, In the middle (theory of a deadman). If you read this, chances are there's a reason you're looking back several months, I guess this blog was a fantastic idea for this reason if nothing else it's easy to see who I was, how I loved and laughed.

If tomorrow starts without me, And I'm not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes all filled with tears for me;

I wish so much you wouldn't cry the way you did today,
While thinking of the many things, We didn't get to say.

I know how much you love me, As much as I love you,
And each time that you think of me, I know you'll miss me too;

But when tomorrow starts without me, Please try to understand,
that an angel came and called my name, And took me by the hand,

And said my place was ready, In heaven far above,
And that I'd have to leave behind all those I dearly love.

But as I turned to walk away, A tear fell from my eye,
For all my life, I'd always thought, I didn't want to die.

I had so much to live for, So much left yet to do,
it seemed almost impossible, that I was leaving you.

I thought of all the yesterdays, The good ones and the bad,
I thought of all that we shared, And all the fun we had.

If I could relive yesterday, Just even for a while,
I'd say good-bye and kiss you and maybe see you smile.

But then I fully realized, That this could never be,
For emptiness and memories, would take the place of me.

And when I thought of worldly things, I might miss some tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did, My heart was filled with sorrow.

But when I walked through heaven's gates, I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me, From His great golden throne,

He said, "This is eternity, And all I've promised you.
Today your life on earth has passed, but here life starts anew."

I promise no tomorrow, But today will always last,
and since each day is the same way, There's no longing for the past.

So when tomorrow starts without me, don't think we're far apart,
For every time you think of me, I'm right here, in your heart.

Trying not to make this morbid at all, but I think it would be a hidden gem among a bounty of memories of me.

Remember how I loved
And how I made you smile
Remember me for my caring side
Instilled in me as a child

My time here may be through
But I promise it's not the end
I'm in heaven now
Looking after some dear dear friends

I may not have been the best man
I know I hurt some of you
I always tried to make amends
My words were always true

So now I leave you sad
Tears streaming down your face
But know that I am happy
I'm in a better place

Hard to imagine a better place than here, I had the greatest family and childhood a person could want, I only hope I got to give the same to my own.

T'was the week before Christmas

The weekend of December 18th

Friday 4:00pm – leave my regular 8-4 job go to moonlighting Tow Truck job

4:20pm – go unlock lady’s car for her, has lit cigarette in car, afraid of burning down car. Unlock, collect cash, go home.

4:45pm – Tow from in town to Canadian tire. Customer angry to learn he will have to pay for tow. Jim laughs and takes cash (I am JIM).

5:15pm – Sit Down for chicken with loving wife. Call for tow comes in as I bite my first leg. Wife un-impressed with the timing of drunk driver.

5:45pm – Drunk wants to ride in truck with me. I decline his offer. Officer offers ride. Drunks says OK.

6:30pm – Arrive home for rest of leg, and maybe some thigh. Wife not think me funny. I get a smack.

7:00pm – Called to unlock car for mad mommy. Baby is still in car. Me thinks baby is safer in locked car. Reluctantly open car.

8:00pm – Teenie locked out of mom and dad’s car, I become hero and focus of attention at Wal-Mart, suddenly have few more to unlock. Collect cash and go home.

9:45 ish – Talk to pokey(pokey is my Brother)

10:00pm – Have been home for 10 minutes. Police call, Accident in town, Me and Ior (more on Ior later) called to scene, no one hurt, Pride muscle severely bruised when person ran into flower planter at pizza place when car swerves to miss traffic on one way street. Messy call takes longer than usual.

12:15AM – Start to question my choice of moonlighting profession. And realize I have neglected to call Boner (other brother) for birthday wish… I’m an asshole.

1:30am – Woken from less than deep slumber to police call. Stolen 1 ton goes on rampage and blows transmission after barrelling through Granny's fence and lawn ornaments, including inflatable frosty village. Thinking about Bogarting the items for the Griswold home (Jim's house). Items taken into evidence. One less home to compete with for décor prize.

3:30am – Arrive home from call. Wife questions choice of moonlighting career.

4:30 – Wasn’t asleep yet. Call arrives for locked car at 7-11 gas station. Unlock car and grab hot chocolate. Customer Buys. Bonus.

5:00 – Arrive Home and crawl into bed. Feeling a little pooped.

6:00 Call for tow from outside of city. Car broken down people are cold. I hurry into gear and head out.

7:00 Arrive to find two people-sickles. Stow them in warm truck while I hook up car. Young couple appears to be taking advantage of body heat to keep warm. Suddenly hear the twangy, tacky bass guitar and sexy saxophone as I imagine bad scene in Porno movie. Shake head and finish hooking up.

8:30 Unload cargo at Mommy and Daddy’s house. They have no idea that Junior and missy are "warm".

8:31 Call for tow from out of town.

8:32 Call for Boost in town.

8:33 Call for tow in town. Going to be a long day. Ior takes two in town calls, I hit the road.

Steady calls all day Saturday. The sleet and snow begins to fall at 5:00 pm. Definitely wondering about career choice. Ior has to work Sunday at regular job, Nice guy Jim won’t let him go without sleep. I will stay first on call tonight.

10:00pm Meet wife at her work to munch on Chinese food. Jim hasn’t stopped all day and is really hungry. Sit to eat, pager goes off. Police call car rolled over in ditch. Everyone ok. On way out of town, bad weather arrives. Roads are slick. Get to scene when pager notifies me that call cancelled, driver’s Dad owns competition towing company. I bow out.

10:45pm as I am leaving scene, Police call for ditched car. He is in deep. I spend 2 hours winching and manoeuvring this car out of fence on side of highway. Finally get car loaded when driver asks me to quote price for delivery of car. Customer disagrees with cost. I tell him car will be impounded at 20$ a day if he can’t pay. Customer is furious, begins violently calling big Jim names and threatening. Big Jim gets out of truck and stands next to mad guy and rolls up sleeves. We agree it’s ok to impound until next day.
Problem. Girlfriend is using passive resistance to protest price of tow. She has locked herself in car. Police left scene as I was finishing hook-up, Jim not happy.

2:30 am Mad Guy tries to get girlfriend out of car to no avail. Jim calls Police and informs mad guy that my time is worth 1$ per minute. I can wait all night.

3:30 am police eventually remove girl from car. 60$ per hour job ends. Tow car to impound. tow bill is creatively revised.

5:05 am get home to bed. Out like light.

6:00 am Pager goes off. Accident on 402 highway with Semi and ½ ton. Both are off highway in blizzard conditions 45 kilometers out of town. Boss is en route to get semi, I am on way to get truck.

6:05am get into truck, home is sunny and beautiful. Jim not understand how there is blizzard 45 km away.

6:20am Jim Understands. 10 km out of town it gets bad. No visibility. Roads covered. Semis passing at 80 km/h. Jims experience in wind tunnel snow drifted prairies comes into play.

7:15am arrive on scene. Long drive over… one way. Semi is across road and in ditch. My tow is slammed into the side of the trailer blocking highway. This person is not ok. Wait for removal before we start. Jim has to move truck so they can get to subject. Flashback (More later).

Subject removed, fun begins. 2 hours of shovelling digging and winching. We free the semi, but only after removing front axle. Oops. We decide the crash must have caused that.

9:30am on the way back to town. No visibility, but pager hasn’t gone off yet! Maybe people are smart and are staying home!

10:30am pager goes nuts, Ontarian drivers are piss poor in less than perfect or white salty conditions. Back to highway for accident involving 1 semi in trees in median. 1 semi in ditch beside him. 1 mustang under second semi. 3 minivans full of children (hockey day) in ditch trying to avoid accident. 4 cars piled up in middle of highway. I hate my job. So does Mom in Law who has been calling worried wife every 30 minutes for status reports. Dad in Law is white knuckled in front of the weather channel sweating. Yelling in the back “dere’s no need o’ bein out dere b’y!” Funnt thing is Father in law more worried about daughter who is snugly tucked away in house.

11:30am arrive on scene. Move cars to side of road. KABOOM. I hear a loud crash behind me. A semi slides by my ass as it goes into the ditch with a Toyota van on its grill. I only saw it because it was 2 feet away from me. Can’t see a thing. I load all passengers and drivers we can squeeze into my truck. That’s it, back to town.

I do a quick walk around to see if everyone is ok. Long line of stopped cars ask if I am going to turn back. I tell them to follow me.
30 assorted cars follow the pied piper to the police turn around to head west. Big Jim blocks west bound lane so my mice can get on road ok. My mice fininsh turning and wait on side of road for piper. I creep to front of pack with all floodlights on so they can see me.

12:30pm we head home. A long slow drive through zero visibility.

1:15pm we are 10 km from home. Weather is clearing, roads are better. I can’t believe the difference. The mice begin to venture past me. Horns blare waving hands protrude from vehicles, thumbs up are all around me, even a pile of blown kisses. I love my job.

I spend the rest of the day catching up on some stuff in town as the other guys get one more load. At 4:30 we wrap up the rescue. No people stranded on the road. The efforts will resume tomorrow. The boss tells me to take the rest of my shift off (Ior comes in to relieve me). And a big pat on the back for Jim.

5:30pm I am home. A shower, some Kraft Dinner and chicken fingers and a glass of Rye (a la Trailer Park Boys) puts me in a good place. I pass out at 7:00 PM and wake at 10:00 PM. Not quite rejuvenated, but better. I check in with the boss to see if any more can be done, he says “stay home, and get some sleep”. I watch TV on my cozy couch and Confirm to Mom in Law that I promise not to go out on the road again tonight.

11:30 off to bed, regular work in the morning. I still love my moonlighting job.

HappyGapper

Blog, WTF!

Thanks Jocelyn for making me actually sign up! I wanted to post you a note and *Poof*, here I am. Oh well, maybe I can get some use from this.

I am from Saskatchewan and though I live in Ontario, I have, and always will, consider myself a "Gapper".

I love my home, my family and friends from the prairies, though most of us have moved away to pusue carreers. I was once described as a person who would be as loyal as a dog and as defensive as a grizzly bear for anyone I hold dear, that is quite true, except the Bear part, I'm really more of a Magoo-like lion, only succeeding to pull off the part of protector, or sane person completely by accident.

Not sure where I'll go with this, mostly I will tell some stories of my life experiences, not for the life lessons, but mostly because weird shit always happens to me and it's worth a read (sometimes).

So feel free to post, comment or flame at will.

When Hawks Attack

I came home from work last week, The neighbour lady is on the front step to her house. She asks me to come and see if there is a dead bird in the backyard so I go and take a peek, but just before I get there, she says to me, it's her pet pigeon, I had seen this thing on the peak of her house and let me tell you, it was fat, I mean likely 5-7 pounds of bird there.

I knew she fed the animals and vermin on our street (squirrels, pigeons and the like), anyway, as I was making my way there she mentioned she thought the pigeon had been killed by a hawk she feeds...

So I got into the back yard, there on the ground was this damn pigeon, all round and still. Sitting on its corpse was the friggin hawk. I grabbed a rake that was leaned against the fence and made my way over to rescue the corpse of this magnificent bulbous vermin-fowl when all of the sudden, the great wings of the hawk spread and began to laboriously flap. It took about 5 seconds but the hawk managed to lift this fatass off the ground and started making a run for the fence beside me.

He got about 5 feet off the ground and barely pulled himself over the fence
The pigeon however gets knocked into the fence, thus stalling the momentum of the noble hawk, both of them kind of roll over the fence and fall into the neighbours’ yard, into safety (from me I guess).

I stood there among the 12 or so squirrels in this person’s backyard in utter disbelief.

Now, imagine the attack on animal kingdom;

Narrator: "The noble hawk descends on its prey swiftly...

The pigeon has no idea until the last second that he is to be his dinner…

The hawk screams eeeeeaaaaa...

The pigeon bellows rrrrooo!!!!

And it's over".

I recounted the story several times before realizing how funny it is. I will file it along with the ‘Bear and the Trout’ story from Lake Diefenbaker. And the ‘spokesperson for seatbelts when big brother is driving’ story (to be posted).