Sweet Dreams

Well...last night I had a dream, and I know that, as stated by Always Sunny, "Dreams are like pictures, if I'm not in any of them, and no one is having sex, I don't care." However, some people are in this one.

My buddy Zach calls me up and asks if I'd be interested in going to Pittsburgh to invest in a coal mine. I agree, as I take great personal stake in the nation's coal supply. Anyways, we're driving for about two hours in the driving rain, and the turnpike starts going up these steep, unfinished mountain roads, our wheels are overhanging cliffs, it's all pure rock with gullies of rushing water. Zach repeatedly insists that we're going the right way, and that I do not remember this part of the turnpike because it's under construction.

We go for a little longer and we see this big building made of logs in the distance. Zach says pull over, this is a good place to stop. It's a gravel/dirt lot, with many mud covered pickups. The lot is lit by overhead stadium lights, and we run through the mire to a door that says "Bar" over another sign that says "General Store."

We sit down at the bar, get a couple of looks from the locals wearing cowboys hats...it's obviously the only place for miles, as the bar is very large and filled to capacity. It takes forever, but we eventually get a beer and zach asks the bartender where the closest hotel room is. He gives us directions, but I'm upset because I need to get to Pittsburgh that night so I can be home the next day in time for a party I'm throwing. Zach says it's raining too bad to head home.

We go down a hallway to the general store area, were there are about 12 teenagers wearing kilts and suspenders with dirty button down white shirts made out of some heavy fabric. They all have bad punk-rock type haircuts, randoms lengths of hair long in one area, short in others, but since they obviously have never seen internet or television to know what a punk haircut is, these are actually more authentic punk than most. They area struggling to get a 55 gallon drum of oil to the checkout.

I go get a warm soda out of the cooler, and say "excuse me" to the teens, but they ignore me and continue to struggle with the drum. I go to pay the old man for the soda at a front counter, but one of the teens is blocking the counter who says "we're in front of you, city boy."

I tell him that I'll be done before they even get to the counter, and he repeats that they were in front of me. I hand two dollars to the old man, and go to exit, where another teen has his hand on the doorknob. He goes "poor choice." I grab the doorknob and leave.

The rain has slowed, so Zach and I start walking across the big parking lot to the car to decide if we should head towards the 'burgh or head for home. I look over my shoulder, where I can see the group of teens have left the barrel outside and are slowly following us. I just finish saying "let's just get on the road and we'll decide, I don't feel like dealing with them," when I notice that the teens have gathered together and are looking towards the far end of the lot. Suddenly, someone at the far end of the lot bursts from the passenger side of the car and starts running across an open area behind the building, the teens run after him, picking up broken 2x4s, over run him and begin beating him with the 2x4's and pieces of chain.

Zach and I are both like, "Holy Shit!" but sort of hang around in disbelief, when the teens drag the dude they were beating over to the barrel of oil where they start dousing him with the oil and trying to set him on fire. At that point, Zach and I quietly roll the car out of the lot and head for home.

When we get back to my house, people are swarming the yard. Spot lights are everywhere, as a crew of men are assembling a large stage with "ANDREW WK" emblazoned across the top. I fight my way through crowds of people, some of whom I know to varying extent, to my front door, where one of the girls from the rugby team I coach is standing there in full kit.
"Coach, what's going on?" She asks, although it seems she knows more than I do.
"What're you doing here?" I ask.
"Oh, I just needed a..." she trails off, distracted by the stage.
"Why are you in full gear?"
"Oh, well I just came here to see if you had a...," again, she is looking at the stage.
"What? What do you want?" Just then my boss from England bursts out of the door.
"She wants a beer, just like every other bloody rugger!" he shouts, forcing a beer into her hand, goes back inside and slams the door.
"Why are you here?" I ask again.
"I just wanted to get, a, um, " pausing to look at the stage, "a mouthpiece!"
"It's 2 months until we start practice, I don't have any moth pieces. Besides, you have one stuck in your headband, one in your collar, and one in each sock if i'm not mistaken."
"Oh, well, then I guess I can go then," and disappeared into the crowd, beer in hand.

Andy Young, who I've seen once, maybe twice since high school, uncharacteristically tears up through my yard in a convertible cabriolet, top down with tall dune grass planted in the back.
"Well, glad to see you brough some grass to replant my yard." He hops out over the door carrying two six packs, shoves one into my arms, and goes inside without making eye contact.

I go into the house, where it is wall to wall acquaintances from high school and college engaging in behavior that will cause long term detrimental effects to my home. I try to talk to them to find out what is going on, but shredding guitar music drowns out their answers.

I mosh back to my room, where Sean is guarding the door.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO DUDE!!!"
"what's going on here!?" I ask him.
"I don't know what we're gonna do."
"About what?" I just want to know whats going on.
"ANDREW W.K." Sean yells over the music.
"Is he here, or is that just his stage?"

Sean opens the door to reveal Andrew W.K. sprawled out on my bed, unconscious.

I don't remember what happened after that, but I can only assume I went on and partied so hard that my heart exploded out of my chest at the end of the set, and everyone cheered as they were covered in a shower of Jager flavored blood.

Blocked Number

I got a phone call today, all that came up on my screen was "blocked." I was trying to think if I had blocked any ex-girlfriend's number, or, more likely, that of one of my friends who call late at night with stupid jokes and stories.

Goody: "Hello?"
Caller: "Yo!" (at this point I'm thinking it's a coworker, as we block our cell numbers so pool owners can't bother us directly.)
Goody: "What's going on man?"
Caller: "This is Jose." (I must have not heard that right)
Goody: "Who?"
Jose: "Jose. Who's this?" (I can't possibly know anyone named Jose."
Goody: "I'm Goody."
Jose: "something something your boy from the crib." (um, I was at a house party last weekend, but don't recall anyone named Jose.)
Goody: "How do I know you?"
Jose: "You gave me your number last night." (I went to work yesterday, bought a Christmas tree, had 'lunch' at Scooter's, and came home. Could there be someone else named Goody with a similar number?)
Goody: "I think you have the wrong number."
Jose: "Jose, from the white car. Who is this?" (Did I meet anyone in a crib or a white car recently? hmm, no.)
Goody: "I'm Goody. What white car?"
Jose: "the small one." (vague. very vague. I do intentionally piss off many other motorists, but how would they get my number?)
Goody: "What number did you dial? I don't want to miss out on your illegal activity if it's something cool."
Goody: "Hello?"
Goody: "Jose?"
Dialtone: "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer"

Too Nice

My sister, Jacy, called me today from the Doctor's office. She was getting some botox shots to loosen up her arm so she can start working with it a little more and just to relax it. (She was in a car accident and her arm isn't working too hot, if you didn't' know) Anyway, the office didn't get pre-authorization, and couldn't get ahold of anyone at the insurance, so she had to sign something saying we would pay for it if insurance wouldn't cover it.

Anyway, the convo went like this:
Jacy: "Hey, we don't know if insurance will cover the shots, so we might have to sign a paper saying we'll pay for them if they don't"
Me: "Ok, we can do that."
Jacy: "Well, it's expensive...a couple thousand" (she said the exact price)
Me: "Ok, well you want the shots, right?"
Jacy: "Yeah"
Me: "Well then sign the paper, and if insurance doesn't pay for it, we will"

How it should have gone:
Jacy: "Hey, we don't know if insurance will cover the shots, so we might have to sign a paper saying we'll pay for them if they don't"
Me: "Ok, we can do that."
Jacy: "Well, it's expensive...a couple thousand" (she said the exact price)
Me: "Oh."
(Silence)
Jacy: "What should I do?"
Me: "Well you know how I want a TV that goes on the wall."
Jacy: "you could still get that, they're not that much."
Me: "yeah, but you still need another session in your leg...why don't you just pick one or another?"

and I could've kept going like that forever...lucky for her, I was busy framing windows in the basement and couldn't mess with her....maybe next time she needs something important.

Lemme Upgrade Ya

I'm sick of companies trying to sell me guarantees on products/services. I was at the post office today, and after standing in a dense line while clerks complain about their job to the old people who must be in there every day because they have enough free time to not just buy a book of stamps and mail from home, they ask me if I would like to upgrade to priority mail, and if I would like to require a signature/notification of receipt.
To put it simply, I'm paying $1.17 for this envelope to be shipped from Lititz to Western Lancaster in a timely fashion. If I pay that money, USPS does that. Why should I pay extra money to make sure it gets done? If you can't do it properly for one dollar and seventeen cents, charge more for the flat rate.
It's as if I would come to you and say, "Hey, I'll build you a doghouse for $100." Then, after we agree upon that rate, I go: "Hey, I'll be sure to do a good job of it for $125."

Apple pulled the same stunt on me. Don't get me wrong I love my laptop and phone, but they offer extended warranties for extra money, which I can understand. However, I recently had an issue with the iPhone...I don't know what it was, it was working off and on, i took it to the Apple store and they replaced it, no questions asked....awesome, great customer service, iSatisfied. However, the warranty on the replacement phone is not one year from when it was issued, but from the date of the original purchase.
If you sell a product and guarentee it for a year and it fails, shouldn't the exact same product have the exact same warantee? To make it even worse, to make a selling point, they tell me that the $80 extended warranty transfers with the phone if I ever sell it...meaning they acknowledge the fact that a waranty goes along with an individual item, not along with the person who bought it.
It's as if I build you a doghouse and as I leave I say, "Yep, I did an extra good job on this one (thanks for the extra 25 bucks), if anything happens to it in the next year, gimme a call and i'll come fix it."
364 days later, you come out and the dog house is a pile of boards in the yard. You call me, I come out and explain that I must've gotten some faulty nails, no way I could have known that, but I'm a man of my word and I'll build a brand new one just like the old one. When you ask what if this one falls apart in 364 days....well, that's not my problem, I guarenteed that first one for one year, so if this one falls apart tomorrow, I'll fix it, but after that, I have no guarentees that the work I just did will last any longer.
....but for an extra 50 bucks, I promise it will last at least 3 more weeks...

Seriously, who is stupid enough to actually pay extra money to be sure what should've been done right the first time actually gets done? Sorry if you do spend extra money on these types of things, and if you're offended, send me 5 bucks and I'll write a personal appology post. Send me $20 and it will be sincere.

Nightmares

I had a dream the other night. I was sitting in my car in a parking lot. A man came up and knocked on my window, it was my dad. My old-school dad with a mustache. I didn't recognize him at first, but it was him. I was so incredibly happy to see him. He told me it was all just a test to see how Jacy and I would do in a crisis situation and that we excelled in the test.

I asked to see mom...and he said that she died in the accident, and Jacy's injuries were real...

I woke up then. It was sad...I never thought about the massive insurance fraud that would have been committed if it were true...I was just happy to see Dad.

Sorry, it's a bit sentimental...I'll go back to drinking with Sean so I don't dream.

Mood: Angry, nauseous.

So it's a pretty low key night...reading a book by the fire until i decide to change the music, then someone IMs me, and before I know it, I went from a positive, intellectual activity to searching youtube for classic Hulk Hogan clips. Then the Undertaker. Then the Million Dollar Man...I'm not sure why, I never watched WWF. Anyway, Million Dollar man's sidebar has "Money Talks" on it, so I watch that video...and a few more sidebar clicks, and I find these:

Shakira, singing a song that I probably would be titled "Back in Black," had I no prior knowledge of AC/DC.


...she kinda looks like Dee Snider...

Shania Twain...try to block out the singing, focus on the headflips to give it some humor, assuming she's trying to headbang and not just keep the hair out of her eyes.



...Celine Dion. By far a crime against all nature...and that's my opinion of her before I saw this video. The worst part is, you can tell she thinks she is really rocking.



p.s. The only people who should be wearing heels anywhere near an AC/DC song are strippers, Gene Simmons, and, as much as I hate to mention him twice, Dee Snider.

I remember the first time I heard AC/DC. I was in Kindergarten. It was my first contact with rock music...my dad's copy of "Dirty Deeds." We used to watch a lot of "Cops," not having cable television and all, so naturally I was drawn to the blacked out faces on the cover art and the disclaimer that "only the names have been changed to protect the guilty."

But yeah, these videos really upset me. It's like finding out that someone brutally raped and slowly disfigured your childhood friend. And you know exactly who did it...and you know that not only were they paid to do it, but they're proud of their heinous crime.

Sorry, I can't get all worked up over this...if I'm going to drive a van packed full of explosives into a concert, it will be a Jimmy Buffet concert, I can't let this distract me from the reason God put me on earth.

Also, I'm afraid my quotes key will wear out if I continue with this post. and this is the most my "Dee Snider" key has been used in awhile.