I went to my uncle's memorial today. The pastor asked for memories that anyone might want to share. Which lead to the phrases "you're an asshole!" and "mmmm boobies" being yelled in the church. The pastor (my half-brother) quickly lost control of the proceedings after that. I wished my sister was there to laugh about it with, but I had to settle for calling her on the way home. My family is great. Tomorrow we are continuing our tradition of going to a demolition derby, which is actually a pretty good time.
I just want to remind y'all to raise a glass to the fine men and women that this 3 day weekend was created to honor. Those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country, their families, their friends, and their comrades in arms.
Not to take away from toytoy's post, but there is a spider on my ceiling and I don't like it. Not one little bit. Wanted: someone tall enough to reach my ceiling. I will provide the tissues and the garbage can for body-disposal.
Needlestick injury in the clinic today. I've never been so close to actually hopping in my car and driving down to another office and beating the crap out of someone. Because holy fuck, when someone has been exposed to god-knows-what from that needle, and I have the most up to date guidelines sitting in my hands which confirm beyond all doubt that I have the best possible course of action, the last thing I need from someone whose job it is to click a button to approve payment is to hear the phrase "... I'm trying to think of what we used to keep in the kits at my old pharmacy...". I need a drink.
Dad was in Korea. Navy stationed him on a destroyer in the Mediterranean. The only action he saw was getting swindled by ONE Italian taxi, which gave him an intense hatred for the entire race. Gramps, however, was in France in 1916/1917. Krauts sprayed his back in shrapnel and some mustard gas exposure. He built bridges in the Philippines during WWII. *That* was a dude to know. The shit that guy must have seen. He was dead by the time I was 5 (he was born in 1892), so no good stories. It would have been epic if he was senile, bouncing me on his knee, reminiscing about the time he bayoneted a group of sleeping Germans, or throwing a grenade into a German ammo dump cleverly disguised as a local hospital.
If I was a DJ who did weddings, I'd hate that song too. Looking around, I'm convinced that the Acela Express is the single whitest place on the Eastern seaboard.
My grandfather, kindest, coolest, toughest old man I ever knew, only told me about WWII once. I only asked once. He stormed Juno Beach on D-Day and I had no idea my mom's dad was a mass killer up until that point. "Our Captain made us collect trophies". He opened a chest he always kept locked while I was there. He pulled out 17 swastika arm bands. I went white. He didn't bat an eyelash. Getting a grip-- "Why is the one all stained black like that?" I said. "Stabbing a man is worse than shooting him. You see his pain, he cries, he begs you to stop. He bleeds a lot more, too. So I shot him in the face and shut him up. Oh, and blood turns black when it's completely curdled." "One of them took an entire chamber from my Thompson. I always carried two despite their weight. When he hit the ground, there was nineteen holes in his body. When I saw his face afterwards, he had to be fourteen years old."... my grandfather himself lied about his age to be enlisted for the first raid, he himself on sixteen on D-Day. ...I honestly think he was trying to intimidate me into not asking him again. But it was nothing to him. He was a trained cold-blooded killer who just simply stopped being one. All while he was a teenager. This year, my grandfather was honoured in his hometown with a war memorial, and that same fucking week my mom got the wondrous pleasure of finding out she has two sisters in England she has never heard of or met. You see, my grandfather was sort of mowed down by a German aircraft and spent 18 months in the hospital and met a nurse. My grandmother (his girlfriend at the time) was at home waiting for him, but this was before my mom or uncles were born. So I have two aunts who live somewhere in England I never knew existed until a couple months ago. Shit, I hope either one of them isn't my wife's mother that would be a hilarious coincidence, yes? The more you know.
Boom goes the dynamite. Because in the past five years, do you know how many couples have picked that as their first, special, sacred dance? ONE OUT OF EVERY FOUR. Of all the incredible, timeless songs out there you want a song from the Wizard of Oz sung by a 900 pound man? "Honey, I want that ukulele Oz song cover! It's so romantic, I've wanted it as my wedding song ever since Dr. Green withered away and died to it!" ...because that's what gave that song its viral push. Death. Speaking of which, I've had three separate hipster couples use "I Will Follow You into the Dark" by Deathcab for Cutie. Real hopeful, happy-day stuff, huh?
I'm sending out resumes this Sunday to switch jobs, and when I notified the owner that I was planning to leave in the near future he basically said, "Write whatever the fuck you want about your job here. If you like I'll just tell them you ran the business for me." Now, this isn't even remotely true, and to be honest I'm not even very high up on the latter. I haven't ever been in a position where I could claim anything about my current/past job and actually had the references to back it up. I've never lied or even exaggerated on a resume. It's tempting because the jobs I've had since college are loosely connected and I've never ran a department, or been in a spot where I was managing a large group of people. Putting what he's suggesting on the resume would open up some of those 'x' experience required jobs I wasn't thinking about applying for before. Everyone I've asked about it is pretty much telling me to lie my ass off. It just doesn't feel right though, and it would be douchey to land a job I'm not qualified for. So that's what I'll be mulling over this weekend. My brother just got finished with his infantry training in the marines. He's in some kind of anti tank unit that fires javelins/tow missiles. I'll have to get more details next time I talk to him, which will finally be easy now that he's done with the basic trainings and has been raised from shit stain to maggot. So yeah, go military.
It's better than the people who want U2's "One" because they didn't listen any closer than "one loooooooove."
I'll see your Somewhere Over The Rainbow and raise you Pachabel's Motherfucking Canon. Yes, being the DJ sucks, but being the organist sucks too. I hate Pachabel. I hope he's getting fisted in the darkest part of Hell for that piece of shit song.
I don't think it sucks. I love it, I get to drink while I work and is easy money. Fun usually, too. But that song sucks. It SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKS. And Canon in D is the most overused overrated song in the history of music, and any fake asshole at a party who claims they "know" classic music always throws that song in the conversation and expects panties to hit the floor. Fuck and you.
We danced to Sweet Pea by Amos Lee. Don't judge. It doesn't have any deep meaning or anything, it's just a pleasant, sweet song. Plus it's short, which was a nice bonus.
Ours was "Keeper of the Stars" by Tracy Byrd. If it wasn't a country song, someone may well have shot us here in TX. Spoiler
Dear Charles Johnson, I know you're out there. I know you're listing. In another thread you brought up an ancient, contentious topic that had been forgotten in the bowels of time. I will have you know that I wipe standing up, proudly I might add. You just walked into Hell, motherfucker. Sincerely, I.W.S Juice.
Just found out that there's a counter to calling "shotgun." It's calling "Rosa Parks." Can't make ME sit in the back, bitches.