Midget Bum

I’m enjoying the scenery at the local goth/rocker/long-haired hell raiser watering hole. PBR in hand, leaning on the rail that surrounds the dance floor.  Chain link fence separates the pogo happy boot stomping dancers as they push each other around while I Wanna Be Sedated pierces the thick manufactured fog.  The only light on the dance floor is green, so everyone looks like rocker ghouls out there.  It’s kind of eerie, but in a completely mesmerizing way.

My boys pop up next to me, and we exchange handshakes and hellos.  Tip our bottles up and enjoy a couple of laughs.  This is great people watching territory!  The collection of spikes, piercings, goth clothing, leather and vintage rocker Ts really make it worthwhile to stop off in here each weekend.  Me?  Biker jacket, Alice In Chains T, old ripped up jeans (back when people actually wore them until they ripped on their own) and combats.  So, basically another day in the life of a rock culture poseur.

I turn to take a couple of step over to where a couple of Betties are sitting, and it feels like my left foot is stuck to the floor, because I can’t seem to move my leg.  I look back, and here’s a little bearded guy, holding onto the strings attached to the ripped hole in my left pant leg.  Double take/rub eyes/whaa? Then one of the voices in my head says,

Voice: There’s a midget tugging on your pants, dude.
Me:  I know! What the hell is this?
Voice: You better find out, he looks pissed, dude.
Me: Dude, why do you keep calling me dude?

I lean down towards the little man.  He’s smelly, crusty, and dirty.  I think he’s a homeless guy; I’ve never seen him in here before. Not like I often see homeless people in this joint, but he’s dressed like he could be in Mini Kiss.  I say, “Yes... What do you want?”  “Gimme a dollar.” “I’m not giving you a dollar, dude.” I turn to walk away.  Midget Bum Guy now is pulling on the belt of my leather biker jacket. “Dude, seriously, lay off the leather, dude.” “Gimme a dollar, asshole.” “I’m sorry, I’m not giving you any money.” Now he’s glaring intently at me, with a hint of I’mabouttogopostalonyourrockerass. “Give.Me.A.Dollar.”  And for good measure, he gives me a shove.  Now at this point, Voice decides to go all tough guy on me.

Voice: Dude, screw this little bum jerk.
Me: I know, but he’s just a homeless guy, AND he’s a dwarf.  Shouldn’t I have pity on him, or show some compassion?”
Voice: You are acting like such a homo, dude.  He grabbed the leather.
Me: Well, yeah, and he shoved me, too.
Voice: Exactly.  Drop this bitch like a bad habit.
Me: But dude, he’s just a midget bum. And what will my buddies say?
Voice: Since when do you care about what those douchebags think, dude?  We’re rockers, man!

Stuck in a bit of a quandrey, wasn’t I?  Do I drop the bum since he tried to assault you? Or do I just give him the dollar and tell him to grow up?

I gave him the dollar.  Well, actually, I defiantly dropped it on the floor at his little bum feet. Then I watched the bouncers escort him to the door and toss him like it was midget bowling night. Big John (the bouncer) said, “Dude, we saw the whole thing go down, dude. You shoulda decked that guy.”  It was the last I saw of him.

Right Boot....

Words to live by.  Your code of conduct.  Your mantra.  The few simple words that are not discussed, but implied by how you try to live your life.  My code came to me on evening in the mega cineplex in 1989.

Dalton: I want you to be nice until it's time to not be nice.

Yes. I hear you, and I understand.  But how will I know when it’s time not to be nice?

Dalton: I will tell you.

Should I know anything else about this life altering revelation?

Dalton: All you have to do is follow three simple rules. One, never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected. Two, take it outside. Never start anything inside the bar unless it's absolutely necessary. And three, be nice.

But Mister Dalton, that’s four things; you said four things not three...

Dalton: My way... or the highway.

Well, Mister Dalton, I wasn’t really trying to challenge your authority or start an arguement.

Dalton: People who really want to have a good time won't come to a slaughterhouse. And we've got entirely too many troublemakers here. Too many 40-year-old adolescents, felons, power drinkers and trustees of modern chemistry.

Yeah, I agree, this place you call a nightclub is kind of a craphole.

Dalton: Nobody ever wins a fight.

Sir, I agree with you here, I’m not trying to be contrary.

Emmett: Calling me sir is like putting an elevator in an outhouse. It don't belong.

I’m sorry, why are you here? I mean, you weren’t part of this conversation.

Wade Garrett: This place has a sign hangin' over the urinal that says, "Don't eat the big white mint".

Heh heh, yeah, I saw that when I was drainin’ the main vein.  Funny, that.  Hey, I like this guy.  Dude that mustache is epic!

Wade Garrett: That gal's got entirely too many brains to have an ass like that.

HAHAHA!  Oh man, you’re killin’ me!

Dalton: You are such an asshole.

Woah, Dalton, back it down a notch there, turbo!  It was Garrett with the snide comment.  What am I supposed to do?

Dalton: There's always barber college.

You know, I think I’m outta here.  You guys are nuts.

Dalton: Take the biggest guy in the world, shatter his knee and he'll drop like a stone.

Don’t sweat it Mr. Myagi.  Save your super awesome logic for the next bouncer. I’m outta here.





Thank you, Roadhouse.

Runaway Mine Train

There are so many random thoughts in my head!  I bet you've got a few, too. The complete lyrics to Red Barchetta from Rush.  Your high school locker combination.  The complete name of your first bike, and what color it was. The beats per minute to every 80's hip hop/dance song. , (As a former spikemulleted nightclub DJ, I'm stuck with that one)  Your height and weight when you graduated high school.  The name of your elementary school principal.  The boy who threw up on the teacher in 4th grade.  Do we really need to retain all this randomness?  I'd like to make some room for more important things, and these thoughts are certainly getting in the way.


Here's a random one, from my junior high days, from our school trip to the amusement park.  Me and a big group of my dork friends thought it would be super fun to ride one roller coaster as many times as we could in one afternoon.  It was a week day in the early spring, and the line for the ride was basically non-existent.


This is, to my best recollection, straight off the top of my head, the entire, complete, and correct schpeal for The Runaway Mine Train Ride.


"Welcome to the Runaway Mine Train. Please stand behind the yellow safety line and wait for the car to come to a complete and full stop. As you enter the car, please be seated and pull down on the orange safety bar to its' locked position.  Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride, and enjoy your day at Cedar Point.  Thank you for riding the Runaway Mine Train." (done complete with cheesey DJ voice, which I'm an expert at, please see first paragraph)


Okay, this may get lost in translation, but here's why I remember that stupid thing.  We rode this ride 12 times in under 2 hours.  No line.  Run through the turnstiles and back up the wooden stairs to the ride, elbowing each other out of the way for the front seat in the first car.  The funny part was, that at that time, they had high school aged kids who ran the rides, and the operator had to recite the stupid speech over a CB radio lookin' microphone.  This was before them high falootin' crazy automated computer controlled audio systems with them digital recordin' thingies. The sweaty depressed high school kid who's blowing his summer vacation by working at the amusement park has twenty giggling, sugar buzzed, retarded PARROTS who are reciting the whole thing RIGHT ALONG WITH HIM.  His mood dropped along with his shoulders as we, laughing hysterically, ran up the steps one more time.  He sighs as he picks up the mic, and realizes that YES we will be repeating every. word. he. says.  I think I saw him pick up a knife and glare at us, then down at his wrists.....


Now it's your turn.  Do you have a random thought that is stuck in your brain?  Leave it here.  Maybe it will depart permanently from the dark recesses of that puny little brain of yours.  Just don't repeat it over and over again.  That's how I got in this mess in the first place.

Follow Update

I'm kinda shocked, truly I am.  I put up a whiny little post, I just guilt tripped about 5 new people into following. Okay, maybe it was only two, but I broke double digits for the first time.  And in less than 3 months. (once a month, I'll need to repeat the whiny post idea)


I also joined Studio 30+, and lo and behold, people friended me over there, too.  So I'm heading in the right direction.  And I would like to thank all 11 of you, including both of Kathryn's personalities, for joining me up in here!  Ain't no party like a Lawn party!


Yeah, I can't believe I just wrote that either.  Anyways.... I thank you for your encouraging words, your support, and your creative skills that inspire me to write more, and to learn the English language a little better.(not a lot better, just a little bit mo' bettah)


I was gonna single out a couple of blogs here, but I'm gonna go about this a different way.  Since there's only 10 of you over there on in the Entourage, I will encourage each of you to go read the other 9 blogs.  I think each one offers a different flavor, and different writing styles.  Some are rough, some are beautifully crafted, and some are over the top.  But each are worth reading.  I've got some work to do to keep up with you.


I'll have a real entry up tomorrow.

Soul Mates

At that very moment, that split second in time, you see it, smell it, your touch is electrified, and you know.  You just know.  It’s a peaceful inner soul surrounded by an outer feeling of uncontrollable romantic lust.  You tingle and wiggle and jump up and down, even if only figuratively.

Somebody you know has had this experience.  I’m betting you have, too.  It’s an undeniable situation, that passes by in slow motion.  It’s a millisecond that we reach for as it passes, and we dive for the remote, hoping we got it on the DVR.  It’s a real life moment, though, and it’s only to be viewed live, and in person.  It’s one moment in your life that pales in comparison to all others, and yet, it’s often indescribable. It's nirvana; divine in its’ perfection. There's a lump in your throat as you fumble for words.....

“You had to be there,” we say.  “You should have seen her,” he said; beaming proudly.  We snatch the phone from our pocket and text it to all our friends, and post it on our page about “I just found THE ONE”.  Everyone wants all the details.  Even your old high school pals pat you on the back electronically, and obviously, you soooo deserve it because you’re just such a great guy.  It’s your moment to bask in the spotlight, and look down in your hand at the brass ring, that finally you, and you alone have attained.

You take her home to dear old Mom, and she’s speechless with approval.  She calls later to say how proud she is of you.  Your chest puffs out a little bit more, and you stand a little taller.  It’s just these kinds of moments that we live for, isn’t it?  You look lovingly at her again, and say,









“I love my new car.”

I Will Follow

I know this is a day late. I'd appreciate it if you get up off my back about it.

I'm not fishing for comments on this post.  This is NOT a "pay attention to me" moment.

I'm in need of more followers.  Minions would be ideal, but followers for My Lawn would be good.  I guess I'm getting impatient.  I thought if I snap my fingers and write witty banter, and babble wistfully about lame and boring stuff, people would want to read it.  I've read a few hundred blogs, and well... That's what people write.  Stuff.  About stuff.  And crafts, and pictures, and sex, and the gay, and Creepy McCreeperton that lives behind me and stares at me through the sheer curtains while naked with binoculars and a jerk sock.

I've got to keep believing that someday, my above average genius IQ will translate into a Nobel Prize, or at the very least a Blogger.com Tshirt.  Seriously, my IQ is like 170 or something!  (give or take a hundred)  Shouldn't people be flocking by the thousands from all the little cartoon continents in my Stats window to read my masterpiece of a blog? (thank you to my friends in Russia and Singapore!)  They stalk, read, but don't FOLLOW.  I’m funny, insightful, and downright hilarious pretty much most of the time.  Okay, ALL of the time, and you know it. Come on you lame ass jagoffs, click the damned link so I can sleep at night!  I’m tired of being late for work, and the boss is asking questions.  It wouldn't kill ya to save a life now and again.

I'm on 3 types of sleep inducing meds right now, and it's cutting into my Meth addiction.  It would be really nice if you could stop by, and just click on the damned box for chrissakes.  Now where did I put my works......?

Okay, maybe it is a look at me kind of post.

Country Thoughts

You can stand in front of the mirror your whole life and point a big finger over your shoulder at the ghosts standing off in the hazy distance.  All the while ignoring the person staring back at you. You can force your opinions of how the world has done you wrong on anyone who will listen.  Determined to find blame in the black cold world outside your dirty window, you will remain inside searching for something that will never reveal itself.  You’re convinced that your family, your friends and coworkers are all out to get the best of you... To suck the last breath out of your soul, leaving you piled in a heap in the corner, never to be thought of again.

Oh and don't you know that blame,
Is always never enough.
It just keeps you in the game,
‘Til you've only got yourself left to bluff.          

“Blame The Vain”, -Dwight Yoakam

Sitting alone, at the end of the bar, you will find solace in your anger, behind your mile high brick and mortar fortifications.  Your indignation alienates even the toughest beer slinging bartender.  You frown lines overshadow what used to be a wonderful smile.  The furrowed brow shows the world your pain.  You wear it like an old black overcoat, because it’s a cold, dark place where you live.  You can’t wait for your memories to end.

Two doors down there's a pay phone
But no calls come in
Two doors down there's a memory
That won't ever end                                       

“Two Doors Down”, -Dwight Yoakam

You’re invisible.  You’re convinced the brutally uncaring world does not see you.  They walk over your barely breathing body, without even a second glance.  You’ve thrown yourself down at their feet in hopes someone will reach out and offer you a lift up.  You see no other alternative.  This is your last chance at a new path. There is no other way out.  It’s done now, and you’ve got to finish it.  It’s time, this time.  Time is up, there can only be this one final choice, to end it.  To put all this pain behind you.  Stop all the uncontrollable darkness that is swallowing you whole.

Sometimes I miss that world out there
So empty, hard and unkind
But I've been thinking about leaving
Long enough to change my mind           

“Thinking About Leaving”, -Dwight Yoakam

You’ve forgotten one valuable memory here.  There is someone waiting for you.  One person, one small face, somewhere off in the distance.  You can barely see them through the dark, stormy haze.  They wait for you.  They wait for you to be well... To be whole again.  They are there, and they’ve been there all along.  Time to change your mind.  Time to come home.

‘Cause I pay rent on a run down place
There ain't no view but there's lots of space
In my heart
The heart that you own                       

“The Heart That You Own”, -Dwight Yoakam

It seems that my day has been filled with the country music musings from an old, friendly voice.  Thank you, Mr. Yoakam, for your music, and tonight's inspiration.

Worst Date..... Ever.

This happened a long time ago.  Fortunately, it’s never been beaten, a record to stand for all time.  Delicious epic failness.

I primarily write fiction.  I might take a tidbit of truth and try my darnedest to weave it into something creative, but for the most part, my stuff is fiction.  I really, really, really, REALLY, wish this was fiction.  Sadly, it is true.  It’s so ridiculous, nobody could make this up.
_________________________________________________________

Awesome! She finally said yes!  Well, actually, it’s the first time I asked her, so I guess she didn’t really have a chance to say no before.  I’m glad she said yes, though.  So beautiful.  So funny, and sweet, and lovely eyes.  It’s always been about the face for me.  You could lose your train of... you could lose your train...  Blue/Green. Big. Deep. Consuming. Never accusing.  You could lose your train of thought in those eyes.  Anyways, she said yes, so it’s off to a concert we go!

Two tickets to one of the hottest concerts of the summer at the big outdoor venue.  You know the kind, park and walk, 8 dollar beers, 40 dollar black concert t-shirts.  But we’ll get to that in a few minutes.  There is much more to tell before we get to the concert.....

I pick her up at her place, dressed in my best black shirt, and jeans and boots.  Yeah, if you’re gonna go rawk out, dress the part, people.  Besides, that was my normal attire at that time.  She: faded daisy dukes, cowboy boots, deep tan, and a very form fitting white v-neck t-shirt. Black hair gently blowing in the summer breeze.  It was very hot.  So was she.  I’m really looking forward to this evening.  I’m staring, and having a hard time looking at the traffic in front of me.

Off to dinner, where we have incredibly slow service.  It was stupid slow, the restaurant wasn’t even that busy.  It’s a Tuesday, for chrissakes.  We are dangerously close to needing to leave.  We’ve been done with dinner for 20 minutes, where the hell is our waiter??  We talk and laugh about dine and dash.  This evening is not starting well.  The credit card machine is down?  You’re kidding, right?  Okay, I’ve got cash.  I’ve got enough cash to cover dinner, but now my money for parking is gone.  We’ll go across the street to the gas station and I’ll hit an ATM before we head to the parking lot.

Okay, how long should I sit here before I make an illegal left hand turn to get in line to park?  First date, trying to show I have some ethics, but screw it, we’re late now.  I’ve picked up enough money to get us parked, and a few dollars for a couple of cocktails later.  Tires screeching, and we jump out into the long line of cars. C’mon, people, I’m trying to find a parking space here!  Let’s move it!  Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, we barrell into an open spot in the grassy lot that is what seems like 10 miles away from the venue.  We can hear loud pounding arena rock pouring out over the back wall of the venue through the open windows of the car.  Pulled in, locked the door, and do the fast walk through the grass towards the gates.  As we reach the gates, I pull out the tickets, and we get our wristbands for booze.  “THANK YOU, GOOD NIGHT!!”  Well, there goes the support act.  Thanks, we just missed the opening act, which was super hot on the charts that month.  Fail.  Now our pace slows, as we realize we’ll see all of the headliner, and that’s a good thing.  That’s why we’re here anyways.  She flashes a flirty smile as we get in the mile long intermission line for our first ice coldie of the evening.  Me, a beer, she, a Long Island.  “That’ll be 700 dollars, bro.”  Excellent. You need a small business loan to attend these things, apparently. And I'm not your BRO.

The lights go down, the band begins, she’s excited with anticipation and squeezes me around the middle. We fight for position near a small ‘satellite stage’ out in the general admission lawn area.  See, we KNOW that the band will come out here for a couple of songs, and we want the best spot possible.  Not long after we find our spot, she says it’s time for a bathroom break. I insist on holding our spot, but she says I need to come with her, so we don’t lose each other in the throngs of concert goers.  She’s right, I think, and oblige.  I push through the crowd as her personal fullback, and she follows close, holding onto my back pocket, as we snake through the drunken rockers.

Back to our spot near the satellite stage.  Well, almost back to the spot we were before.  It seems EVERYONE ELSE out there had the same knowledge that we did...... So we’re much farther back now, and she can’t see over most of the revelers in front.  (She’s so cute and petite) She asks to get on my shoulders, as she’ll have a great vantage point.  I figure I get to touch her legs, and they’ll be wrapped around my head for a few minutes, and well.... Well, that just sounds like all kind of good to me.  Up she goes, and as I straighten up, I hear a POP.  That would be my back going out!  Yeah.  So now, I’ve got my girl up on my shoulders, she’s loving every minute of the band that she can now see clearly.  I’m barely able to stand the stabbing pain, and my vision is blurry.  This is just great.  Bad service, had to pay cash, missed the opener, and now my back goes out.  I barely held out for two full songs.  Two of the longest songs on the playlist, too, I think.  I put her down, and she looks a bit sad.  I don’t blame her, these guys rawk, and I was so liking her up there wrapped around my neck.  But the blinding, shooting pain that cut off feeling to my lower body wasn’t so much fun.  Sorry, princess, but I’d like to be able to walk later; among other things.

We enjoy the rest of the concert, and now begin the long trek back to the car.  “We’re in section V, right?”  “Um, I thought you were looking at the sign when we got out of the car.”  “No, I thought YOU were looking at the sign when we walked out of the lot!!”  Jesus, now we can’t find the car.  Seriously?  Dear God, what did I do to deserve this? Ten minutes of searching, but we find the car.  Oh, there it is.  WITH A FLAT TIRE.  In my rush, making that illegal left hand turn, I must have picked up some glass or a nail in my tire.  Or I hit something while bypassing cars in the grass, I dunno.  It’s flat, and I don’t have a spare in the trunk at the moment.  So flop flop flop off to the gas station, to hopefully get it filled enough to get her home.  Her beautiful eyes are losing their shine now.  More of an empty dead get me home now look about them now.
Bad service, had to pay cash, missed the opener, my back goes out, lose the car, flat tire.

We get the tire filled up, I also get some fix-a-flat for good measure.  My hands are dirty and greasy as I put some gas in the tank for the long quiet ride back to her place.  I didn’t even turn on the radio.  I’m sweaty, dirty, and humiliated.  My back is pounding, throbbing and aching.  As I walk her to the front porch, she turns, smiles, kisses me on the cheek, loosely hugging, and then pats me on the back 4 times.  That’s The Pat of Doom.  Every guy knows it.  It’s 4 pats, signifying each word.... It’s the ‘Your Not Getting Laid’ pat.  Not that I expected to when I set up this date, I was just hoping for a second date for crying out loud!  Okay maybe second base..... She closes the door behind her, and turns out the porch light.  I pause after turning towards my car.  I think I heard laughter.  As I got in the car, I sighed, and realized that I was glad it was over, too.  How could I not?  This was an epic night of stupid stuff.  If she stood near the door, she would have heard me laughing as I drove away.  It was too ridiculous to not laugh.

And that..... That was the Worst Date Ever.

P.S.-- Lisa, if you’re reading..... Call me......

Resolved.

New Year, new beginnings.  We like to rationalize how we will put our best foot forward.  How this year will be the BEST EVER.  We will accomplish every single goal that fell short last year, regardless of the minuscule effort we put forth.  If we could just put down the remote and get on the treadmill, last year would have been thinner.  If we could have kept our mouth shut, we would still be with the one that got away.  The fifth or sixth beer was the cause of the all of last year’s continual drama. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

We know the reasons why we don’t succeed at attaining our goals.  Each January, we choose to ignore our failures, and march forward towards the promise of a new attitude, a new horizon, and new improved self.  We sweep it all under the rug, throw it all out with the Christmas wrappings, then wipe the Things To Do list clean, knowing full well that we won’t reach our goals again.  Yet we deny our truths, and run headlong up a hill we cannot possibly climb.

We’ll hide the little wrinkles, the gray hairs, and we’ll keep our pants that haven’t fit for two years on the top shelf “just in case”.  This month our fridge will be full of Slimfast and rabbit food.  Next month we’ll be back to cheese in a can and deep fried everything.  But for now, we are determined to prove to ourselves that we aren’t like the others.  We’re really not going to fail again.  Because this year is my year.

Because, like the rest of us humans on this planet, we have something in common.  Hope.  It’s part of our DNA.  It’s what makes us the dominant species, in a way.  As we look out the window longing for our loved ones to return, we are filled with hope.  She gets dressed to the nines, wears her most fragrant perfume, and sits alone at the end of the bar closest to the dance floor, hopeful that tonight she will meet Him.  We toil away every weekend for a month to put together the research project the way your boss asked you to,  because we hope he will notice all of your extra effort.  We cheer on our favorite sports team because we truly hope they will win.  Because, when they win, we win.  We’re winners for a moment, and we like being winners.

We hope that things will go our way, because we like how we feel when they do.  Hope is real.  Hope is a good, positive thing.  Hope is idealistic, and romantic.  Hope is paramount to our future.

As you plan your year, I hope you find your way to a positive and successful year.  Because, when someone asks you if you can reach your goals this year, you’ll say, “I hope to.”

We welcome you, 2011.  With open arms, and full of hope.