Drinking with Ma, Epipens, and Fatherhood.

Having worked retail my whole life, Black Friday (the huge shopping day after Thanksgiving) has long been a point of contention in my life. Never do Aymee and I work harder all year then we do from Thanksgiving til New Years. This last Black Friday started out the same.

I WAY overslept and was nearly late for work. Aymee, using The Force and sensing I was still asleep, called me and I sprang awake seeing that I had 10 minutes to get to work. I had spent Thanksgiving doing what most Americans do; eating and drinking too much.

My mom and younger bro and sis had come up two days prior to spend the holiday with us. At first I was a bit put off by the self-invitation. For Aymee and I, Thanksgiving isn't a holiday spent with family cheer. For the past 7 years she and I have been working for Guitar Center which means we try to go to bed early and get ready for the retail onslaught that begins the day after Thanksgiving and runs til New Years.

So back to T-day, my fam drove from St. Louis to the barren wastelands that is Minnesota, gave me a hug and my mother asked me "Why is it so damn cold up here?!" Now you have to know my mother. She will often ask me questions that sound angry and accusing. Picture a mother sternly asking her kid "Why is there weed in your sock drawer?!" Now we've never had this conversation. Really, we didn't! I kept beer in the toilet tank but she never found it. So with the accusatory speech pattern firmly in your head, you will now understand the mixture of annoyance and amusement I feel when my mother asks me things like "Why is it so damn cold up here?!" or "Why does my car make this funny sound?!" and my personal favorite "When are you going to move back home?!"

Mother diatribes out of the way, Thanksgiving was fun with my mom and Aymee cooking a wonderful non-Thanksgiving feast of pot roast, potatoes and carrots. My mom and I had a good and long talk over 2 bottles of wine, beer, and whiskey with water. They went back to the hotel around midnight and I passed out full and hammered. Cut to 6:50 in the morning and Aymee calls me and wakes me up. I have 10 minutes to get to work for a 10 to 12 hour shift. With no time for the two things I really needed (a shower and a shit-load of coffee to battle my impending hangover) I pulled on some clothes, brushed my teeth and ran out the door hoping I didn't reek too badly of Jim, Jack, or Jose. Fortunately I didn't smell of at all of the Big 3. I'm rather sure I did smell of the best "J" which is Jameson Irish whiskey which is what Ma Kettle and I were drinking. I made it to work with about 9 seconds to spare and settled in for a long day with my body in some dangerous location between still drunk and not quite yet viciously hung over.

The day wound up being fine. I made a much needed run for coffee and a muffin. The hangover of doom I was anticipating never showed. I had good day at work that got really scary in the early afternoon.

Around 1 or 2 in the afternoon, I went outside to the side of the building to have a quick smoke. Two of my coworkers were already there and I wound up bullshitting with the two of them for a few minutes. Shortly after I got out there, I noticed a woman in her early thirties trying to move quickly to her car across the parking lot but was doing it while doubling over and coughing profusely. While chatting with my friends I kept watching her. She walked over to her ride, a green Ford Escape, and threw the door open forcefully. She was still coughing up a lung and at the time, I thought she was just really crying hard. At this point I was, for all intents and purposes, out of the conversation with my coworkers. My eyes were firmly on her. I was watching this coughing, weeping, retching woman trash the interior of her car. She was tossing shit out of her SUV left and right, obviously searching for something. I don't know what I was waiting for her to do but if she pulled out a gun and started walking back into the store, I figured someone should probably be ready do something.

She apparently found what she was looking for and started staggering towards us with what appeared to be a Magic Marker in her hands. She was still coughing horribly and her checks each had a blazing red spotlight on them. The rest of her face was awfully pale. My friends had quit speaking and were just staring at her with mouths agape. When she was about 10 feet away, I spoke to her.

"Hey, are you okay?"

No answer from my friend, the coughing blonde. I tried again.

"Do you need help or can I call someone for you?" Still no answer. Just her staggering towards me. At this point I started walking towards her and as we were near arm's length, she simply fell into my arms. I slowly let her down to the ground so she was in a sitting position with me crouched behind her, supporting her with my arms. I kept telling her shit like it'll be okay and do you need an ambulance and the like. She just kept coughing, gagging and crying. Finally, with all her strength, she whispered "Mike" and I realized I already knew my new friend, the coughing blonde. She was Mike's girlfriend, Dahri and I had met her a month prior on Halloween. I didn't recognize Dahri because she was in a costume when I first met her. Mike is one of my coworkers and a good friend of mine. I turned to one of the smoking coworkers and told him to go grab Mike and to call an ambulance. He left to fetch Mike and I continued to hold her while cussing myself for not remembering her name. If I knew her name it would help in maybe calming her down. I didn't know what was going on with her but I knew it was serious and I was rather certain she was scared.

She started slapping me on the leg and arm really hard and over and over. I asked her if she was choking but she rapidly shook her head but kept hitting me. I kept holding her, not knowing if she was trying to tell me to "fuck off" or not. She then held up the Magic Marker I saw in her hand earlier, only this time I got a good look at it. It wasn't a Magic Marker. It was an Epipen. I'm as dumb as the next guy but I knew that an Epipen meant Anaphylaxis. I knew an Epipen was basically a shot of adrenaline called epinephrine like what John Travolta gave to Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction when she was overdosing on his heroin. For the record, I didn't know how to spell epinephrine til I looked it up for this post. I'm not that smart.

So my choking, coughing blonde friend hands me this Epipen. Nearly yelling at her (I was that freaked) I say (yell) "Do you need this?!" She just keeps slapping me over and over in my leg. I keep asking her if she needs "this." "This" being the Epipen. She keeps slapping me in the leg and after a few seconds, I realize she might be giving me The International Sign for 'I need an Epipen Injection in my Leg!' To which I ask "Do you need this in your leg or in your chest?!" Visions of Pulp Fiction again flash through my head. She just keeps slapping my leg. I look at the pen and it says something to the effect of "Inject in the upper thigh."

At this point, her face was completely pale and her lips were blue. I force away the impending panic and start pointedly asking her if she needs this right now? She responds by slapping me over and over in the leg. I decided this indeed meant that she needed it right now. I took the Epipen from her and give the side of the pen a quick read: Remove black cap. Bring pen forcefully into thigh and hold until pen 'clicks' and hold the pen in place. Alright, I can do this. I'm not sure how I looked but I probably looked like this if I'd been kneeling over her rather that kneeling behind her and holding her.

Okay, I didn't look quite like that. I didn't have Eric Stolz and his weird wife next to me. I gripped the Epipen in my right hand, held my arm up (not unlike Mr. Travolta above this paragraph), and brought that fucker down hard on her thigh.

And nothing.

No click. No deep breath from her. No bloodied Uma Thurman rising from the dead.

I tried again. And again. And again. Pretty soon I was just hammering it rapidly down on her thigh over and over. Still no click. I all but gave up on the Epipen and just started gently rubbing her shoulders and softly saying that everything would be okay. That Mike would be there really soon (I hoped). Her breathing had all but stopped when I heard footsteps behind me.

I looked over my shoulder to see Mike standing there. "What's going on," he asked? I held up the Epipen.

"Mike, make this fucking thing work!" As if he'd done it a hundred times before, he took the Epipen from me, made some click noise near the tip and then stabbed it into her thigh. There was no Uma-Thurman-gasping-wake-up but she did take a somewhat deep breath. Mike then turned to me and asked me to call an ambulance. I pulled out my phone and had the following conversation.

"Edina Emergency."

"Yes, I need an ambulance at 3650 Hazelton Road. It's the Guitar Center."

"What's the nature of you're emergency?"

I've got a huge crack in my ass. "There's a young women having trouble breathing-" At this point, Mike looked over his shoulder and told me she was having an allergic reaction. "-an allergic reaction. We've administered an Epipen but she is still having problems breathing and we need an ambulance with oxygen immediately." At this point, every cop movie and hospital show I'd ever seen came back to me and I was trying to be as succinct as possible so they would have all the info the need yet at the same time, trying not to piss my pants. Ego aside, I think I did pretty well on the phone. Helluva lot better than I did with the damn Epipen. She put me on hold for about 30 seconds which, true to form in emergencies, felt like 10 fucking minutes. During the hold time, Mike looked over at me. Now neither Mike or I are panicky types. We're, by nature, pretty level-headed. The look in his eyes wasn't panic but I could see we were about to enter dangerous territory with Dahri.

"How long til they get here?"

"I'm on hold. Not long." Now I had no idea when they were getting there but I was subscribing to the age-old creedo of emergencies: hope for the best and when in doubt, lie your ass off.

The emergency operator came back on and said an ambulance was on it's way.

"Do you have an ETA?"

"Unknown. Not long. They've already left."

Although I work in Edina, I only know where the Burger King and the liquor store is but I figured we had 3 minutes tops til help came. Not long but my mind started wondering to medical articles I'd read about oxygen deprivation to the brain. Something over 6 minutes and you were royally fucked. I wasn't sure how much oxygen Dahri was or wasn't getting but it was at least 3 to 5 minutes of watching her stagger to her Ford Escape and fumble for her Epipen. Then maybe another 2 minutes from the time she came to me and collapsed until Mike showed up and gave her the Epipen. Now another two minutes had passed and I silently cursed myself for not walking over to her sooner. As soon as I saw her thrashing about inside for ride, I should've run over. Instead I stood 30 feet away and watched with some internal commentary in my head about how it's not often you get to see someone spaz out in your parking lot. I felt like a fucking idiot for not trying to help sooner.

90 seconds after hanging up the phone, I heard the glorious sound of multiple sirens. My instant dose of hope was doused upon glancing at our parking lot. It was Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the whole year. From Hazelton Road I could see 6 or 7 cars waiting to make a left into the lot. There were another 3 or 4 cars trying to leave our lot. To top it all off, I could see another 5 or 6 cars in parking spots with their reverse lights on waiting to leave their respective spots. With out making too much of an ass of myself, I started moving around the vicinity and getting cars to stay put in their spots.

The only time I lost my cool during the whole scenario was returning to my perch, which was at the apex of our L-shaped parking lot which is also where Mike and Dahri were. I was about 12 feet away from them so I could see the parking lot entrance so I could wave the ambulance over. I was standing at the rear bumper of a Buick. The driver of the Buick decided he didn't have to look in their rear view mirror or pay attention the multiple wailing sirens descending on the area. While looking ahead to the entrance and waving my arms to the ambulance slowly making it's way through holiday shopper's cars, I felt a hard bump against my leg. I look left to see this car backing into me. I slammed my hands on the trunk and screamed "HEY!" The Buick stopped I went back to waving over the ambulance.

In front of the ambulance was an Edina cop car. The proverbial Bandit to the ambulance's Snowman. The cop blocked parking lot traffic while the ambulance came over to where I was waving them. Two EMT's came over and Mike and I quickly filled them in. Allergic reaction. Epipen administered. Pros that they were, they carried Dahri into the back of the ambulance and started working on her. Once the pressure and responsibility was off my shoulders the adrenaline left me in a hurry and I danced with nausea for moment but it subsided. I chain-smoked two cigarettes and was suddenly thirsty. Mike then asked me if I would go into our employee break room and fetch him a soda. I ran in grabbed a soda for him out of the 12 pack he keeps in the employee fridge. After a quick second thought, I grabbed one too for myself. I was shaking, parched, and wanted the sugar. After that was pretty anti-climatic. The EMT's took Dahri to the hospital. Mike and I went back to work.

A few hours later, I came home from work. I was exhausted. Not only from my parking lot endeavours but from working yet another Black Friday in retail. I wanted a nap but knew that my fam was still in town and we had to have dinner with them. I got home before Aymee and reached into the fridge for a much deserved beer. Midway though my Rolling Rock (shut up, I like it) Aymee came home. She had stopped at Target on her way home and picked up a pregnancy test. About three and half weeks prior, we had decided to eschew birth control citing "whatever happens, happens."

Faced with the immediate consequences that stem form condom-less fucking, I decided I needed a cigarette. I told Aymee to piss on the stick and we'd view the results together when I got back from the gas station. I left our apartment and drove to the gas station. Could I be a father? I've always wanted to be. No question about that. Was I ready? I think so. Much of my selfishness is gone and all I want is to raise a child and be a parent. Were Aymee and I ready? Yes, I told myself as lit a smoke on the way back to the apartment. Aymee and I have been through a lot. Having work move us twice into states that contained no friends or family forced us to be pretty much everything to each other. It hasn't always been easy but it's always been pure and we always come out on top: as best friends and soul mates.

I walked in the door of our apartment. The way our place is laid out, when you're standing in our doorway you can look straight into the bathroom; a thought I always hold when Aymee's running a quick errand and I'm taking a quick shit with the door open. Anyway, I opened the door to our place and see Aymee in the bathroom with this big, yet weird smile. I walk in and ask "what's up?" She just keeps smiling that smile. I shrug off my coat and make my way to the bathroom. She says nothing and just points at this plastic stick on the bathroom sink.

I stare at this for a few seconds. I ask her "What does this mean?!" She starts laughing. I start smiling but again ask what it means. In her sweetest voice, my glorious and fabulous wife answers with...

"It means you're going to be a daddy."

My heart jumped into my throat. We embraced and kissed. On top of the already experienced fiascoes this day, I contemplated passing out but decided otherwise.

It was official: we were going to be parents. Even now as I write this a month after the fact, I can't quite believe it. Parenthood. Me? Us? Well, sure it makes sense in the grand scheme of things. We've always wanted it. It was always just a matter of when. I guess when you throw the "when" away it becomes the "now."

We left a few minutes later to meet my mom, my sis, and my bro at a nearby sports bar. Not that any of us are huge sports fans but the restaurant was near our place and their hotel. Aymee and I hadn't planned exactly how to spill the beans but there was a concern in telling my mother. Mainly a concern of her reaction. As you will remember from reading earlier, my mom has a seriously strong tendency to overreact and speak really loudly like she's angry. I didn't feel like having 150 people in the joint suddenly turn from watching two French-Canadians fighting over a sphere of rubber to watching a women in her fifties screaming about being a grandmother. One thing's for certain, she wouldn't look like this:

Right after our drinks came, Aymee and I make eye contact and I nodded my head. I then told everyone we had an announcement. My mom, who was sitting to my right, immediately stared at me with her mouth open.

I told her she couldn't freak out as we were in a public place. She said nothing. Just kept staring at me with her mouth open. I then told everyone that Aymee and I just found out that we were having a baby. There was no pandemonium. My mother smiled, started crying quietly, and I was spared certain embarrassment in the form of an overly emotional and outspoken mother.

Since then, Aymee and I have been working quite a bit. We've been reading all the books we can. I've been spending an inordinate amount of time talking to Aymee's growing stomach while Aymee's been spending an inordinate amount of time rolling her eyes and smiling at a new, excited will-be father. Here's her the other day at 8 weeks.

That's about it for now. This was lengthy post but there was a lot to toss out there so thanks for sticking around for the ride. I hope everyone is doing well and I'll write more soon.

Happy New Year.

-80T

I hate this woman...

First off, and I've been wanting to say this for awhile now, Carrie Prejean is the biggest fucking idiot and hypocrite I've maybe ever seen in my life. She might even rival my good buddy George W. Well...maybe not. One of the best compliments I ever got in my life was I overheard someone say "Nobody hates George W. Bush more than that guy." 'That guy' was me. It actually made my day.
Anyway Carrie Prejean's blind conservatism makes me want to pin her down and brick in her mouth. If you can't tell, I have a problem with people who say gay people can't get married. You can throw your good book at me all you want and I'm just going to respond by throwing my fist which is backed by millions and millions of people. If gay people get married, I assure there will not be social breakdown. All that will happen is that two people who love each other will get the same rights and privileges you and I have. My main problem with conservatives is I hear them bellowing from some pious soapbox about how our liberal ways are sending modern man straight to hell only to find out their dicking a church house full of young boys while off the pulpit. I mean, come on! Fuck you. At least most of us liberals are upfront about our shortcomings and most importantly, our fears.
This Prejean piece of shit just seems to embody my hatred. First off, during the Miss America pageant, the lovely Miss California says gay people shouldn't have the right to marry. While that's enough to earn my ire I hear shit like that all the time. She defended her views as coming from a religious household and I guess God and her parents still live in the dark ages and probably sleep in twin beds. Whatever. She loses the pageant and suddenly the conserva-nuts herald her as the second coming of Christ and that she's a martyr for their way of life. She says she lost the pageant because of her conservative views and that the liberal press is to blame.
Then it comes out that the pageant paid for her breast job. Not that that's a bad thing in and of itself. It just doesn't strike me as particularly conservative. Though I'm not sure why.
So while she's labeling herself as a conservative warrior for God and straight people, pics of her surface topless. She chalks it up to a young mistake and that she was poor. Alright, fine. Unless you make money by hurting others, I couldn't really give two tin shits how somebody makes a buck. But don't act like the last American Virgin when corporations are paying for your tit job. Don't act like a Madonna when there's evidence of you being the whore.
What evidence? She put out a book recently. I haven't read it so I'll be really careful with my paraphrasing and one-sided analysis. But it's all about her being railroaded by the press and liberals everywhere. About how she wants to be a role model for young, impressionable women and what not. She makes mention to the fact that their bodies are a temple for God and that they should be careful to not feel pressured to dress sexy. Now I'm actually all for that. I do think there is too much pressure for women, especially younger girls, to dress sexy and be sexual. That shouldn't be forced upon anyone. But I don't think Carrie fake-tits Prejean has the right to say that when she's already posed nude and is actively entering fucking beauty pageants where they put you in a skimpy two-piece and make you walk up and down a catwalk! To me, that personifies selling your body!
Further, it just came out that made a home movie of a um...solo performance that she sent to her boyfriend when she was 17. Not sure but I imagine her age at the time would make that illegal. But, as it's being reported now, apparently she was actually 20. I don't really care what age she was but I do care about how in her book, she makes a mention about how pornography is bad and that young girls shouldn't be enticed into the industry or the act because they think it will make them feel sexier. Than what's sending your boyfriend a video of you flicking your bean?! Ugh. Just makes me so pissed off.
The lying!
The hypocrisy!
The horror! (in a hushed Marlon Brando voice)
The fake tits!

Whatever. I'm off my soapbox and on my way to work. I have another good story for my "countdown to 30" series I've been doing. I'll share that tonight or tomorrow. Take care.

-80T

Day 99

I may have been a bit overambitious with this "a memory a day" bit. I might scale it back a touch. Anyway, this one is a funny one.
As I've stated, I used to be in a bunch of bands and a couple of them were fairly successful in our local markets. Back in St. Louis, Missile Silo Suite was asked to play in Vintage Vinyl. VV was, and still is, one of the best record stores I've even been to. Anyway the gig was a voter registration drive and the headliner was Breaking Benjamin. I never met anyone in the band and didn't care because I thought they kinda sucked. Still do.
It was summer and anyone from St. Louis knows that July and August are pretty hot and humid down there. Jamie Perryman, drummer of Missile and I were seeking refuge from the sun by standing on the side of Breaking Benjamin's huge tour bus. At some point some girls came over to the bus and stared at us for a few minutes. Finally one walked up to me and asked me if I was in Breaking Benjamin. I assured her I definitely was in Breaking Benjamin. She asked me for an autograph and I happily obliged. The name I signed?

B. Benjamin.

Day 100

As for these stories I'll be sharing, well some will be funny (at least to me) and some may be more serious or tragic. I'm trying to hold my end of the bargain when I said there would be no boundaries to what I say. This one is a bit more embarrassing but I suppose that's some of the fun. I think your twenties should be or have been about having fun, getting in trouble, and making mistakes. How you learn from them dictates how you grow.



This would've been around late summer or early fall of 2000. A long ass time ago at this point. I was working in a small t shirt shop in the U-City Loop on Delmar Blvd in St. Louis, where I'm from. I worked with an older guy and we wound up getting into a lot of shit together. In fact, while remembering this tale I'm reminded of others that will likely work their way into this list. Anyway, my coworker Jason and I went out for a night I barely remembered. Jason used to be in a hardcore band and ran with a pretty tough crew. Most nights I went out with he and his friends we wound up fighting with some other crew. I thought it was fun then but now seems rather juvenile. But that's what growing up is.



So one night we went out and went to the now defunct Creepy Crawl. The Creep was a punk rock dive bar. Jason's friend Larry Fingaz aka Bobby Hands aka Robert Fancher was the bartender and we regularly got hammered there for free or next to free. After several rounds at the Creepy Crawl we headed to some private, barely legal bar above Dapper Dan's, another low rent bar with a questionable clientele. Several rounds later, I was pretty hammered. My memory starts to get a little hazy past this but I remember being in some Japanese restaurant drinking sake and getting into a fight with some guy in the men's room. After that, I remember nothing.



Then I woke up in the backseat of an old Honda Accord. I sat up and my head exploded in pain. I had no wallet or watch. I had somehow lost both the night before. I leaned forward and pressed the CLOCK button on the radio and the time illuminated. 9:30 in the morning. I had to be at work at eleven and I had no idea where my car was nor where I was either. I got out of the Honda and looked around for a landmark. I saw none but knew I was somewhere in South City. I started walking down the street and immediately saw a cop car coming towards me. I flagged him down and he pulled to the side of the road and rolled down his window. Our conversation went something like this:
"Is there a problem, sir?"
"Not really but where am I?"
The cop, a bulky black guy in his mid-thirties laughed at that. "Rough night?"
I figured I'd be honest. As far as I knew, I hadn't done anything wrong. "Yeah something like that. I went out drinking with some friends and woke up in the backseat of a car that I've never been in. I lost my wallet. Where's the nearest gas station? I need a payphone to call a cab so I can get back to U-City."
The cop laughed again but it wasn't malicious. I could sense that he was kind. "Well you're in South City," which I figured. "Hop in and I'll drive you to a gas station."
I hopped and he drove. A couple of minutes later, he dropped me off at a Citgo. I thanked him profusely and told him to be careful, something I say to all police officers. Now I've been pulled over plenty of times and I've had some encounters with some real dick cops. But most of them are good guys/gals and simply want to help. This cop was a good cop who helped me out. I mean, how many cops do you know that would pull over and pick up a booze reeking, bearded, tattooed guy and give him a lift? Pretty cool guy in my book.
Anyway, he dropped me off at a gas station and I asked to use their phone. They looked at me kinda funny put handed me their cordless phone and a phone book. I called a cab and asked him to pick me up at the gas station. The cab dispatcher told me 20 minutes. I knew I didn't have my wallet which had my debit and credit cards. I checked my jeans pocket and found my driver's license, a twenty dollar bill, a lighter, and a crushed empty cigarette pack. I walked up to the counter where the two clerks were looking at me like I was a fucking nut. I'm sure I gave them good reason to be scared. Hair askew, clothes wrinkled, stinking of booze. I bought a pack of cigarettes and headed outside to have one while I waited for my cab. He showed up two smokes later. I hopped in.
"Where to?"
"U-City Loop. Delmar Blvd."
"You stink like booze."
"You stink like complacency."
The last half of that conversation didn't happen aloud but we were both thinking it. Around 10:15 we hit the Loop and I directed him to the parking lot of my bank branch, a block away from my store. With the meter running I hauled ass into the bank, thankful for my driver's license in my pocket. Using it, I withdrew $50 bucks and paid the cabby plus tip and then jogged to Starbucks (which I hate) and got a tall cup of coffee (which I needed) and then headed towards my store. Luckily, I still had my keys clipped to my belt when I woke up so I let myself in, turned on the lights and opened the store.
An hour later Jason walked in for his shift with wild eyes. He saw me and exhaled mightily.
"Man, I'm so glad you're here! I didn't know what happened to you or even if you were alive!"
"I feel like I'm dead but I guess I'm here. What in the holy hell happened last night? I woke up in the backseat of an Accord in South City."
Jason laughed and told me what had happened since my last memory at the Japanese restaurant and fighting with some guy in the bathroom. After that, he and Bob carried me out of the restaurant (where I think I lost my wallet in the alley). After that, we went to the also now-defunct Rocket Bar where we drank more and fought a group of assholes that cut in line at the bar. Allegedly I threw the first punch. Some tattoo artists we knew where also partying at the Rocket Bar and we joined forces in our night of debauchery. From there we went Eastside, which to a St. Louisan means crossing the Mississippi River into Illinois for some strip club action. I was tossed into the backseat of one of the artist's Honda Accord. Upon arriving at the strip club, they asked me if I wanted to see some titties. I said "Sure." They said "Get up" and I said "No" and went back to sleep. They went in and spent about 3 or 4 hours in the titty bar. When they left, everyone was drunk and parted ways. The artist's car I was in, Ed, I think, forgot I was passed out in his car and drove home to his apartment in South City, went inside and went to bed. I woke up in his car 3 hours later.
I worked my whole shift while the whole time being quite certain I would vomit and die at any moment. Didn't happen, though. We closed the store and took another cab downtown where my car was still in the parking lot of the Creepy Crawl and surprisingly unmolested. I went home and slept the sleep of the dead.

Day 101

I actually know the date for this one. May 19th,2006. The day before I got married. We had no bachelor or bachelorette party. Instead some of her friends came over along with her mom and they worked on some wedding decorations. I took off in my car to find something to do. I didn't care two shits about a strip tease or any of that. Guys who marry tight-wad bitches have to deal with that. I, luckily, don't. Not that Aymee is down with strip-teases or any of that. It's never really come up. Although if it did, she'd do it her self. My lovely sexy lady is quite the lover and I'm always smitten because of it.


I took off in my car in search of camaraderie. I found it, once again, in Blaine. He was working at Boston Market and I was hungry. He fed me and gave me and asked me if I was ready. I told him I was and that I was excited. A few minutes later, a family of four came into the restaurant. A husband, a wife, and two sons. Blaine didn't seem to notice them, or if he did, didn't seem to care. I, however, could barely look away. And I'm not one for staring, mind you. They looked roughly like this.





Aside from repeated viewings of Witness as a kid, I'd never seen Amish in person. I nudged Blaine and gestured towards them.
"What's up with them?" I asked.
Seeming unimpressed and/or bored, Blaine said, "They're Amish."
I pointed towards the waist of the man's homemade pants. "He's got a cell phone clipped to his pants. I thought the Amish didn't use modern technology."
Blaine shrugged, still uninterested. "Amish-light."
I nearly fell down from laughing so hard. People in the restaurant, including the Amish family all started looking at me but I didn't care. It was really funny.

102 days left...

In 102 days, February 12th 2010, I'll be 30 years old. 102 days of my twenties. I've decided to relive it by writing one humorous or eventful moment from my twenties for the next 102 days. As for the reasoning; it's not to dwell or live in the past, merely to remember and celebrate wonderful times in my life. I'm placing no boundaries on this list. I will remember what I will remember.

Turning 20:

I was living with Blaine in St. Louis county. We had gotten an apartment together a month prior. I don't remember the night per se, but I imagine we got drunk and I celebrated what I was certain would be my decade to make the world my own. Although I can't say for sure, I'm certain I had plans and visions of rock stardom. (didn't happen) I'm sure I hoped I would have a beautiful and sexy wife. (did happen!) I was certain I would be an inspiration. (jury's out, keep working kid)
I love the naivete that I still thought a had a shot. I know now that I still have shots; they just come in more subtle forms and you have to look for them. Nothing is handed to you anymore. You have to decide what you want and seek it out while somehow combining the tact, grace, and insight you've learned from a decade of blindly trying and having the young audacity to wonder why the entire world isn't yet blowing you for how brilliant you are.
I started my twenties thinking I'd own the world, or at least a piece of it. I'm ending my twenties knowing that to own the world at such a young age causes wars, plague, petulance, and bad fashion sense. I'm just hoping to be a good husband, friend, coworker, and someday...a good dad.
Another memory tomorrow.
-80Thurston

And that's news to me...

After years and years (about twenty or so) of sleeping four to five hours a night, the last two weeks have found me getting about six to nearly eight hours of slumber. Not sure how that happened, but I find myself more groggy than ever. Not good. I sometimes feel my mental capacities are also off kilter with this increased sleep. Also not good as there have been some line-up changes at work, and with the holidays coming (I work retail) I need to be alert and on my game more than ever.
As for my job, I work for a music store and have for about seven and a half years. I can tell you, when I was a younger, trim, handsome 22 year old I never thought I'd still be here. I figured (like a lot of their employees) that at this point, I'd have moved onto bigger and better things. But with 100 days left of being in my 20's, I'm still there. Only now I'm thirty pounds heavier and grumpier and feel ready to smash a Squire Strat through whatever crappy 15watt solid state amp we're pushing that month and run screaming into the street.
Let me clarify; I really don't hate my job. For the most part I like my job and I'm very grateful to have steady work when many people have no job at all. I'm just VERY burnt out right now and am unable to take some decent vacation. This is mainly due to being short staffed and not wanting my coworkers to be too burdened with my work if I weren't there. I am, however, taking a nice four day weekend this week so that will be some nice "unravel" time.
I generally work six days a week. Monday through Friday from 8AM til 4:30PM. I work every Saturday from 8AM til 11 or so. So yeah, it's kinda like barely a half day but I suppose it's the having to be there by 8 part that gets to me.
Not sure what I'm going to do with my four days off. I hope to get back to working on my book. Something I haven't touched in nine days. Every time I open the other laptop (which is solely for my writing; the better-half and I share this one for Internet/her homework) I stare at the hole in the page for a few minutes. Then I'll open up a game of spider solitaire while waiting for something to come to me that doesn't sound like complete horseshit. But lately all I have is horseshit. I think I'm just burdened down by work. Which, by proxy, puts more pressure on the book. Obviously, I'd love to finish the book, sell it, quit my job, and start writing full time.
I think I share that dream with probably two million other people.
I think a lot of them are better writers than me.
I think sometimes I'm a fucking idiot.
In other news, years ago I used to play in a band called Missile Silo Suite with a guy named Anthony. Actually there were four other people besides me but Anthony and I were the two guitar players. The band broke up in 2005, a date that seems more ancient to me as the days, weeks, months, and years go by. But we always maintained sporadic contact. A couple of years after Missile split, he and two others from the band started helping me record a record I had written. It was good to be in a room with those guys again. Especially Anthony, since our Missile break up was rather bitter. The recording project fell apart when my wife was transferred to Minneapolis. I had only seen him once between then and getting the bad news I got last month. For most of the time I knew Anthony, he'd been seeing and living with a sweet firecracker named Jill. They generally seemed happy and I was always happy for them. Apparently they'd tried to have a few kids in the past that have ended with miscarriages. I guess early this year they'd gotten pregnant again. This time, however, things seemed to be going well. After a few months of a finally normal pregnancy they broke the news to family and friends. I received this email on September 11th:

"Hi all,

Jill and I are having a baby boy which should be born on January 19th, 2010. We are both very excited and we are currently working on baby names. Jill is doing great and all is well. Feel free to pass the info along to anyone who might be interested.

Sincerely,

Anthony"

I meant to respond right away. Telling him how happy I was for both of them. That I was proud of him. I never did because I am often a lazy fuck. This lazy fuck got this email in his inbox nine days later on September 20th:

"Hello everyone,

I recently sent an email to all of you to inform you about our pregnancy. Unfortunately, Wednesday Jill went into labor prematurely at about 8:30 AM while I was at work. She gave birth shortly after, before I got home, and before 911 was even called. It was rather traumatic and the baby, Simon, was pronounced dead at 10:10 AM. He was 23 weeks which is too early for modern science to save the baby. They say that under ideal conditions they can save the pregnancy at 24 weeks but the complications can be horrible, IE blindness, deafness, poor lung function, and mental handicaps. In the end, the result would have been the same in the hospital. It's been a tough week for Jill and me. Sorry to bring you such sad news but we thought you all should know.

Sincerely

Anthony and Jill"

Isn't that about a bitch? I responded with the usual "Oh man I'm so sorry...blah blah blah." I never got a response from him. I hope he knows how bad I feel and that I hope he and Jill will be okay. Anthony has had a lot of hard knocks in his life. This is, sadly, just another one. I hope he (they) make it to a happy place. The two of them most certainly deserve it.

That's about it for now. I need to get ready and go to work.
I'm still writing my book. I will finish it. I'm promising myself. I have 2-3 more ideas after this one.
I'm refusing to succumb to the world around me that I hate. I'm trying to learn to bend to it's will, when need be, and make it bend to my will, when need be.
Still fighting.

-80T

Look Ma! No plans!

Hi. I think I'm going to use this bit of space on blogger.com to pretty much clear my head on a regular basis. My friend Blaine turned me onto this site so I thought I'd give it a shot. I'm at a bit of a crossroads lately and the idea of changing several factors in my life is very appealing.

The above-mentioned crossroads are basically these: For the past fifteen years, I've been playing guitar in roughly a dozen various rock bands. These bands all received varying degrees of success. Some only played in basements. Some never got past the occasional gig or two. One was promising but I moved away. Another was promising but we took a six month break about two years ago. And two of them were very good. Recorded multiple records. Out of town shows. A fun tour last year that took us through ten states in eight days. I was living my dream, or rather, trying to. But my dream was never fully realized and never fully came true. The most recent band (and the best one if you want to know the truth) Crash/Burn/Repeat, broke up two months ago. I was as devastated as I would be if my wife left me or if I'd just found out that a loved one had died.

I decided that I wouldn't repeat the cycle and join another band. So instead I sold nearly all of my gear and decided that I would try fiction writing instead. It's been a huge challenge on so many levels. It's really caused me to look inside myself and reexamine my entire life. Made me reexamine my entire future. While it's all been as scary as all hell, it's likely been very necessary for me to get to the next page of my life. Hopefully one where no one is pulling rugs out from under me as well as a life where I'm not pulling the rugs out from under myself.

As I get more comfortable with this medium of communication, I'll be sharing more. Until then, I'm going to simply use this as my own selfish sounding board/soap box. Thanks and take care.

-80 Thurston