“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Monday, January 29, 2007

So on Thursday I drive downtown to a meeting with the Medicaid people. You have to go in every so often so they can determine if you're still eligible for the program.

You know, in case my condition should spontaneously heal itself.

I drive down there so they can tell me that I don't have to go down there anymore.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your tax dollars at work.

And I only had to wait two hours and put about a dollar in the parking meter.

So I go back out to the car and find that the tire that keeps going flat has, once again, gone flat. In fact, I may have driven all the way over there with it flat or nearly so because the car was resting on the rim.

So I'm in the parking lot of the people that only just now decided I was disabled and I have to change a tire. Not a complicated task, but one that the fucking bureaucrats might get suspicious about. I debate it a little and decide that since I don't have a cell phone (hate the fucking things) and the nearest gas station is too far away to drive to without ruining my rim I'll just have to chance it.

I get the car on the jack and get the tire off and the car falls off the goddamn jack.


So I'm left with no choice but to pick the car up and slide the jack back under with my foot. It was actually more a matter of leaning against the car in the right spot and using my legs to lift it just a few inches, but we're still talking about six or eight hundred pounds.

I really hope they don't have cameras pointed at that parking lot.

I mean, yeah, sure, I picked up the car which your average disabled person can't do, but I paid for it. I tore the hernia open just a teensy bit more, which was good for a few hours of teeth-grinding pain and about two days of nausea, all doing something that would have been no problem at all just a few short years ago.

But I get the spare tire on, manage not to vomit, get the hubcap on, car down, stop to buy $3.50 worth of gas and go home.

Where I discover that the hubcap is gone.


Those of you that know me, and/or regularly read this blog, know how I am about that car. The pain in my stomach wasn't half as bad as that hubcap being missing.

So I retrace my steps and just as I'm about to give up I find the hubcap by the gas station. I almost didn't recognize it as it had been run over five or six times and was flat as hell.

If I knew an expletive that would convey the appropriate emotion I'd insert it here.

I race home and immediately begin trying to reshape the cap, and in doing so I smash my left thumb with the hammer. It bled a little and hardly left a bruise, but I'm pretty sure I got a hairline fracture. Didn't bother going to the hospital as they'd just have told me to be careful with it and I'm quite capable of doing that on my own. Of course, if it would have restored my antique hubcap back to the condition it was in that morning I would gladly have snapped the bone clear in two.

Bones heal, aluminum doesn't.

Anyhow, all that sucked.

Anyone got a center cap for a 1975 Ford Maverick laying around? It would be much appreciated.

That brings us to the weekend and what's kind of a funny story about my last post. See, for some time now, since the wedding in October, I've been teasing Andrea about going after her 19 year old cousin, whom I nicknamed Wednesday to protect her anonymity.

I did this, the teasing, partially because it's funny, partially because I'm a sick, evil, fuck and partially because I'm something of a masochist. I mean, I'm flattered that Andrea thinks that my broken down old ass could possibly get anywhere with an attractive 19 year old. Hell, I couldn't even pull that off when I was a 19 year old and far less physically and mentally fucked up. I'd love to live in the fantasy world where I could do it now.

By the way, I'd like to point out that pretty much everything Andrea has said to discourage me has just served to intrigue me more and make me more inclined to go after poor Wednesday.

Good thing I'm too much of a realist, and even a gentleman, to do so.


Getting back to the story though, I wrote the post before this one and stopped to think “You know, pretty much everyone Wednesday's Aunt Kaye knows reads this blog (which is really cool, but baffling to me) perhaps she wouldn't want me to post this for all of them to read. So I sent it to her via MySpace (That's right Andrea, I can communicate with her anytime I feel like it. :P) and asked her permission to post it, which she was kind enough to give me.

Now the funny part is that Wednesday had been reading my blog for a while and until the post where I put up the wedding pictures she didn't know that she was Wednesday.

Yeah. That had to be creepy as all hell. “Wow, this guy is really obsessed with,... HOLY CRAP!”

So lets all give Wednesday a big hand for being a good sport and not pressing any charges, ok?

Anyhow, Brian and Andrea did come up as planned and my testicles remained attached to my body, which is always a plus. We met up with Scott and his wife and Mike and Candy (one of Andrea's bridesmaids) who are now dating and we all went to River City Tavern and Grill on Murdoch Avenue. By the way, if you haven't been there, River City kicks ass and their prices are comparable to Applebees.

The next day we had dinner at Brian's parents place. See, the reason they came in for the weekend was for Brian's birthday. Crap. I forgot to say Happy Birthday. Oh well, guess I just did.

So that get-together was cool too except for one awkward moment. Brian's Dad, Chuck, is still religious to a near insane degree. He's a bit better than he was in October, but that's not saying a whole hell of a lot. Now I'm willing to admit that my religious beliefs are a little goofy, especially after having seen the other side of the rainbow and all, but I don't push them on other people. Brian's Dad doesn't share that ideal with me. He's more of the opinion that if you don't believe as he does then you're wrong and it's his mission in life to save you.

As you may recall, I posted a while back about the time he came to my Mom's house with a preacher buddy of his and when asked I took the easy way out and simply said that I had been 'saved' to save myself about 4 hours of preaching. Technically I wasn't lying, because TECHNICALLY I'm a born again Christian.

Knowing this bit of background I'm sure you can imagine what kind of colossal dick I felt like when in the pre-meal prayer (which Chuck absolutely lives for) he said “Lord, I know there are those here today that have not accepted you into their hearts as they should and we pray that you will help them see the way”.

Those weren't the exact words, but pretty close. And they were aimed at Brian and Andrea I have no doubt. And what the fuck? I mean, that's why I don't like organized religions, Christianity in particular. They have a tendency to make otherwise normal people act like assholes.

I wanted to say something, but it would have ruined the party and possibly gotten my ass kicked.

On that note I'm signing off. I'm fucking tired. I'll post more just as soon as I remember what bits I forgot.


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