Category Archives: Uncategorized

Customer Service

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Working from home has many perks.  Being white also has many perks.  How about that intro?!

My wife and I have been juicing lately.  For those who don’t know this term, for us, it has nothing to do with Barry Bonds, Mark McQuire, Sammy Sosa, and perhaps ten billion other ballplayers using human growth hormones.  Rather than increasing our girth and head size, we are choosing a much healthier lifestyle.

Britt and I purchased the “Deluxe Hydrophonic Blowpunk Juicer” recognized by many as allowing mortality to “just be a thing of the past”.  (Silly Bible….what does it know?) Since we are finally happy with our lives, we thought living may be a better option than dying.  I know where she’s going, but I don’t want to know where I’m going.  Therefore, I spend early mornings prancing around grocery stores finding the freshest of fruits and vegetables.  When I use “grocery stores” as a plural, I mean that I choose to find the stores employing the friendliest of employees.  For me, a fresh smile and a laugh is sometimes better and worth more than fresh fruit.

As a morning person, I tend to be a bit more chippy than the average ho, or hobo.  I run into them constantly when arriving at establishments at six in the morning.  (That usually runs me an extra three or four dollars) And, I understand when a cashier is either beginning his or her shift or ending it.  I have developed an art form recognizing whether someone may be the “cashier nazi” (Seinfeld reference number ten thousand) or the “cashier prince or princess” (depending on the store’s location).

These are the facts. The lady working the cashier this morning was clearly black.  The man before me was clearly white.  He seemed to be a fine fellow save for the elongated details he was providing regarding his 401 K plan.  As clearly white as he was, she was clearly as bored, and I was clearly becoming a bit agitated.  Blueberries don’t last too long in this mild weather.  After two or three minutes, nicely, I recommended a great accountant and solid psychiatrist for this man who was driving the kind black woman and the ever so patient white man insane.  Finally, he exited Thriftway, and the cashier and I both breathed a sigh of relief.  She smiled and said, “I’m sorry for the wait”.  I smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’m on vacation”……which I always seem to be on.

She had every right to be surly with me, after dealing with this crackerjack for ten minutes.  Quite the contrary, she knew I was going to smile and get the hell out of there when the blueberries were good.  However, while she was ringing up my fruits and veggies, I did say, very delicately, “I hope you are off soon so you can enjoy this weather”.  Again, she smiled and said, “I just had four days off, fool! I’ve had plenty of sun”.  Recognizing her sense of humor, I replied, “yeah, I can see that you’ve gained some color”.  She slapped the table and laughed more than I’ve made anyone laugh in years, and said, “That’s a good one”.  Then she added, “The blueberries are on me”.  I declined her offer but said thanks.  I could still hear her laughing as I was exiting the store.  That was good service.

It’s tough being in a new area where you don’t have many friends.  The only people I really talk with, face to face, other than my wife, are cashiers.  This one made my day, and I hope I made her day a little brighter.

I think I have found a new friendly cashier.

Ben

Cock Tales and Dreamers

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Priding myself on writing moderately decent introductions, I don’t quite know how to begin this flog.  Please forgive me, but allow me to try……..because it’s kind of funny, yet crosses some boundaries within my writing.

As most intelligent earthlings throughout the Milky Way know, the movie “Cocktail” is one, if thee not worst and most talked about movies of all time.  I feel embarrassed just writing this.  I feel further embarrassment because I watched this hilarious film, in its’ entirety with a girl who actually thought it was good.  This girl did not become my wife. Once again, humor is far more attractive than Tom Cruise.  That’s one of the many reasons I married Britt, who can bust my gut better than Joe Frazier could hit Ali.  She thought the movie was simply ridiculous . I then decided who may make a terrific mate for me, much like a primate chooses a  wonderful spouse.  It wasn’t the beauty, the brain, the love she provides,( she possesses all), it was more important matters such as if she liked or disliked movies such as “I must be on cracktail to like this movie”.  In my mind, if she loves the movie, “Cocktail” other than making fun of it, she’s out.  If she likes”Jaws”, “The Sting”, and “Meatballs”…..she’s in.

I am trying to be delicate this morning writing this blog because I worry about offending people regarding the ultimate conclusion.  Oh, screw it.  When Britt does not wish to have relations and I do,  she says something funny, or does a goofy dance rendering me, or it, useless.  It works every time and I love it…..sort of.

Other than writing about cocks, I wish to write of my dreams. I dream of being a writer.  When I dream of reading the reviews on the back cover of my book, I don’t imagine reading things like, “captivating from beginning to end”, “endlessly thrilling”, “fabulously provocative”, “diabolically riveting”, “tragically fascinating”, “courageously unique”, “magnificently brutal….I give it five stars for brutality points”, and “Why did I read the Bible when I could have read this shit?”.  No.  I wish it to read, ” You made me laugh so hard I couldn’t get a boner”.

Seattle/New Yank Times

Disclaimer:  If I offended anyone following my blog, (especially Britt’s wonderful parents and random family members)  please understand that semi clean humor can ease some of our pain.

Anonymous

Shakespeare is a pain in the asspeare

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13

Although recognizing the writing brilliance of Shakespeare, I become offended by him lacking the knowledge to write for dimwits like me.  The toilet is a place to read for 5 or, like my friend, Jon, perhaps 10 minutes.  It’s not a venue for thinking.  It’s for laughing.

“Brevity is the essence of wit”.

The end.

Ben

Wow!  someone just informed me that Shakespeare is dead.  I guess that tells you a little bit about my English degree from Washington State University.  Darn it.

DM (VD)

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Now, as most of you know, none of my posts are profound or at all groundbreaking. This particular post will be equally similar, yet sadly true. Never in my life have I encountered an individual waltzing, strolling gracefully, or dancing in the rain after leaving the DMV. In fact, I believe most ex convicts exiting the DMV have a high, if not 100 percent chance of offending again within minutes or seconds upon leaving the DMV. The level of impatience and anger manifests to a level even the Pope couldn’t resist.

Today was no exception. I am not an ex con, (depending on the definition…just a simple man wishing to renew his license), but, after shaving this morning, grooming my receding hairline and putting on a nice shirt, and after the 2 Plus hours waiting for my number, 379, (this should be noted) rage became a part of the equation. During the 2 plus hours, my facial hair growth appeared to be the length of a non sophisticated guru. Honestly, I had a five o’clock shadow before my picture could be released to the public or my wife. Personally, I don’t give one good damn about the public, but when my wife witnesses this cross culture picture of me resembling mug shots of Gary Busey, Nick Nolte, while adding a sprinkle of James Brown into the mix, it’s a bit embarrassing. Especially, since I just had my birthday and merely wished to renew my license without any unlawful disorder.

If you enter the DMV thinking you will return to your Aunt’s funeral within two days, well then you should expect and deserve to stay there for the next three days. I was actually pleased when the man assisting me said I would return to my wife by dinner. (I arrived at 10:00 AM to the DMV, merely eight hours before I should have dinner ready). So, my rage was not confined to the time constraint, but the ridiculous fact that after waiting for 2 negative hours, and being informed 25 bucks would be sufficient at the desk, I became additionally agitated when I owed one hundred dollars and was unable to pay with my Visa Card. They only take Master Card. I implore you, I am not making this up. I only had 80 or so dollars in my wallet. Therefore, I was forced to sprint across the street and withdraw, or as I felt, “withdrawal” more cash from the AT -Am I an idiot machine.

Refusing to wait in line for several more decades, and not having a razor handy, I ran back to the same desk, plowing through countless confused Asians, Hispanics, Middle Easterners, Russians, Indians, Native Americans, and two white people. She allowed me to pay the necessary fee without waiting for my wife to wonder if I had left her.

After taking the eye test, which includes reciting letters and identifying colors (I hate to say this but the colors were far more difficult………not because I couldn’t see them, I just haven’t been quizzed regarding my color I.Q. for quite sometime. Nervously, I answered, “Mauve” to one of the colors. After being questioned, I resorted to the boring colors of green, red and blue. Eventually, I passed.

The recitation of letters was easy for me because I stare at a computer and write letters 12 hours a day. Not letters to my family or friends, just random letters because I knew one day I would have to renew my license.

Ultimately, the reason I did not leave with rage was because I felt dreadfully sorry for the Asian taking the eye test prior to me. He was standing before me and the mugshot picture lady, or affectionately referred to as “picture bitch” while attempting to pass the eye test. Let me preface this by stating Asians and the elderly, no matter how fossilized, are stereotypically considered unsafe and unstable when behind a wheel, bicycle, wagon or conversation. My refusal to accept this racial profile is only recognized when the two fuse together much like oil and saki. It just doesn’t work. This poor elderly Asian was capable of identifying the colors, but he could not identify the letters presented on the Disney Multi Color and Letter Opti View. Twelve or Twelve thousand minutes went by while listening to this gentle man try to justify his case in a language the receptionist simply, as well as any others in the DMV room, could not decipher. The only sentences I was capable of discerning were after the DMV Princess asked, “Why weren’t you able to read the letters when you could identify the colors?” His response, with an interpreter, “The letters were just too damn small”.

After successfully receiving my mugshot and license, I knew this man had no way of getting home. Therefore, I offered him a ride. Since he couldn’t see me, he respectfully declined. I then left and didn’t allow two cars to merge into my lane, thus displaying my own layer of rage.

Britt and I had a nice dinner.

For some, a nice ending

Mat Classics

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Bubble Room…. Pegasus Room…. Circle Room… all respectable bars and establishments in Tacoma, Washington from 6 in the morning until we don’t care because we won’t show up until they are serving breakfast and Miller Light the next morning. My good friends and brothers, Tom, Steve, Mike, Russ, perhaps Greg, depending on the year and which nephew was participating in this annual wrestling tournament (The Mat Classic) were possibly present. My memories are not foggy, just unclear and a little rainy.

Without fraternal interest, Tom, Russ and I discovered this Tacoma Dome Tournament because we developed a love for wrestling and a hatred for Spokane. Most people would agree, even if they didn’t necessarily like the sport of wrestling. The enjoyment of attending a sport without a bitchy wife or disgruntled insignificant other is naturally therapeutic and generally fun. Included in the annual fun would be a three month stretch of Russ, Tom, and I saying to one another, “What sweet place shall we stay in the tropical city of Fife, (just seconds from the Tacoma Dome)?”. On line, we would sometimes discover a cockroach engrossed dilapidated hotel laced with prostitutes and a bullet hole riddled room. The majority of these economic hotels are based upon William Shatner’s suggestions through Price Line Dot. Con Artist. It never mattered to us. Us meaning, Tom, Russ and me. We were there for the wrestling and the bars. Additionally, regarding the hotels we’d choose, entertainment was top notch in the evenings. After a long day of betting on wrestlers, we’d order a pizza and sit in our room watching a full episode of cops right out of our window. Then, Tom and I would have the great pleasure of listening to Russ drunk dial his wife, inevitably resulting in a verbal gunfight.

Mornings during the Washington State Tournament were perhaps the most fun. The anticipation, the debates over which wrestler would win the tourney, the steak and eggs delivered by a smoking waitress…..not a smoking hot waitress, but a smoking waitress were epic. We were so excited that when her ashes would fall upon our hash browns, we’d still gobble them up because if we complained, she may stop bringing us beer.

After 10 or perhaps more years of attending this sacred event, Tom, Russ and I have ten thousand wonderful kid friendly stories which may or may not be true. This one is mostly true. Yet, keeping with the ghost theme (this will be the last) we encountered a possible apparition inside one of these bars. After consulting with those who represent me, (Tom and Russ) none of us can recall which room we were having breakfast and a couple beers.

With reverence and reference to my beloved brother, Steve, (I speak this way because he will out live mortals. Therefore, I am providing simple eulogies for my friend and brother while I am still alive). The Bubble Room was his preference for breakfast prior to the big event. They served pancakes the size of really big pancakes, sausage with or without ashes, and toast almost appearing as if they’d been toasted. Butter was served on the side for regulars, but since we were annual nuisances, they provided the butter for a very small fee. Additionally, they stocked up on beer for this yearly ritual.

I believe it is referred to as onomatopoeia. For those of you who are not English Majors and geniuses such as meself, me will describe the word, “onomatopoeia”. These are bullshit noises used by ghosts, people with asthma, and constipation, only accepted and interpreted by people who believe in ghosts, people with asthma and those with constipation. While eating and drinking our breakfast, several of us tuned our ears to a sinister moaning within the bar. None of us were willing to accept or admit to the fact there could be something unearthly and goolish within this establishment. Therefore, we swilled more beverages and masticated more food. When the moaning and groaning, and MWHAhhhha wouldn’t subside, we all finally looked at one another and said collectively, “Do you hear a ghost?”. Since we all heard it at the precise time, we knew there was something more than wrestling, stale beer, and mediocre food we’d experience this weekend. Once again, since I am terrified of ghosts and the elusive Sasquatch, I was elated because witnessing one of these beings with others, mostly tougher than myself, I wouldn’t feel like such an idiot presenting my testimonial on the Tacoma 5 o’clock News.

All of us walked gracefully to the proximity of the sound thinking we would find something changing science and drinking forever. I’ve never been more sober. Frightened, I let Tom and Russ enter the refrigeration section of the elite restaurant along with the others ( I don’t remember everyone attending the social dysfunction). (I believe Mike Thew may have been there……I don’t want to leave him out, although he probably would) Sneaking into the refrigeration station, (only drunk men can sneak up on ghosts) we witnessed something far more shocking. Beneath perhaps 12 or 67 cases of beer lay a cigarette smoking Bubble Room waitress. She had apparently tried to reach a top shelf case when all of the remaining cases crashed upon her. It was as if a dump truck had deliberately and happily piled this precious substance upon this unlucky lady.

Luckily, all my stories end happily. My friend, Russ, applying his CPR training was on top of her in a jiffy, yelling, “lady, lady, you ok?” Her reply? ” just get this God Damn beer off of me”. We all did, but I still consider Russ to be a semi hero. I still thought she was a ghost.

Concerning the waitress, she had minor damage to her knee. Since the fallen beer had become flat and we saved the morning, they let us tote all the fallen cases into our cars, vans and trucks. That’s a lie. We were far too sophisticated to drink flat beer. So, we went to a different joint to listen for ghosts and drink good clean adult beverages.

Not the end…..too many stories for ten years of weirdos and wrestling. Sometimes, it’s just difficult to separate the weirdos from those whom, like me and my friends and family, are merely goofy.

I am trying to set the stage for more classic mat stories….

Ben and his buddies

T1 – Stephen

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Perhaps I should explain the reason people sometimes refer to my brother, Stephen, as T one. It’s sort of cute, which is the only time you can describe my brother this way. Not that he isn’t a handsome man, cute is just not the preferred way to describe a man who could french kiss a cobra and still be alive.

As a youngster, Steve had a slight speech impediment. His S’s would stroll out of his mouth as T’s. For example: “What month is it, Steve?” Answer: “Teptember”. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” Answer: “Take”. “Who are you taking to the prom?” Answer: “Too Ellen Mays”. So, naturally, when responding to the question, “What is your name, young man?”, he would reply, “T ONE”. Instead of being the boy named “Sue”, or “Two”, he will forever be known as the boy named, “T One”.

Mere clarification for some of the blogs: Ghosts, Posts and T One.

Gamblogging

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I’ll keep this brief.  Some people say Blue Tooths, VHS, Beta Max (Craig Hanson) microwave ovens, deep fried turkey ( or anything deep fried for that mattter…or batter), DVDs and STDs are the greatest things since sliced bread.  I just ate an ice cream sandwich.  To me, that is the greatest thing since sliced bread………..unless I win this bet I have with a friend (AKA Bookie) concerning the Huskies and Cornhuskers game tonight.   That will be really, really good bread.

Ben