Happy Trails, Dad
Category: Life

          I lost my father when I was 7 years old. Shortly thereafter, Don Holcomb came into my life and has been my Dad ever since. I'm 31 now and looking back, he's the best Dad I ever could have asked for – even if I'd special ordered him.

          When he married my mother I was a confused and angry child, and he was big and fuzzy and I just didn't know what to think of him. I wasn't ready for a new dad, and unfortunately I held that against him for far too many years. He'd never been married before nor had any children of his own until I came along … because he loved my mother, he inherited a rebellious and unruly child he could have just as easily chosen not to deal with. I thank the powers of the universe that he was a kind and patient man because God knows I tested him. He rarely even raised his voice to me when - for the majority of my teenage years - I deserved tenfold. Whenever he did get around to the lecturing part, I always knew he meant business. The parts of me that wanted to dismiss his disappointment and discipline were later equally represented by my understanding and respect.

          He was always a "by the books" kinda guy, and I never really believed in books when they were about rules and such. But because I saw in his eyes the belief and trust that there have to be rules in place in order to protect people and attempt making the world in which we live in a better place to exist, I understood why he stood so firmly by those rules – even if I didn't agree with all of them.  

          He was a probation officer, and I'm willing to bet I put just as many gray hairs on his head as anything else related to his job. When I got into trouble, I could deal with anything mom had to say, but I never wanted dad to find out – as he inevitably always would – because I couldn't stand to see the sadness in his face and thinking I'd failed him. They always told me if I ended up in jail, I was going to have to sit it out and learn my lesson. I fully expected it from both of them since they both worked in "corrections." Well, I did go (and not because I'm a felon, but because I didn't understand the seriousness of paying speeding tickets) and when I did, dad was the one who showed up to bail me out. I've rarely felt such shame as I did that day, but I'll always remember the caring and understanding he showed me through those moments. My perception of him slowly began to change.

          I was 18 when I went to the hospital to have my daughter, Abbegale. She went into trauma and I had to have an emergency c-section. Dad's cousin adopted her and was there to take her home, while I was sent back to mom and dad's house for my body and heart to heal. Mom and I pulled up into the driveway but I was still in so much pain, I couldn't walk. Dad came down the steps and out to my car where he picked me up and carried me all the way to my room. The love I felt in those big, strong arms of his that night changed my soul forever. I knew then that this man would do anything in his power to help, protect and love me. And he did.

          He put his life in danger more than once to protect me from my bad decisions, and he made sure I never went without anything I truly needed. When my water heater blew out and I couldn't afford a new one, he was here the next day to install one for me that he'd bought – even though he didn't have the extra money laying around either. When my fridge went out, he and mom rearranged their finances to make sure I wasn't eating ham out of a beer cooler. My Christmas present that year was a small fridge, but it did the job I needed it to do and it lasted me quite some time. Luckily, by the time I blew that one up (literally – don't ever use a chisel to defrost the freezer) I had grown responsible enough that I had enough money in my savings account to buy myself a new one. I'm sure he was relieved that by the age of 30, I'd finally pulled myself relatively together.   

          Because of him, I learned that sometimes you can have a conversation in silence… I learned that rules aren't always there just to be a bummer… I learned to always wear my seat-belt and promptly pay my speeding tickets… I learned it's wiser to put money back instead of spending it all on beer and shoes… I learned that sometimes people make fun of you if you blow your nose one nostril at a time, but that it's usually more efficient… I learned how to tie a double Windsor knot and shoot a gun safely – not at the same time, but still both handy lessons, nonetheless.  

Now he's gone on to the next plane and there will be no more bail outs… I have to be a grown-up now and take what I've learned from him and do the best I can to be the person I hope he's proud of. I'll miss his Grizzly Adams looking face and those big bear arms, but I'll never forget the love and comfort they exuded.

Happy trails, Dad. I love you.   

Currently listening : Songs of the Old West By Roy Rogers & Dale Evans Release date: 1998-09-08

1:07 PM - 35 Comments - 66 Kudos - Add Comment

The Ant
Category: Life

I got bored while at work today, as I often do. I headed outside to smoke my hourly cigarette and found a curb on which to sit while I lit it. 

I spotted an ant wandering aimlessly and alone. Most people might have killed him but since he wasn't bothering me, I decided it wasn't worth murdering him. Could have been a her, I'm not sure. How do you tell? *shrug* I guess since he wasn't the Queen and had been sent out into the wide, scary world for a nameless yet surely daunting task, there's my/your answer.

I watched him as he ran in squiggly circles and was certain he'd lost his path. He darted in and out of divots in the concrete, then turned left and right again and back around seemingly to nowhere. Had he gone blind? Had the smoke from my cigarette completely obliterated his sense of smell? Is that what ants do? I know they have feelers for things, but their feelers aren't hooked up to a GPS system that points them back to their lair… surely not. Was this the lone, mentally underdeveloped ant who just didn't get it? Inches from my leg, he began climbing the curb which must have seemed like a ten story building to him. Before he got half way up, he began a back-slide and then caught himself before he continued safely back to the ground. I thought ants could climb anything. Had my second hand nicotine caused his legs to go numb or not stick to things as they used to because they were now coated in a miniscule layer of tar? Maybe he was just afraid of heights.  

I continued to ponder the ant's fate as well as his hopes and dreams for the length of my Camel Light 99. I then extinguished it into the concrete but picked it up to carry it with me, not wanting the ant to think this was a new pile of food - only to end up as what caused his overdose of intoxicants and therefore his untimely death.

I shall never know the answer to the majority to these questions, nor the fate of my new-found friend... for I am not an ant.

9:14 PM - 19 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

Hopes, Babies and Satan
Current mood: content

            For months, I have regularly checked the tour schedule of my favorite comedian, Doug Stanhope (I say favorite in the exclusion of my brother), hoping that he would soon be traveling within reasonable proximity of my dwelling. I found out that he was doing a show in Dallas where my B.F.F., Hope, happens to live. I had vacation time racked up at the radio station and it seemed as though the planets were aligned for another memorable road trip.

            Factoring gas prices and driving time, it was worth it to book a plane ticket which I did through Southwest Airlines. Although the price of a plane ticket had nearly doubled since last time I had booked the same flight, it was still the cheapest one I could find after searching multiple travel engines at a mere $185.

I flew into Love Field on Thursday evening and Hope met me at the airport. As soon as we got back to her car, there was an exceptionally handsome man parked directly in front of us who was changing his clothes and as she began to reverse, I put my hand up to her and said, "Woah… just a minute." He knew we were looking because when I smiled he smiled back. I felt like I should at the very least tip him dollar. After a few dramatic heart palpitations, I took a deep breath and jokingly waved goodbye knowing he couldn't possibly still be watching me. When he waved back, I internally thanked him for setting the tone for what was sure to be an adventurous weekend.

We caught up on girl talk during the not-so-short drive back to her house and made a pit-stop at the liquor store on the way there.

She knew I needed Shiner Bock to make it through the weekend, and while we were at it, I also grabbed a large bottle of Pomegranate Liquor (for which she had the other essential ingredients in making pomegranate margaritas) and an equally large bottle of Absinthe. I forgot why we bought pineapple juice, but it surely had reasoning at the time – most likely because Absinthe tastes like licorice and I fucking HATE licorice. Mushrooms taste like shit too but they're goddamn entertaining, so I figured the licoricity was worth a shot. The attendant helped us carry everything to the car and I'm sure he was thinking we were getting ready for some kind of party, but no. It was just for 'twixt the two of us.

We finally made it back to Hope's house where we were met by her in-laws who had been watching her three children to help make picking me up a bit simpler, which was deeply appreciated by us both (Daddy has a job which requires months at a time of travel and therefore Hope doesn't get out alone much). I think kids are probably always a little weird around "new" people… I wasn't really new, I'd met them before but they just didn't remember me. There is a 4 ½ year old, a 2-ish year old and a 10 month old. It was a zoo and Aunt Shea isn't known for mingling well with children. I like Hope's kids exponentially more than most because they're oddly well behaved. She taught them all sign language at around 6 months old so they could communicate before their verbal skills had developed. It's actually quite fascinating. She uses logic and reasoning with them and for the most part it seems to work – except for the fact that they're still children and there are times when no amount of smarts can keep a kid from being a kid. God bless her… I don't know how the hell she does it.  

We probably ate something for dinner, I think I only had one beer (possibly two) and then I got a text from a friend asking how "Miss Rock Star" was doing. Well, Miss Rock Star was hanging with mommy and the kiddos while doing her best to fully utilize the non-cussing filter (which is sometimes very hard but it's a skill I've developed due to that pesky FCC) and watching The Adventures of Little Bear on the rug-rat network. I was ready to pass out before the kids were.

I was looking forward to sleeping in on Friday without the irritant of a morning show alarm clock or 150 pounds of dog in my face at the crack of sunrise, but my phone rang at 6:21. It was my sidekick from the station, Vinny, telling me our boss thought I was showing up that day. "For fuck's sake, it's been on the calendar for a month and a half and I mentioned it 327 times yesterday…" He quickly apologized and said, "Ok dude, go back to sleep."  I scowled ferociously as I hung up and threw my phone across the room. I wished oh so much for the return of my sweet slumber but before long was jolted back to my current reality by the squealing of young'uns and the stomps of their precious feet.

Soon it was time for breakfast. I was amazed at Hope's ability to supervise three children while mixing, then cutting and baking biscuits, scrambling eggs and slicing strawberries to provide a healthy, well rounded breakfast. I sat in awe as I scarfed the most delicious pile of eggs to ever enter my face hole. She tried to say it was the blend of butter, milk and cheese, but I knew in my heart it was love and magic.

After breakfast and clean-up we had play time for a while, the smallest took a nap as we were outside "swimming" with the older two in the kiddie pool, then Hope said, "In 15 minutes it's time for lunch." I was baffled by the fact that she had not yet ever attempted to slice her wrists. We all had sandwiches and juice for lunch, then we had some wind down time watching Little Bear (or something to the equivalent of that on the children's network) before the eldest had their nap-time. I was exhausted to the point of cross-eyed when Hope told me she was going to hit the treadmill for 30 minutes and that I could watch a movie or check my email. I really wanted to lie down for however long it was the children were allowed but I didn't want to seem like a pussy, so I stuck it out.

Around 6:00 that evening, a friend of hers who had volunteered to watch the children for the evening showed up. Hope started mixing the pomegranate margaritas with what seemed to be an obscene amount of Cabo Wabo in them, but only per the directions. I sipped a taste and she giggled as my face contorted into positions I can imagine were not too attractive. It's a good thing she loves me and knows I'm not a tequila drinker, but it didn't keep her from mercilessly mocking me. She perfected the mixture and we went outside to watch the kids swim for a while. She then cooked noodles, chicken and carrots for dinner. I knew Stanhope's show would fill up quickly, so we had intentions of being there around 7:30. She looked at her watch around 7:00 and using her mommy filter said, "Oh, my! We need to get ready." Usually I'm the one cracking the whip to keep everyone on time, but I was astounded at how she made noodles taste good without sauce and was too busy asking how she cooked the chicken to notice we were running late.

We're both girls who don't dick around when it comes to getting ready in an efficient manner. Within about 30 minutes, we were showered, shaved, make-uped, dressed, perfumed and coifed. We bid the children farewell, wished the sitter good-luck and hit the road.

The drive was again long (since we were traveling from Arlington to North Dallas), and when we pulled up to the venue at 8:30 I cheered, "We're not late!" She said, "See? I told you." We found a parking spot but my glee was soon diminished when we saw that the line into the place was out the door, around the corner and down the side of the building. I thought I could manage a short cut by asking the door people if there was an additional entrance for people with will-call tickets since I had purchased ours weeks ahead of time. Dude pointed around the corner to the back of the line and we begrudgingly trekked around the mass of people who had to be at least a hundred deep. I cursed their system for putting me behind the commoners who had not yet bought tickets when I thought I had been efficiently prepared. I looked at Hope and said, "Fuck it, at least I can smoke now." It wasn't these people's fault I so ravenously enjoyed her chicken.

Before I'd smoked ½ my camel, a dude came around the corner and said to the three guys in front of us, "C'mon," and they started walking around the line of people to the front. As I stood angrily in despair, Hope sprung into action. She grabbed the arm of the guy who was directly in front of her and said, "We're going in with you." I was kinda befuddled and didn't really catch what was going on, but I know Hope well enough not to ask questions… just play along and shit usually works out. I extinguished my cigarette and had to jog a bit to catch up to the pack. When I did, I heard her say, "Hi, my name's Hope," and he replied, "Hi, my name's Brandon." They both said, "Nice to meet you," and again I was in awe. Now, to the untrained eye this may have appeared as flirting, but she was actually doing some reconnaissance shit in case she was questioned at the door. Bitch is fucking brilliant.  

We went straight to the door and I heard the lead man say, "I just bought these guys their tickets." I attempted following suit after our escorts had passed; we walked up to the counter and I said, "I have two on the will-call list for Shea White." He looked at me and said, "Did the guy out there already check you off the list?" With a furrowed brow I said, "Um…" and Hope immediately interjected, "Yeah, he was supposed to - I'm pretty sure he did." Apparently we were supposed to have been handed a passport length document to fill out, but Hope got us around that too. He ran our drivers licenses through what looked like a credit card machine and gave us receipts to sign. I'd never been exposed to such a system… it seemed thorough but obviously wasn't fool-proof because we still got in without having gone through every security hoop. I might have felt slightly guilty had I not already paid for our tickets in advance, but since I had, fuck y'all and yay us.

We scoured the room for the best seats but much to our dismay there was only a single table left, aside from one which had been reserved for who we later learned were two fat chicks and a greasy guy who looked like he should have either owned a titty bar or a used car lot. We landed the LAST remaining table in the joint… thank you, Hope, and your ninja skills. It turns out that even though we didn't get front row seats, we got the table with the best view that existed behind that - which fuckin' rocked. Hope opened a tab and got us both Shiners. I looked at her and said, "You know, we really oughta buy those guys a beer for being good sports." She replied, "That might be kind of awkward… you'd have to go find them and then figure out a way to bring up the subject, and then what are you going to do if their girlfriends showed up? We should find a waitress and have her take the beer over." Pffttt… then they're not gonna know who the beer came from. And by the way, you weren't worried about that shit a minute ago. You've got your skills and I've got mine. Watch my purse and hold the table, I'll be back in a minute. I scoured the crowd, knocking into no less than 5 people when I spotted our previous escorts in the opposite corner. I nonchalantly glided to the table, placed my hand on Brandon's shoulder and slyly smiled at everyone in their area. I said, "I just wanted to thank you boys for helpin' us out. Can I buy y'all a beer?" They all perked up, yet still seemed to be in slight disbelief before they figured out I was serious. One replied, "I'll take a Miller Light," and the next one answered, "Bud Light" with a smile, then I looked at Brandon. He said, "A beer for what?" *sigh* Why is it that the pretty ones are so rarely smart? I looked at him and said, as if speaking to a child, "What do you want to drink, sugar?" He said, "Oh, um, I'm drinking Bud Light." I verified it was two Bud Lights and a Miller Light, then another guy who was with an assumed girlfriend spoke up. "You're bad ass… I'll take a Corona!" As he held up his hand to frat-boy high five me, I slapped his palm and said, "You weren't one of the pack; you're shit outta luck," but I smiled anyway and he either took it like a champ or didn't understand what the fuck I just said. One way or the other, that guy didn't get a beer. I waited until I left the table to roll my eyes. I went to the bar, opened another tab separate from Hope's, took the boys their beers, thanked them again, and then made my way back to our table. Hope was shaking her head in disbelief with a smile on her face, much like I had done to her previously. We're quite the team.

They stalled the show for an additional 20 minutes or so because people were still in line trying to get in. At first I was cranky that we were sitting on bar stools instead of in backed chairs (because I'm fragile), but by the time the show actually started, at least two thirds of the audience was standing behind us with no tables or chairs of any sort. I was glad we rocked.

The evening's festivities were hosted by Satan. He donned a tuxedo and red gloves with a horned mask and pointy ears. His set included jokes about Hell, Christians, Jesus and general heathenry. It was fantastic. One line was about how Jesus wasn't that good of a driver because every time he tried to use the turn signal, it kept getting stuck. Hope looked at me and I could tell she didn't quite get it. I looked back at her, pointed at my palm and said, "Because there's a hole in it." Although she knew it was wrong, tears soon started welling up in her eyes as she laughed. It was definitely turning into the splendid evening I had expected.

Somewhere in the Dark Lord's routine was mention of The Blue Collar Comedy Tour. I don't remember the punch line, but I'd be willing to bet it was something about Larry the Cable Guy sucking his cock. When Satan's introductory set was finished, he made the next introduction of Doug's favorite traveling musician, Mishka Shubaly. He then exited the stage and started walking through the crowd to return to his evil lair, and for Mishka to take the stage. It was then I noticed that Hope and I were sitting along a pretty direct path for stage exits. As Satan came nearer to us, I walked over to him and shook his hand. I leaned in to tell him what a great set he'd done, mentioned the Blue Collar thing, and that my name was Shea. The mask he was wearing covered most of his head including his ears, so he didn't quite hear me. The next act was about to start and I know how rude it is of audience members to yell over each other so I tried to make my re-introduction as simple as possible. Knowing this guy probably didn't know who the fuck I was well enough to do the math and translation, I simply stated, "I'm Ron White's little sister. Tell Stanhope I said hi." He squinted his beady eyes at me and walked away.

Then, onto the stage walked a handsome man I had noticed earlier while he was lonesomely sitting at the bar. This must be Mishka. He sang three songs for an adoring crowd, containing lyrics similar to these which follow:

:: Pass me the lampshade, I'm drunk again

Blew my drug money on a quart of gin

I am a cultured man, with tastes discriminating

But I'll settle for a tall glass of anything

Fell in love with love and death and darkness

If I'm a bad drunk, it's not for lack of practice

This is no, there is no modern romance

Cause I'm going home in a fucking ambulance ::

I began to understand why he looked on the morose side of life while drinking by himself. Now I feel like I should have bought him a drink when I initially spotted him, but I didn't want to abandon my wing-chick for any longer than necessary. I turned to Hope and said, "I wonder if he'd agree to be my Dallas boyfriend?" She looked back at me like I was retarded and said, "He lives in Brooklyn; I don't think that's gonna work." Oh. Well, I guess not then.

Next up was Brendon Walsh, who has opened for Stanhope quite frequently. As a matter of fact, he opened for Stanhope the first time I saw him but I missed the first two sets because we were late. It's possible I was being orally serviced that particular evening before the show and needed some recovery time, but I'm still throwing blame elsewhere. What I did remember of Brendon was him being clean shaven with short hair. This time he had nearly shoulder length hair and a full beard speckled with grey. Aside from the clean, pink visor he wore atop his head, he looked like a homeless dude. I still thought he was cute, but had I seen him on a street corner I probably would have given him a dollar or maybe five. His set was fantastic and made Hope and I both tear up with achy faces from laughing so hard. Listening to him was like doing 50 sit ups. Now it's time for Stanhope.

When Doug took the stage, I clapped like a mongoloid child at Christmas who had just spotted a new bicycle under the tree wrapped in a huge pink bow. I won't divulge any portions of his set (since they are rare and precious, and mostly I don't remember) but I will let you know that by this point in the show – after several Shiners - I REALLY had to pee. Hope took a brief break earlier but I was so enthralled, I didn't want to miss a second of the show. I told Hope I didn't need to go because I was a trained professional having worked far too many years on a switchboard… you just had to learn to hold it until you could find someone to cover you. Also, my current job entails being stuck out on random street corners throughout town for two hours at a time wherein I usually consume two 16 ounce Monster Energy drinks and a 20 ounce bottle of water - I just had to learn to hold it until I got back to the radio station. The basis for my logic in bladder stress testing was that I'd just spent an absurd amount of money to see this show and I wasn't leaving for a word of it. It was the best time of my life and I was thrilled to have Hope along with me and also to see that she enjoyed the show as thoroughly as I had.    

After the show, I noticed that Stanhope's gal pal, Bingo, was selling his merchandise at a nearby pool table. She remembered me from when I met her in New York and gave me a warm and welcoming hug. Hope seized the photo opportunity and all was well. Bingo had copies of Mishka's CD laid out so I told her I'd take one of those, but I didn't have change for a twenty and neither did she. I looked at Doug's stuff and said, "I have that one, that one and that one… what else do you recommend?" She pointed out an album of his earlier material that she said was his favorite and I immediately purchased it. When she said he'd probably give it to me, I told her I'd already spent $500 (thus far) to see the show, so $10 more didn't matter much. She said, "Are you fuckin' crazy?" She knew the look in my eyes meant yes.

Eventually, Satan came strolling over to join in our conversations. I soon learned his "Christian" given name was Norman. It was at this moment I recalled also meeting him in New York on the same trip I met Doug and Bingo. (Thanks still to J-Roc for the unforgettable birthday trip.) While mingling, Norm said, "Why don't you guys come and hang out with us after we're done with all this? We've got more beer back at the room – we're just around the corner in room 322." Hanging out with comics AFTER the show is usually the really fun part because you learn more about them as people as opposed to simply their acts; and they have the opportunity to learn more about me as a person as opposed to simply some other random fan in the crowd. I promptly closed my tab out and we headed in their hotel's direction.

Comics normally stay in hotels closest to their venues which pleased me greatly as I still had not yet relieved my bladder. Hope and I sprinted towards the elevator as quickly as our impractical shoes would allow us, and I hit the button for the third floor. We roamed down the corridor until we spotted room 322. I knocked impatiently while at the same time trying not to sound like a cop who had come to bust up the party. Now cross legged and hopping up and down, I was highly disappointed when no one answered the door. I looked at Hope and said, "Fuck this shit… there's got to be a restroom somewhere in the lobby; let's go." We hopped back into the elevator; I glanced at the buttons knowing one of them was for the lobby and hit the "L" I saw out of the corner of my eye. It was the wrong button. I had just punched the "LL" button which led us to the Lower Level. We got off the elevator anyway with hopes that there might be a piss hole somewhere on that floor. Much to my dismay, we found none.

I headed back toward the elevator praying we could make it back up to the lobby in time to avoid a catastrophically humiliating ordeal. Hope began mocking me (as she has a tendency to do) which only made me laugh, and I laughed HARD. I thought, "Goddamn it all to hell – I'm not gonna make it," and right about that time was when I felt the first trickle. Now, all of us know someone who has laughed so hard they peed themselves (and if you say it has never happened to you I'm willing to bet a dollar you're a big, fat liar), although I highly doubt most of those people were holding my current amount of alcoholic fluids in desperate need of release. I looked at Hope and said, "It's too late," as I continued laughing. The look on her face which clearly read "holy shit" only made me laugh more hysterically. Much like a dam where its midsection has been recklessly jack-hammered, the seal had been broken. Upon the minor eruption, there was nothing I could do to avoid a natural disaster. All those kegel exercises had just miserably failed me. I threw Hope a look of despondence as the flood (and my dignity) continued – in a very obvious manner – down my pants leg and shortly thereafter filling my left shoe.

I said to Hope, "It's over… that was the end of the party. I can't go back up there like this! How the fuck am I even going to walk through the lobby and back to your car with wet pants and piss in my shoes?" She looked at me blankly with tears in her eyes. I thought for a moment and soon the answer came to me. Right around the corner on the lower level was a swimming pool. "I'm jumping in." Hope looked at me for a second like, "Are you fucking serious?" and she rapidly knew that indeed I was. I headed for the pool and immediately submerged myself, shoes and all. While Hope stood in the doorway still cracking up, I kicked around a bit and did a little backstroke all the while thinking, "This would be a hell of a lot funnier if it had just happened to someone else."

  I climbed out of the pool and used a random towel to pat dry the excess water raining from my clothes. We got back into the elevator and once again pushed the button for the third floor. We went to room 322, knocked, and there was still no answer. As I shrugged at Hope, she heard noises coming from the next room. We soon realized it was abundant laughter and I said, "Go ahead and knock." Norm answered the door to 324 and I didn't know whether to hug him because we'd finally found him, or punch him in the face for telling us the wrong room. He happily greeted us and welcomed us inside where also there sat Mishka and about 3 or 4 other people I didn't know. I looked Satan straight in the eye and said, "You SO owe me a beer."  

As he eagerly obliged, I asked, "Did this room happen to come with a robe?" Hope realized there must be a laundry unit somewhere in the hotel where I could dry my clothes. That's why I keep her around – she's a thinker. Norm said he hadn't seen a robe anywhere, so Hope called the receptionist at the front desk asking for one. The woman said it wasn't one of their standards, but she'd still call a superior and ask if there was a possibility of one materializing from somewhere. Before Norman could ask, I casually mentioned I'd felt like hopping in the pool. Not once did he question why… he acted like it was completely normal. The phone soon rang and Norm answered it. "Hello. *pause* No robes anywhere? *pause* I'll have you know my wife is going to be highly disappointed with your establishment." He hung up and said, "The front desk woman sends her best regards." He also found out that the driers were on the second floor, but that still left the question of what I was going to robe myself with while my clothes were drying. I could wear a towel but I might as well be running around naked and that's just not kosher. I like these people but that was a line I just wasn't willing to cross. Eventually, Norman offered me a t-shirt and some boxer briefs. The gesture was greatly appreciated.

Hope and I once again headed for the elevator and down to the second floor. When we finally found the laundry room we were sad to see you had to have a key card to enter. As we began walking back down the hall, we found a nearby room whose occupants were obviously having a party. Hope knocked on their door and when it opened, the guy's face on the other side was understandably in puzzlement. She quickly explained our predicament and a girl from the back of the room amidst no less than 12 other G-thugs hopped up and walked with us to the laundry room and used her key card to get us in. "Thank you, miss gangster lady," stayed inside my head while Hope thanked the woman properly.

I tossed my clothes in the dryer and then momentarily contemplated the addition of my shoes. Hope said, "Do you really want the whole 'ka-thunk, ka-thunk' thing happening?" Trying to avoid an unnecessary investigation of the matter as well as the mystery of whether or not the dryer would shrink the canvas of my espadrilles, I decided against it and carried them back up to the third floor and with us into room 324.

We all sat and drank and laughed and chatted until we heard a knock. I was closest to the door, so I got up to see who it was while hoping it wasn't security. Doug Stanhope's funny little face was on the other side of the peep-hole and I giddily opened the door. Right away, he looked oddly at my chest. I soon saw that his perplexedness stemmed from the fact that my bra had soaked through the t-shirt I was wearing. Not once did he question, (A.) why I was wearing Norman's boxer briefs and shirt or (B.) why my boobs were soaked. He merely strolled into the room and said, "What's up, guys?" He's just fuckin' cool like that, and I couldn't have been happier about the company with whom I sat. Ok, the room probably would have been less cluttered without Mishka's groupies but I understood it was a toll that comes with the territory.

Doug was staying in room 322 with Bingo and Brendon, and when he left Norm's room to go to his he gave me the head tilt signifying his approval to join them if I wished. I did and followed. I thought Hope was right behind me but I was mistaken. I kept looking out Doug's peep-hole and said, "I lost mah bitch!" Had I been hanging out with anyone else, I probably wouldn't have cared but if there's one person on the planet whose coolness I can vouch for, it's Hope. I shrugged it off after a couple minutes knowing she's a big girl and that she'd find me eventually because I gave her the head tilt and accompanying eye motion upon exiting the other room. She soon came knocking and said her husband had called and she had to answer. I'm not sure what words were exchanged but I'm pretty sure that in husband-land there was very little about this particular scenario which would have sounded appropriate, although the entire evening was completely innocent. It was probably a little weird that Bingo lost her pants but I was the LAST person in any position to ask questions or be judgey.

Stanhope was known to be a heavy smoker, so I asked him how he went from 2 ½ packs a day to nothing. I was positive there must have been some super drug involved and that if it worked for him it surely would for me, but he said that he and Bingo made a pact and they just quit. No help – just fucking quit. I was temporarily baffled, yet amazed by his will-power. Kudos to you, sir. Then I asked him what Norm's last name was and he replied, "Wilkerson." I said, "Oh, shit… I've been telling Hope all night that he was Norm McDonald." My evening was complete now that I had made my favorite comic shoot beer out of his nose – even if it was due to my mild retardation.

It was getting late, so Hope and I went down to retrieve my laundry. Once again we forgot we needed a key card, but the same gangster lady from the party room around the corner obliged us with her assistance. I got re-dressed and we waved good night to all the G-thugs on that floor. They were actually pretty cool.

We went back up to the third floor and I returned Norm's clothes, then thanked him for a fantastic evening. He said, "You guys are fuckin' cool as shit, I had a great time. We should do this again." I'm sure we will. I went back over to Stanhope's room to bid my farewells and he and Bingo both gave me a siblings' kiss good night. Our entire hotel trip was only an hour and a half but it felt closer to eight or nine. It was all very surreal, yet completely unforgettable. Hope and I hit Jack in the Box on the way home and crashed like it was the end of the world.   

About 3 ½ hours later, I was snatched from my coma by the stomping and squeals of Hope's offspring. I thought, "Oh dear mother of Christ, we have children to supervise." I couldn't go back to sleep and leave Hope on her own, so I sleepily staggered from the guest room to see if there was anything I could do to help. The baby was chewing on a frog, and the other two kids were running circles around Hope as she sat miserably with her face in her hands. She had a migraine the size of Texas and was doing everything within her power to contain a violent vomiting attack. I knew I out drank her by at least a bucket's worth and I wasn't sick (sure, I was tired and shaky, but not sick) so we came to the conclusion that her order of Jack in the Box tacos must have been the culprit(s). She was about to call the sitter from the night before for backup because she didn't think she could handle the kids, and although she knew I had the best intentions she was correct in her assumption that I wasn't the best suited nanny either. Dogs I can handle… children, not so much.

She said she was going to try to make herself puke and asked if I could do my best to wrangle the little ones for a while. I said, "Sure," then hesitantly added, "Do you want me to attempt cooking some eggs?" She replied, "No, that's ok… we'll be having cereal today." I was more than slightly relieved. 

Hope eventually emerged from the bathroom feeling much better. It was indeed the tacos and they had now been expelled from her system. I was then highly relieved until she noticed that one of the baby's ears was red and enormously swollen. I took the two bigger kids out back to swim in their pool while she called her pediatrician. She decided to go ahead and take the baby to get checked, then came out back to let me know what was going on. She said, "We can either all load up and go together, or you can stay here with the other two." We both looked at each other like, "Is that really a good idea?" Knowing the doctor was waiting for her and that time was of the essence, I offered to stay home. She wished me luck and told me she'd have her cell on her if I needed anything.

Not too long after Hope left, I noticed that the 2 year old was carrying a toxic load. I knew I couldn't just leave her like that but I didn't know where any of the supplies were. I asked the 4 year old where the pull-ups were and he said they were in his closet. "Ok, can you be a good boy and hang out while I go fix your sister?" Although he answered "yes," I knew in my heart that it wasn't a good idea to leave a child unsupervised in a pool no matter how small the pool was, but he refused to come inside and I just had to hope he'd live for 5 minutes on his own.

 I got to the closet and couldn't find the pull-ups. I left the two year old to her own devices after telling her, "Don't sit on anything or choke on any toys; I'll be right back," then ran back outside to ask the 4 year old again for his assistance. "I can't find the pull-ups, can you help me?" He said, "They're on the shelf in the top of my closet!" Goddamn it, now I'm being out-witted by a toddler.

I ran back to the kids' room and was happy to find the 2 year old still breathing. I then realized I had no idea where the wipey things were. Not wanting to leave the youngest again while she was in my care, I quickly searched every cabinet and every drawer for the ass wipes but to no avail. I then heard a horrifying sound come from outside. I had no choice but to abandon the two year old again to run outside to make sure her brother wasn't drowning. I was relieved when I found out he was perfectly ok, but still befuddled as to what it was I'd just heard. I asked him if he was alright just to make sure and he said, "Yeah, I'm alright but what's taking you so long?" I wanted to stick my tongue out at him but knew that one of us needed to be mature.

I ran back inside and eventually found the ass wipes sitting on a book shelf - perfectly logical. I got the 2 year old stripped and figured out I don't really know how to change a child's pull-ups. I've cleaned babies before and know you lay them on their backs and do that foot cross thing, yank 'em in the air and the wiping is relatively simple. She was standing up and I wasn't sure whether or not it would be insulting to her big-girl-ness if I asked her to assume the position I knew how to deal with, so I just let her stand. I'll tell you now it was not a simple task, nor was it pleasant. It was a two wipey job, minimum but at least I got her clean. Then came the struggle of getting her fresh pull-ups on because she was still wearing shoes. I was still too shaky to just cram her through the leg hole, so I unfastened it and got it done the other way. I looked at her and said, "Are we good now? Is that comfortable?" having no idea if I was cutting off the circulation to her legs and just wanting to ensure that the pull-ups actually stayed up. She replied, "That's great," then gave me a big hug. *sigh* Oh shit, your brother's still outside. Let's go.

The children continued happily playing in the water; meanwhile it was nearing 100 degrees outside and I was miserably sweating Shiner Bock from every pore in my body. Hope called to let me know she'd be seeing the doctor soon and asked how everything was going. "Oh we're all fine but I'm retardedly inefficient at changing poopy diapers." Of course she laughed at me while I didn't find it amusing at all. She said she'd bring some lunch home and I really didn't care what it was – I just wanted her to come home.   

Hope came back with Burger King and was surprised to learn that I'd been outside with the children for the majority of her absence. She asked, "Do you have any idea how hot it is out there?" Oh, yes. Yes I do. She praised my trooper-ness and rewarded me with a cheeseburger and tea. I told her, "I'm an alright aunt, but you can have this mom shit."

As we sat around the table eating lunch, I asked Hope for her reassurance that she had as good a time as I had the night before. She boisterously replied, "I had a GREAT time!" She then continued, "As painful as today has been, I wouldn't take back a minute of it. I still go out sometimes, but it's never quite the same as it is when I go out with you. Sure, I have fun but our adventures just seem to be… I can't think of the right word." I could.

"Legendary."

6:15 PM - 32 Comments - 53 Kudos - Add Comment

Phone Smarts
Current mood: pissed off
Category: News and Politics

            Remember a couple stories back when I was ranting about my truck and then my phone got stolen along with Vinny's grill while barbequing at his apartment? Good, I'm glad you're all caught up.

            Yesterday, my friend Jen out in Long Beach sent me a picture to my new phone. The new phone I had to buy because my other one that worked perfectly fine was stolen. Well, on this phone, apparently the pictures don't just show up (which is a crock of shit because I paid damn good money for a Crack-berry, and if I can take and send pictures I should be able to receive them on the damn thing), I now have to log on to Sprint.com to retrieve them. What if I'm in the middle of nowhere with no internet service and the only chance I have at survival is someone taking a picture of the direction out? I'm shit outta luck.

            Anyhoo, I logged into my account I'd never seen before and saw my friend Jen's smiling face sipping alcohol out of a goblet the size of her head with the tagline, "Cheers!" It made me smile. I then started scrolling through the other pictures that had been mysteriously uploaded – some from my other phone. There were pictures of me tied up in Long Beach getting whipped at that thing Jen took me to for Halloween (good times), although it was only one picture uploaded like 30 times. I guess the rest of them are lost. *shrug* Then there was the boob shot I sent an ex of mine and I thought, "Fuck, I thought I deleted that shit!" Oh well. Kinda makes me wonder where the other "special" pictures went, but they're either lost in space or someone at Sprint.com with any number of fetishes is very happy.

            Then I found the picture that made my blood boil. It is of two random skanks, both of whom I have never met. It is dated April 4, 2008 - the night my phone was stolen.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v731/pitgirrl/blog%20pics/ghettobitches.jpg

In my last story, I referred to the person who stole my phone as a "ghetto bitch" not knowing what color or creed they were of, but merely on the fact that stealing shit you know isn't yours is goddamn ghetto. Then the cunt ran up $250 worth of charges in ONE NIGHT downloading random hip-hop songs, changed my incoming call tone, and took my name off my voice mail, which I still have yet to fix. So, for those of you who have tried to call me and it doesn't say, "Hi, this is Shea…" blame the ghetto whore. My phone wasn't even stolen in the ghetto… Vinny lives at the Collegiate Apartments complex in Canyon. The apartments are damn nice, but apparently they have some occupants who aren't. I don't know if these girls live there, or if they merely know someone who does. What I DO know is that if next time Vinny and I have a barbeque and I see either one of these thieving sacks of shit, they're loosing some teeth. I'll punch the pretty right off yo cock suckin' face.

Now I have some questions. Do I take the picture to all the Sprint stores with a description of my stolen phone and see if they can do something about it? I know the cops don't give a shit – they have better things to do and I'm not one who enjoys wasting the time of the po-lice. Do I post their picture all over the complex with the caption, "Thieving whores stole my phone"?

I believe vigilante justice is in order.

2:38 PM - 55 Comments - 73 Kudos - Add Comment

Take a Spin
Current mood: apathetic
Category: Romance and Relationships

I've often been considered cold and calloused in certain circles, and been assured many times that negative karma awaits me. Statements like these are mostly made by men with whom I've shared some sort of relationship – physical or not. Their woes all have one common denominator...

[The names in this story have not been changed to protect anyone.]

            I didn't really understand how music was made until I was around 13 years of age. It was at this time I entered high school and started mingling with members of local bands. By 14, I was the first devoted follower of a band called Plunger Accident. It included Jere Tooley, Bryan Phillips, and that guy John (Alexander?) who burned me with a lighter when I was 15. The scar from the lighter incident remains to this day on the inside of my right arm. Occasionally they'd play shows at a warehouse down on 7^th and Bryan Street, which later became known as The Egg. Any member of the "punk rock scene" back in the day in Amarillo remembers going to a show there. It was here that I learned of a band with even more stage presence called Big Mama Crumb. The members I recall were Spinner Lopez, D.J. and Cube. Mainly, I remember Spinner.

            Spinner had an energy that dominated any room in which he appeared. His voice was loud and deep; his hair was long, curly and luscious. He had his pick of any girl in the room and much to my dismay, it was never me. I had a blistering crush on him for many years from afar, but never knew how to get his attention.

            The day I turned 17, I was living in a duplex in the ghetto and Bryan Phillips announced to a crowd somewhere that the after-party would be held at my house. Few of the attendants knew who I was but I was happy to have them… until Josh Rogers stole my bong, but that's another story. I was sitting on the floor of my kitchen on a fist full of acid watching the wallpaper dance when Spinner came in and sat down next to me. For a moment, I wondered if this was an additional hallucination. Then he said to me with a look of concern, "Hey, pretty girl… why are you in here all alone?" As I watched the linoleum twirl, I told him I didn't really know anyone there, that it was my birthday, and that my boyfriend had deserted me to go look for more drugs on the north side of town. It was then that Spinner Lopez sang Happy Birthday to me in Spanish. It was soft, deep, sexy, and truly surreal. Shortly afterwards, he disappeared not to be seen for many years to come.    

I joined MySpace in 2005. By March of 2006, I'd found Spinner once again living in California. I'm sure we had several mutual friends on whose pages we could have found each other. I drink sometimes and therefore cannot remember specifics on that particular encounter. I can still remember flying the Batman kite when I was 3 across the street from my house in Deer Park and it flying away, but other things are lost. There is apparently no rhyme or reason to my memories, nor their loss. Anyway, this round with Spinner, I finally caught his attention. I don't know whether it's because I had more confidence or better hair, but he was all about me. I asked if he remembered me from several different occasions, and the answer was always "No." What about the time you gave me a ride in Tooley's red truck over to that chick's house? Nope. *Sigh* I finally decided it didn't matter what he did or didn't remember, but that we could start new memories as of now. We talked every day, and by April he was announcing his undying love for me from every rooftop. I heard him do literally just that over the phone more than once.

I was baffled by the fact that I had now wrangled that which was previously unattainable. He was VERY drunk the first time he told me that he loved me, but he never took it back, so who was I to deny its return? Even in the mornings before he started drinking he'd send me emails professing his adoration. April 13, 2006: "mucho amor mi Corazon." Who wouldn't eat that shit up? It was exactly the emotional fodder I'd been hoping for and dreaming of to fill the hole of despair in my soul that was created by the delusion of thinking no one could ever love me.       

Only having each other by phone was driving us both crazier than we already were by normal psychiatric standards. Because he had a roommate in California and family here in Texas, we decided it would be better if he flew here. I bought him the ticket and he was on his way. Somewhere between the booking of the flight and his actual arrival, something fell apart.

I started to realize that when he drinks, he drinks A LOT. I have an apology email from May 10, 2006. Apparently he got drunk, then paranoid, and proceeded to blow up at me; about what, I don't recall. He took a couple days to "dry out", and by then I guess I'd had some time to think about some things. The first one on the list should have been the fact that he lives in California and I live in Texas. That's quite a fuckin' commute. Second, I don't need to associate with anyone who drinks more than I do. I do my best to keep a level frame of mind and not let it rule my life. I think it's safe to say I keep my shit fairly well together… when I notice myself slipping, I'm strong enough to tell myself to shake it off, pull myself back up, and get back on track. I can't do that while trying to hold somebody else up. My next message was from May 22. Spinner: "Where'd you go Newfoundland?" Me: "Yeah, that's where I went." (later) Him: "Ah the cold treatment, huh?" I was already blowing him off and he hadn't even made it to Texas.

On June 6, I have a message from him in apparent observance that I had changed my MySpace status back to single. It reads, "So you are single again? Well, that's kind of a messed way of going about things. I figured you would have the common decency to at least just call a mutha fucka just to let me know what was going on. I just have a question.  Did you cancel the trip to Texas? I just want to tell my family before they prepare for something and it not happen." He was correct – it was indeed shitty of me not to let him in on anything. I assured him that his trip to Texas was not cancelled and although I can be cuntish at times when it comes to my passive-aggressive behavior, I would never keep him from spending the time with his family that he had planned.  

A couple weeks later, his plane landed in my town. By then I had stopped returning his calls and emails. I didn't even tell him where I lived. Anyone who has known me since I was 19 knows I still live in the same house. He found a friend who knew and had them bring him here. I was on the couch watching a movie when I heard the knock at the door. I honestly didn't know who it was until I saw the large, dark figure standing on the other side of my window in the rain. It was my unattainable dream. I opened the door and stood there awkwardly for a moment as he sulked. I told him, "I wasn't going to let you come to town without at least saying 'hi' to you." He invited me out for drinks but I declined as politely as I could, most likely with a lie. I didn't even let him come inside the house. I promised I would see him before he left, knowing that was another lie. I never called him again.

           Two years later, I found myself in nearly the same predicament. I went to one of my tattoo shops about a month ago, and out of seemingly nowhere my friend Kelly asked, "So, did you ever hear back from Spinner?" My head reeled remembering she had been in on the loop of things, as few people were. I told her, "Nope. I know it got sticky there for a while, but I don't even remember specifically what went down that tore it all up." (This was due to the fact that only since then have I gone back through all my saved emails.) She replied, "You guys were really heavy for a while, then he asked you to marry him and it totally flipped you out." Oh yeah, that. Thanks for being sober, Kelly.

The very next day my phone rang and showed a California area code. I have a lot of friends out there and a new phone missing most of their numbers, so I picked up the call. It was him. My head spun for several moments before I could compose myself enough to even speak. "Um, hi." He told me he'd be coming back into town in a couple weeks and asked if I'd like to go out with him. I figured after ripping the guy's heart out, the least I owed him was a conversation and a beer. This time, I stuck to my word.

He flew in on Memorial Day weekend and said he'd be spending time with his family the first few days. I told him I could most likely fit him into my schedule on Tuesday. I drove across town to pick him up and wondered momentarily if there was a bar on that side of town I could take him to with cheap beer, but then realized there would be no distraction from our conversation or lack thereof in a place where I knew no one. I decided the extra gas money was worth it to get us back downtown to the pub where they had $2 beer and everybody knows my name. *insert Cheers chorus*

We walked in and I ordered a Shiner. The bartendress and I both looked over my shoulder at him as she gave him the nod inquiring what he'd like to drink. He threw two fingers up and said, "Dos." Renee is a fiery little spit-ball and she immediately barked, "Well, does that mean you want a Dos Equis, or does it mean you want two Shiners? Speak words to me." Her question was completely valid, and I couldn't help but laugh at her snippiness. We all concluded it meant he would like a Shiner Bock as well, as Renee continued her rant regarding the idiocy of the majority of her patrons. She and the bar-back, Tyler, both asked me where Vinny (my sidekick) was, as they rarely see me in there without him. I told them he'd decided to take home some Fat Tire and cook tortellini. Renee asked, "Why the fuck's he cooking tortellini?" I dunno. Sounded like fun, I guess. I was at that point VERY happy I had made the decision to drive us to an establishment where I knew the focus at hand could be deterred.

I'm sure it was obvious to everyone in the room that any discussion between Spinner and I was odd and stuttery, filled with moments of awkward silence. It had also become clear to Renee that the more nervous and awkward I am, the faster I slam back the Shiner. She's seen me drink before, but she could tell I was out of my element. I didn't know what to say or do. We have working for the radio in common, so we discussed the pros and cons of corporate blah, blah, blah, but were soon back to staring at the wall. Since my awakening time is painfully early, I had only planned on hanging out for an hour or two. Renee is damn good at her job and by the time my Shiner glass is down to its last ¼, she's already got another cold one sitting in front of me. She'll do it until I tell her to cut me off, and this continued for about 2 ½ hours. I put up the stop sign and told Spinner it was time to go.

           I still had my wits enough about me to tell him there was no way in holy hell he was staying at my house. I knew that line had to be drawn when I picked him up from his dad's and he brought a back pack. No sirreebob. He asked why and my answer was that I had to leave earlier than time would allot for me to take him anywhere the next morning and it was not a smart idea to leave him alone in my house with my dogs. They will eat you. He replied, "But I'm really good with animals – they love me." NO, NO, NO. "You're gonna have to pick somewhere else to go." He told me to take him to a hotel on I-40 (probably for pity points but it didn't work) and I obliged. We pulled up to the main entrance and I gave him a hug. He somehow slipped a kiss in on me and I guess in my intoxicated state, I decided it didn't suck so I kissed him back. After we realized I'd been blocking traffic for quite some time, he had me drive around to the back and all the while I was thinking, "Goddammit, Shea Lynn White, what the HELL are you thinking?" He began pleading for me to come upstairs with him. He said, "You don't have to do anything, I just want to hold you." NO, NO, NO. I'm a big girl, mister and I've heard that one before. I have to be awake and on top of my game – not you- in four hours for the morning show. This is NOT going down. Thank you for playing; hope you enjoyed the beer. He said he had to see me before he left. I asked when that was and his reply was, "Saturday at noon." I was pretty sure I didn't have to work Saturday, so I told him I'd see him on Friday.

Friday rolled around and he called from his dad's number which I also did not have in my phone. I was working with Slayter and Vinny at our "Weekend Starter Party" gig, which happens to be at the bar where the plot of this story hinged. I picked up the phone to hear a, "Hey, baby..." and was back to looking like a deer in headlights. Then, "Can I still see you tonight?" to which I could only reply, "I'm still working – I'll call you if I get a minute," knowing that was my legal loophole to not calling him back.

Before my shift was over, I got another call from another number I hadn't logged, but by then I had learned to not pick up the phone. I figured out yesterday when I finally checked my voice mail that it was indeed Spinner. Sometimes my gut works. During that shift I learned that Vinny had never seen a routine by Doug Stanhope. I immediately cancelled everything else that could have been considered entertainment for the evening and told Vinny, "Duuude, I'll buy the beer and you're coming to my house for a Stanhope marathon. I have three DVDs and you're not leaving until we're through all of them or I start snoring, whichever comes first."

Well, my snoring came first and I had once again blown off Spinner Lopez. And not in the good way. I felt kinda bad but had no idea how to explain why I'd done what I'd done. Today I hold the same dilemma.

Since he's still my friend on MySpace, I've been torn apart as to whether or not to post it there, wondering if he'll read it. It's going in the book anyway, so with as many common friends as we have in our circle, he's bound to get wind of it sooner or later either way.

So, Spinner, the base of the answer to the aging riddle of why I'm cruel and neurotic is that I'm still in love with another man who lives two hours away, and who ignores my texts and doesn't return my phone calls. I have been for at least 5, if not closer to 7 years. That answer can also substitute as a bottom line for most of the rest of you in any other given chapter.

Welcome to my passive aggressive torture. When I don't have the balls to cop to people directly, I rarely mind letting the rest of the world know. That's how I work. It's part of what makes me tick. It may not be kind or fair, but if any of them had taken the time for enough research, they would have already known.

Next, please.

4:25 PM - 19 Comments - 40 Kudos - Add Comment

The night the lights went out in the White House
Current mood: happy about electricity
Category: happy about electricity Life

            Vinny, my sidekick at the radio station and pretty much my best friend, planned on coming over last Sunday so that we could listen to his CD. During his 13 year stint at West Texas A&M University in the broadcasting department, he created the CD to supplement his employment applications.  It was only after his professor, Dr. Browning, insisted he have an actual resume to go along with it that he begrudgingly created one. He'd applied at my radio station before I worked there, but one night after he  opened a comedy show, I went to (as politely as I could) critique his use of the sticky note set list he kept pulling out of his pocket. I approached him and said, "Hey, I don't mean to be a dick, but… *insert stage secret*", and he replied, "Hey, I don't mean to be a dick, but I want a job." I said I'd see what I could do, and we've been working together ever since. ..:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O />

            Since Vinny's still part time at the radio station, he still holds a full time gig at the Wal-Mart in Canyon. His customer service skills are unparalleled by those of his ilk. He put me in the floor the other day telling me about a call he took from a redneck about "the hand held Dirt Devil Pet Hair Elimina-tor." Apparently, it just up and quit working on the dude, so he was calling to see if he could return it. Being the professional he is, Vinny asked, "Sir, do you still have the receipt?" The man replied, "Naw, but I done axed another woman in the trailer park and she said she brought it back 2 or 3 times and y'all finally gave her money back." "Sir, Wal-Mart policy clearly states that the return of any item over $50 must be accompanied by a receipt." The redneck was then a bit agitated when he said, "Boy, I believe you's gettin' a lil' snooty with me an' there ain't no need fer that…" Although Vinny continued to stay professional while on the call, he later told me that even though he works for Wal-Mart, when the customer's opening statement begins with, "I done axed another woman in the trailer park", it's hard not to don his "elitist" hat.

            My house was hella hot and I knew Vinny's apartment had air conditioning, so I planned on driving to Canyon (quite a few miles down I-27 for those of you not familiar with the Texas Panhandle layout) for Sunday's git together. He called when his shift ended and said that his CD was still in my office downtown and that he'd planned on driving over to get it anyway, so we might as well meet at my house to listen to it. The house was finally cooling down a bit and we don't have to go outside to smoke, so it's a deal.

            About the time he hit I-27, it started raining. Then it started raining harder. Then it started raining sideways. Then all the juice in my house decided to go away. No lights, no computer, no music, no air conditioners running, no nothing. I looked out my window and across the street, and they still had lights. This puzzled me. Then I remembered the last time this happened, the electric company explained to the people in my 'hood that the transmitter for this block should have been replaced years ago, but they have yet to do so – we apologize for the inconvenience. Motherfuckers. My tiny porch has a bit of an overhang to it, so I stuck my head out the door to look down the block to see if I could spot anyone else with any lights on. It was then I observed the sideways rain and was pelted directly in the face with oncoming water. I didn't need to know that badly; I felt at this point it was safe to assume they didn't have juice either and I shut the door. Thankfully, my cell phone still had juice, so I called Vinny. "Dude, are you in town?" He said, "Yeah, I just got to your office to pick up the CD, I'll be over in a few minutes."  "Dude, my power just went out. I don't know how long it'll be before they get it fixed." As any faithful sidekick would reply, he boisterously said, "Fuck it, we'll just sit in the dark and drink beer."

            By the time Vinny pulled up to the curb,