Most heavy drinkers are quite acrobatic in their movements and there was one night in particular where Rudolph's skills as an acrobat were on full display. I came home from shopping late one Friday night and Rudolph was just winding up his night's activities. I start unloading the bags of groceries from my car and my roommate was watching Rudolph and suddenly she yelled "He is going to fall."
That caught my attention and right as I looked up and sure enough, Rudolph starts the slow motion dance that only people that are very drunk can do. He tried catching his balance but there was no balance to be had. By the time he made it to the top step, it became time to watch the train wreck. Rudolph had on a bright green shirt so he was easy to watch. He fell down the four steps end-over-end and he hit his head really hard twice. As he lay motionless at the bottom of his steps, my roommate, who is a CNA, yells out "Oh my God! We have to go see if he is okay."
My response was "Oh, hell no. I am not going through this shit again. He is not my problem." She implored me to go with her to check on him as "he might be dead." Once again, it was not my problem but out of humanitarian concerns, I stood at the end of my driveway and I yelled out "Are you OK?" several times until he started stirring at the bottom of the steps. My roommate was already halfway through his yard when he started pulling himself up using the railing on his steps. He was very shaky but very much alive. Problem solved.
The next morning Rudolph did not make it out of the house until about lunchtime but he was moving around better than I was. I believe I need to start drinking what he is drinking.
Saturday, July 29, 2017
Friday, July 28, 2017
Just Another Steve
My living circumstances have changed a couple of different times over the course of the past year but one thing seems to remain a constant. The one thing seems to be no matter where I go, I find someone who insists on going thru life sauced. First it was my roommate Steve, and now it is my neighbor Rudolph.
Rudolph is prone to having these drunken fits where he rages against the world on his front porch every night about 9 PM and philosophizes on the meaning of life shortly after his rant. Rudolph then gets the party started by playing bad music while sitting in his car in his driveway and smoking a joint. Sometimes he knocks off his deejaying about 11 but sometimes he is feeling his groove and keeps it going until 2 in the morning.
Rudolph sleeps until 10 AM, he might work for three hours, he takes a five hour nap in the afternoon, and he is ready to go again. It is great work if you can get it. There is an old saying that goes something like "God looks out for drunks and fools" and you must be especially blessed if can wear both of those hats.
Rudolph is prone to having these drunken fits where he rages against the world on his front porch every night about 9 PM and philosophizes on the meaning of life shortly after his rant. Rudolph then gets the party started by playing bad music while sitting in his car in his driveway and smoking a joint. Sometimes he knocks off his deejaying about 11 but sometimes he is feeling his groove and keeps it going until 2 in the morning.
Rudolph sleeps until 10 AM, he might work for three hours, he takes a five hour nap in the afternoon, and he is ready to go again. It is great work if you can get it. There is an old saying that goes something like "God looks out for drunks and fools" and you must be especially blessed if can wear both of those hats.
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Politics And Strip Clubs
Every time an election rolls around, strip clubs and their patrons become easy targets for politicians especially at the local and the state level. The state of Georgia is trying to pass a state amendment that would charge strip clubs a $5000 yearly tax to stay in business. This tax would supposedly go towards helping to stop sex trafficking. Politicians are blaming sex trafficking on strip clubs. The state of California is always after the porn industry even though it brings the state in millions of dollars in tax money. A few years ago the state of Texas tried to institute a "pole tax" that would directly tax strip clubs and their customers.
The politicians need to leave strip clubs alone. If you do not want to go in them, stay home, go to a ball game, do something with your family or whatever. No one is forcing you to go in there. The women I know that work in strip clubs make much better money in there than they could as a cashier at Wal-Mart. If they want to place the blame on anything, blame alcohol for spousal abuse, child abuse, drunk driving, and bring back Prohibition. Let's see how well that would go over.
The politicians need to leave strip clubs alone. If you do not want to go in them, stay home, go to a ball game, do something with your family or whatever. No one is forcing you to go in there. The women I know that work in strip clubs make much better money in there than they could as a cashier at Wal-Mart. If they want to place the blame on anything, blame alcohol for spousal abuse, child abuse, drunk driving, and bring back Prohibition. Let's see how well that would go over.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Nice Guys Finish Last
Legendary Baseball manager Leo Durocher is credited with coming up with the concept of "nice guys finish last." Mr. Durocher believed that nice guys did not have or do all of the dirty work that it took to win games. A lot of people apply that same concept to life. How does that concept apply to me? Am I a nice guy or am I that guy?
Public opinion seems to be mixed on that question but according to most that have weighed in, I am a little bit nice guy and a little bit that guy. How is that combination working for me you ask? Not too good. It seems that the people that I want to think I am a nice guy end up thinking I am that guy and the people that I could care less what they think believe I am a little bit of both. Someone recently advised me to "be myself" and it ended up coming out a combination of nice guy/that guy. That's ok though, because I wouldn't have me any other way.
Public opinion seems to be mixed on that question but according to most that have weighed in, I am a little bit nice guy and a little bit that guy. How is that combination working for me you ask? Not too good. It seems that the people that I want to think I am a nice guy end up thinking I am that guy and the people that I could care less what they think believe I am a little bit of both. Someone recently advised me to "be myself" and it ended up coming out a combination of nice guy/that guy. That's ok though, because I wouldn't have me any other way.
Sunday, September 25, 2016
That Guy: The Mentor
I take my job as a mentor very seriously. Some guys want to be sleazy but they just don't know how. It is my job as That Guy and as a mentor to give these poor saps life advice and point them in the right direction so they can achieve at least some of their sleazy goals.
I had two men come to me the other day for life advice. One is 31 years old, a hard working young man with a good job, one of those glamorous kind of jobs that women should be throwing themselves at him. "Lex" has been ruled by the women in his life, namely his Mom, and has never really had a strong male presence in his life. Enter That Guy. Lex wants to buy a horse and a horse trailer. Lex's mother objects. Lex presented his problem to me and my nemesis "Cream Puff." Cream Puff's advice was to not buy the horse because he may want to get married one day and horses are expensive. Wrong! Marriage is not the answer. Marriage is never the answer. That is why I call my nemesis Cream Puff. My advice was buy the horse, pick up some women along the way, have a good time, and enjoy life. As soon as the women mention a relationship or marriage, throw the women off the horse and move on at a fast gallop.
I had two men come to me the other day for life advice. One is 31 years old, a hard working young man with a good job, one of those glamorous kind of jobs that women should be throwing themselves at him. "Lex" has been ruled by the women in his life, namely his Mom, and has never really had a strong male presence in his life. Enter That Guy. Lex wants to buy a horse and a horse trailer. Lex's mother objects. Lex presented his problem to me and my nemesis "Cream Puff." Cream Puff's advice was to not buy the horse because he may want to get married one day and horses are expensive. Wrong! Marriage is not the answer. Marriage is never the answer. That is why I call my nemesis Cream Puff. My advice was buy the horse, pick up some women along the way, have a good time, and enjoy life. As soon as the women mention a relationship or marriage, throw the women off the horse and move on at a fast gallop.
Sunday, September 18, 2016
The Gas Shortage
It was announced yesterday that there was more than likely going to be a gas shortage in North Carolina over the course of the next couple of weeks due to a leak in the pipeline somewhere. I decided I had better stay at home this weekend so I conserve the half tank of gas I have in my car to get back and forth to work this week.
This happened one other time when I lived in Charlotte in 2010. At that time I was commuting about 50 miles a day round trip so it was a little more serious than this situation is (I think)as the gas shortage was region wide. I remember my store manager called all of the department managers together and gave us a big speech about how not having enough gas to make it to work would not be accepted as an excuse for not being there. He pretty well told us to not go anywhere after work. He decided to give an example. He said "I do not want to hear stories about you going to Leather and Lace South (a strip club in Charlotte) and then not having enough gas to get to work the next day." There were about 30 department managers in the room and when he said Leather and Lace South, 29 pairs of eyes looked at me. All I could come up with was "What? Why are you looking at me?" I couldn't help but laugh. I don't know why everyone I worked with would think I would do something like that.
This happened one other time when I lived in Charlotte in 2010. At that time I was commuting about 50 miles a day round trip so it was a little more serious than this situation is (I think)as the gas shortage was region wide. I remember my store manager called all of the department managers together and gave us a big speech about how not having enough gas to make it to work would not be accepted as an excuse for not being there. He pretty well told us to not go anywhere after work. He decided to give an example. He said "I do not want to hear stories about you going to Leather and Lace South (a strip club in Charlotte) and then not having enough gas to get to work the next day." There were about 30 department managers in the room and when he said Leather and Lace South, 29 pairs of eyes looked at me. All I could come up with was "What? Why are you looking at me?" I couldn't help but laugh. I don't know why everyone I worked with would think I would do something like that.
Monday, September 12, 2016
I Better Hurry
This is one of those kind of stories that old men tell and as much as I hate to admit it, this story confirms my status as an old man. It was my day off, I slept in a little bit (and yes 8 AM is sleeping in) and I thought I would make a Bojangle's run when I got up. I had a few other errands to run while I was out and I thought I would take care of everything while I was out.
I went by Bojangle's, ate my biscuit, and headed by Ingle's to fill my car with gas. As I am finishing up, my stomach starts rumbling. I wanted to drop by my storage unit which was only about a quarter mile from Ingle's so I am thinking "I have plenty of time before I need to find a bathroom." I stopped by my storage unit and dropped off a few boxes and right as I was locking it back up, my stomach really started rumbling except for it was more of a growl. I needed to find a bathroom fast but my house was about three miles away. I quickly calculated that if I drove like a bat out of hell, I could make it to my house before my ass exploded. What I did not calculate was the fact that I had to go through a security gate, navigate traffic, a red light, and the local law enforcement who had nothing better to do than write speeding tickets on a Friday morning.
The speed limit to my house is 45 MPH. My math (and my ass) told me I needed to do 75 MPH. I kept one eye out for the local po po and the other eye watched out for traffic. I made it to the turn off to my driveway to the house and I had to wait on some old man out for a ride on his motorcycle, and another car. They did not understand the seriousness of my situation. I flew down my driveway and slid to a stop. I already had my seatbelt off and my key out to unlock the front door. I thought "I am going to make it!"
I ran up to the front door, jammed the key in the lock, turned the key, turned the door knob and bounced right off the front door. The door would not open. I slapped the door a couple of time in frustration, pulled my key out, and realized that I was a little too exuberant in trying to open the door. I had bent the key in half. I also realized that I had about five seconds to "splashdown."
I looked at my mangled key and I had to make a quick decision. The construction crew that works on the property had left a dump truck behind and I knew I needed to utilize the assets I had on hand. I sprinted over, pulled my shorts down (luckily I went kamikaze when I left the house), squatted beside one of the tires of the dump truck, and then my ass exploded. It was not pretty. My quick thinking had averted a disaster that could have happened in the front seat of my car but I knew it wasn't over yet.
I still needed to get back in the house before round two hit. I bent the key back as straight as I could, managed to get the door open, and promptly tripped right over my dog Molly, who was so happy to see me she could not hide her joy and was insistent on getting in my way all the way to the bathroom. After round two was over, I promptly threw my shorts away and took a shower.
I can now share my story with other old men and I am sure we will laugh about it. God knows a couple of my friends that I have already shared the story with have already found it funny as hell.
I went by Bojangle's, ate my biscuit, and headed by Ingle's to fill my car with gas. As I am finishing up, my stomach starts rumbling. I wanted to drop by my storage unit which was only about a quarter mile from Ingle's so I am thinking "I have plenty of time before I need to find a bathroom." I stopped by my storage unit and dropped off a few boxes and right as I was locking it back up, my stomach really started rumbling except for it was more of a growl. I needed to find a bathroom fast but my house was about three miles away. I quickly calculated that if I drove like a bat out of hell, I could make it to my house before my ass exploded. What I did not calculate was the fact that I had to go through a security gate, navigate traffic, a red light, and the local law enforcement who had nothing better to do than write speeding tickets on a Friday morning.
The speed limit to my house is 45 MPH. My math (and my ass) told me I needed to do 75 MPH. I kept one eye out for the local po po and the other eye watched out for traffic. I made it to the turn off to my driveway to the house and I had to wait on some old man out for a ride on his motorcycle, and another car. They did not understand the seriousness of my situation. I flew down my driveway and slid to a stop. I already had my seatbelt off and my key out to unlock the front door. I thought "I am going to make it!"
I ran up to the front door, jammed the key in the lock, turned the key, turned the door knob and bounced right off the front door. The door would not open. I slapped the door a couple of time in frustration, pulled my key out, and realized that I was a little too exuberant in trying to open the door. I had bent the key in half. I also realized that I had about five seconds to "splashdown."
I looked at my mangled key and I had to make a quick decision. The construction crew that works on the property had left a dump truck behind and I knew I needed to utilize the assets I had on hand. I sprinted over, pulled my shorts down (luckily I went kamikaze when I left the house), squatted beside one of the tires of the dump truck, and then my ass exploded. It was not pretty. My quick thinking had averted a disaster that could have happened in the front seat of my car but I knew it wasn't over yet.
I still needed to get back in the house before round two hit. I bent the key back as straight as I could, managed to get the door open, and promptly tripped right over my dog Molly, who was so happy to see me she could not hide her joy and was insistent on getting in my way all the way to the bathroom. After round two was over, I promptly threw my shorts away and took a shower.
I can now share my story with other old men and I am sure we will laugh about it. God knows a couple of my friends that I have already shared the story with have already found it funny as hell.
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