Justin other day

My day consisted of :
1)A really big surprise pit stop:
Once again, I managed to drink a gallon of ginseng green tea before noon as I drove to Nashville. That resulted in my needing to make an unplanned pit stop at a gas station just off the interstate. Where’s a good catheter when you need one? Anyleak, I pulled off the interstate and quickly parked. I think I did my best time ever in the 100 yard dash that I made from my car to the gas station’s unisex bathroom. I flung the door open wide just before my bladder yelled “There she blows!” Before I could stop my quick step into the bathroom, I heard an “Oh!” coming from inside the bathroom. I looked up and right in front of me was a little old lady sitting on the toilet. There was no stall or anything, just me and her…and my bladder. I closed the door and apologized all over myself. It was odd but all of the sudden, I didn’t have to use the bathroom anymore. My brain had taken over and it was mind over bladder. I made it all the way to my destination just fine. Her photograph and sound byte are etched into my brain along with many other non-erasable items.

2) Free cheesecake (nothing more to add here…oh yeah, it was turtle cheesecake)

3) Calling aesthetic centers all over Murfreesboro to get donations for a silent auction:
I got a call back from one office and the secretary was so quiet that I couldn’t understand a word she said. I was talking to the “Phone Whisperer”. Why in the world would anyone hire someone to answer their phones if that person was just going to whisper to the clients? I called back and got someone else. After asking my usual questions, I got the following response:

R: Honey, we’ve got all kinds of stuff. You need to come into our office. How old are you?
Me: (password protected)
R: Oh yeah, honey, you definitely need to come in and get some work done. What do you do?
Me: Real Estate
R: Oh my gosh we have all kinds of real-a-tors that come in here. Oh yeah you need to come in. I mean people see those young real-a-tors out there and they look like they have all kinds of energy and people think “Shoot, that younger person is going to go right on down the road and sell my house.” Oh honey, you’ve got to compete! Nobody wants to work with someone that looks all old and tired. You need to get in here. We will fix you up. You need a peel to make you not look so tired.
Me:……….......................................................................
R: We’ve got all kinds of peels. Some places, you go there and they will burn your face off, but not here. We have all kinds of peels; we’ve got…. uhmmm…I can’t remember what they are called but they don’t burn at all much, not hardly …no, you can almost go right back to work...sometimes. You can’t go around looking all old; honey you need to get in here.
Me: I can hardly wait to face the public today. Thanks for the pep talk.
R: See, honey I told you. You need to get in here. Those younger looking people are going to get all your business. Can you come in next Thursday? I have some openings.

It then hit me that she had just been through a sales training seminar and was currently dangerous. I told her I had a bad connection (I felt like we did) and I hung up. All I could think was that I needed to go buy a veil before burdening the general public with my hideousness.

4) Went to eat dinner and Justin Beiber hummed to me:
I went to eat and my waiter had the old Beiber-do back when it was at its longest. He did not wear it well and I think he was a college student. I think that look might still work if you are the age Justin was when he sported it. Anybody Beiber’s age needs to progress as he did with his hair. It’s kind of the same concept as the bowl cut. It’s cute on kids but on adult males it screams, “I have a shoebox under my bed covered in glitter.” Anyshag, Beiber-server had a unique speech pattern in which he added a hum after each sentence:
“How are you doing this evening..mmmmmm. Can I start you off with something to drink?…mmmmmmm” It was somewhere between a hum and a nervous laugh. He continued, “So that’s the barbeque chicken mmmmmm, grilled zucchini mmmm, and a salad? mmmmmmm” I didn’t know what to make of it. A shaggy/nervous/humming/Beiber was such an odd way to end today…or was it? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Here, at the end of the day, I just can’t get that little old lady’s face out of my mind. It was just a wide open bathroom and there she was sitting on the toilet, big as life and I was standing a step inside the door while still holding the door all the way open. She said, “Oh” and then reached up with both hands and grabbed her wig like it was getting ready to blow off. You just never know how you are going to react in emergencies. For her, that wig was priority numero uno. As for the cheesecake, I am saying that special occasion deserts have no calories so I can just write that experience off and forget about it. As for my hideousness, I think I might have to send the “phone whisperer” and the “tough love/ honey badger/sales woman” a little “customer service survey” with a few hints and tips-o-the trade. Finally, Justin…man…I have no words for that Beiber buzzer. I wouldn’t even know where to start except to thank him for allowing me to feel like my life has gotten back to normal again after a few weeks of non-eventfullness.

The Legend Of Matortunia

There are many legends out there. Many are so old and have been told in so many different ways throughout history that they have become mixed with fact and fiction and it is often hard to tell what is real and what is not. We have legends of events, people, ghosts and creatures. Two of the most notorious creatures of legend are the Loch Nest Monster and Big Foot. Hundreds of recorded stories of sightings and close calls have been reported. The Loch Nest Monster has a hand full of blurred pictures that often look like either a prehistoric water creature or a dead tree floating downriver. Many fisherman of old and new have tales to tell about their encounters with the massive elusive beast.

Big Foot and been the subject of fear for hundreds of years. There are a few fuzzy pictures that cannot confirm nor deny its existence and there is that one iconic video. There is that one grainy video of a huge man/ape creature walking through the woods and turning to look at the camera. It’s chilling.

http://youtu.be/FWGYTHK3E30

I thought it was time to tell of another legendary creature. It is someting many of  you have heard me mention before. It is a legend that is soon to be a distant memory. It is the legend of Matortunia. I thought that while I can, I will document the story and the few rare photographs to separate the fact from the fiction and to keep this legend alive  (as long as the blog site remains free, after that it falls into the hands of the elderly to pass on their grandchildren).

Matortunia started as a concept in my mind. Myself a young, freakishly handsome farmer………ok, a 30+, good looking, landscape architect…..mmm, I guess people I know might read this so…hmmm, grrrrr…uhmmm, oy…myself, a middle age, average Joe with an empty flower pot in my overgrown back yard, decided that I was tired of going to the farmer’s market just to buy tomatoes. Going to the farmer’s market required going early (to get the good stuff) and I was not willing to do my morning beauty regime before leaving. So off I would go with Fred Flintstone stubble, bed head and the previous day’s gym clothes to grab my two tomatoes for the week. The only purpose of those tomatoes was to put them on my ho’made biscuits. With that perfect combo, each morning I could eat like royalty (and by royalty, I mean like a star on Hee Haw). Unfortunately, everyone I had ever known would also be at the farmer’s market trying to politely, yet quickly grab all the good stuff too. I could see their stares. I could read their eyes. I know the looks of, “Wow, he has really let himself go. You know he used to iron his clothes and comb his hair…so sad.” So the looks of pity and Saturday morning alarms pushed me into getting creative.

I knew I wanted a tomato plant. I also knew that I did not want to spend great amounts of time weeding, etc. I had a massive “man/pot” that I had bought years ago for a rose topiary (once again with the concept of not having to weed). After a summer of forgetting it was there, the summer of hiring the Adios Grassmigos brothers to mow the yard, that rose bush died. The last memory I have of it was a big ball of yellow leaves covered in black spots. It was looked like a curled up cheetah…on a stick. That pot remained empty in my unused back yard for quite some time. I knew it was the perfect spot for my new farm.

Since my pot would be visible from one neighbor’s back yard, I came up with a plan to make it not so crazy looking. Instead of just having a massive flower pot sporting a tomato plant as my only decoration on an unused back patio, I thought I would spramp it up a bit and surround it with petunias. Thus, the perfect marriage of form and function and the creation of "Matortunia" began. I bought the extra large cage for the tomato plant to grow and play in. From that point on, all I had to do for Matortunia was water it, feed it and let nature take its course. Viola, Matortunia.

Everything was fine. Matortunia was growing and thriving in its natural caged, potted environment. Then it happened. Many of you may remember it; many of you have forgotten. It was an event that literally reshaped the life of Matortunia. I am talking about “The Wind Gust of 2012”. Yes, Matortunia was bursting with tomatoes and had gotten quite top heavy. I came home one afternoon after the mayhem and found what looked to be the end for a legend gone too soon.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. All that work, all those dreams, was it over? I had no experience in these matters but I remembered the words of another top heavy legend (Dolly Parton) who had said that she had fallen many times and that she owed much of her success to “a great support system”. I knew what I had to do; it was at least worth a shot.

I had a plan. I wanted to resurrect Matortunia, but could I do it? Could I hoist and lift and piece back together something that could live a normal, healthy life that the neighborhood villagers wouldn’t mock or want to burn at the stake? All I could do was try. So with the agricultural/engineering calculations of a theatre major, I plotted my course. Armed only with a tall steel stand for hanging pots, four eight foot poles, plastic coated wire and lots of Sheer Energy Mocha panty hose, I faced the challenge to save this soon to be legendary creature and bring it back to life (insert maniacal laugh here).

It wasn’t easy. I miscalculated the first pole and it rammed through the side of the pot. I have heard of stories like this. The stories where in life or death situations people get an adrenalin rush and have superhuman strength. All I can say is that it happens. I just had to keep moving forward, broken vessel and all. Knowing what to put where and how to tie things off became exhausting. I invented knots that you will never find in any Eagle Scout handbook. Before I knew it; I was done. There were only five casualties in the process: four tomatoes and my dignity/pride.

 My dignity/pride was actually lost twice. First it was lost at the store when I went in to buy panty hose. I wanted to get my money’s worth and I knew I had a giant plant to wrangle so I went for the biggest and baddest panty hose I could find…Sheer Energy extra tall Queen Plus...or something like that. I saw the look on the cashier’s face when I sat them down. She picked them up, gave me the up and down, looked back at the box with a “mmm,hhmmm” look and gave me my total. I started to explain but I know how I tend to ramble and make matters worse so I just let it go. Let tell you, those hose are a work of modern technology. They are paper thin, can stretch forever and are strong as rope. Thank you NASA. My second loss of dignity/pride was about half way through my bridge building/life support attempt with Matortunia. This was odd since my next door neighbor, the one with the view of my back yard, was adding on to the back of her house. Her yard was filled with a handful of construction workers who had been hammering, sawing and telling loud stories all day. When I noticed that everything had gone quiet, I took a quick glance over to see that they had stopped everything…everything to watch the master at work. I am not sure if seeing me stand in a chair with tons of panty hose wrapped around my neck while wrestling and eight foot tomato plant in a 2 ½ foot tall pot was a case of the “train wreck you can’t look away from” or if it was one of those “man vs. beast’ type situations. All I know is that they were mesmerized and completely silent. To be honest, if I had to guess, I think it was all the panty hose. Let’s face it, men have issues. Anyway, I continued on and eventually finished. I stepped back to look. Everything was holding; it looked strong. Only time would tell. Dolly would have been proud.

The next morning I got up and went out to check on my re-creation. The leaves had not drooped, nothing was wilting. It looked bigger and better than ever. It looked strong; it was alive!! (Insert second maniacal laugh here). Yes, maybe it was a bit odd looking to those that might see it but it was alive and doing well. I know what the neighborhood villagers are thinking. I know the scoffs, the finger pointing and I can hear the chants of “Frankentunia Matorstein”. Still, when I look at this green monster, I see the same little tomato plant surrounded by its colorful friends. Maybe the petunias are a bit “long in the tooth” but they still bloom and Matortunia is still growing and has about 40 more tomatoes yet to ripen. One day soon this will all be a distant memory but it is one legend that we will all know is true. I will leave you with the current documented picture made with a professional tomato model that is 6’2” (on a big hair day) and about 195lbs (on a pizza free week).

Of course Matortunia is actually much taller than the wooden posts but it was just impossible to straighten the limbs any more without breaking them. At least now you can have some perspective. Anyway, there you have it...The Legend of Matortunia. I just hope that when the neighborhood villagers talk (and oh yes, there will be talk) I hope that they recount the legend as it is told here and that they will be kind. 

Shaken Not Stirred

Sometimes I look at things like Facebook and this blog as my dairy. I guess it is how I vent or talk things through. I forget that other people are going to read it and later often realize that some things should remain private. This is one of those moments. Sometimes you need to talk things out though and where else can I get everyone I know into the same room? This is a serious note about my Thursday evening. I wouldn’t post this at all but I am learning that we all go through “stuff” and sometimes it helps to hear it from others. It kind of lets us know that we are not alone and no one is immune to the cloudy days in a beautiful life:

I have been waiting for “the call” for five years. No, I didn’t get it yet. I am talking about that call to let me know that mom has passed. I don’t know how many times that I have gotten a call at an odd time and have thought that maybe that was going to be the one. In my mind, I am somewhat prepared for it but let’s face it, it’s not something you can’t really plan out so that it will go well. I got a call Thursday afternoon that shook me. It wasn’t one I had thought about at all and it completely took me off guard.

I was on my way to an event Thursday night and just before I got there my dad called and said that he didn’t want to wait until the last minute and that next week we were going to meet at the funeral home to plan mom’s funeral.  Ouch…I hadn’t thought about that call. It really took the wind out of my sails. I wasn’t devastated or anything like that; I was just…deflated. I felt like the car seat and just sunk a couple of inches. Something inside of me had broken. I could feel it. I guess I had a sort of unrealistic optimism that somehow mom would be here forever or maybe just if I didn’t think about it that maybe it wouldn’t happen…yet. So much for that; here it was and I had to face it and plan for it. I had to accept the unthinkable just like my parents did with their parents.

I went on to the event, not overly sad, just shaken and quiet. I worried that I might get all teary eyed but that wasn’t the case. It was more of just a sinking feeling than anything else. I got there only to find that I was about to be stuck with this guy that I have to work with every now and then, and who, for lack of better words, has never been anything but a mean, bossy jerk to me since the day I met him. I don’t really know why he acts like this. Part of it is just his nature but he just really doesn’t like being around me.

The event was nice and part of it talked about a rare disease that attacks the brain and usually starts in childhood. They had a lighting of the candles ceremony and showed a video with pictures of the children that had passed. The guy (I think from this point I will just call him “Jerk”) turned to me and said, “I hope this makes you cry; I’d like to see that.” He wasn’t being funny; he meant it. I was in no state to carry on a conversation with him and I really didn’t want him to know how close he was to getting to me so I just ignored him (which I am pretty good at) and tried not to pay too much attention to the memorial.

It was sad and everyone was crying as there were several parents there in the room with their children who currently have the disease. I held it together still remembering my conversation that I had just had over the phone with my dad and trying to not hit Jerk at my table. After the event, everyone stood around and talked for a while and I was there pretty late. Jerk came over to me and asked if it had made me sad enough to cry. I told him that it was sad but that I had held it together. Let me stop here to explain that he knows all about my mom and my recent articles on Alzheimer’s, etc. He looked at me and said, “I think it is sad when it is children. This disease reminds me of Alzheimer’s. But you know, when it is old people, I don’t care about them. I mean, if an old person is dying from Alzheimer’s who cares? I know it don’t; they are old and dying, who cares?”

Sitting here now, I can’t believe that I didn’t put him through a wall or burst into tears. I am a lover not a fighter but push too many buttons and eventually you are going to hit the one marked “bite your head off” or the "somebody's about to get hit". I didn’t do either. I didn’t do anything. I felt an emotion that I don’t even have a name for.  I didn’t feel anything. I just went cold and empty. I remember the old story from the Bible where Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt. It was kind of like that. I just froze on the inside and didn’t feel a single thing. A lady walked up at that time and started talking to Jerk and he left for the night. I think that might have been divine intervention. Without her, I might be sitting in jail or the ER right now and that really wouldn’t have helped a thing.

I got home late that night; I think I was silent the entire way home. I’ll bet I sat in the car for an hour before going into the house, just thinking.  I sat up for a while, ate a little something and watched some mindless TV to unwind or maybe to just not think. Before I knew it, it was 6am and I needed to go to bed. I woke up at noon, and rebooted myself by having a light breakfast, a shave and then lunch, all back to back.  It was a day “off” for printing up materials and running errands. I hopped in the car and started my day not believing that I had stayed up so late and had wasted so much of the day.

Have you ever had a dog or a cat that got injured? If so, you know that sometimes they retreat to themselves. They sort of isolate themselves from everyone; I guess it is some kind of survival instinct. That is what I felt like all day.  I just felt injured and so with the isolation and protection of my car,  I carried out the day’s chores. I wasn’t overly sad about the funeral plans or anything but I just couldn’t stop the tears from running down my face all day. There was no sobbing or breaking down, just slow water works that I couldn’t or control. I was a leaky faucet.  I would dry my eyes, run into Kroger, dry my eyes run into the alterations place, etc. I went to the gym and saw no one that I knew and went through the motions of a  Zombie workout. My dad and I met to go visit mom and then to eat, as we do every night and I did it all while feeling my gear shift was stuck in neutral.

As the day ended, I actually felt a bit better. I don’t know what it was. I had written a hundred stories in my head during the day but they had been washed away by the river of tears and I doubt I’ll remember any of them…and that is ok with me. Something inside of me was different though and I knew it. I sat there last night and the only thing I could think of was a scar. I had a big new scar inside. I have many inside and out but the thing about scars is that they tend to be a little tougher than all the rest of the skin. I guess when the body focuses all its attention on healing one thing, that teamwork really pays off in a job well done. Scars are stronger but they are also more sensitive to the sun. Shine the light of day on them and they will turn red and inflame easily. I guess that holds true for both physical and emotional scars.

Thursday was not a good day for me. It was too much. I think though, in retrospect, that it took that one/two punch to make me face the reality of what is coming soon with my mom. It also put me in a new place in my mindset about this Jerk. I used to dread it when I knew I was going to have to be around him and it was all I could do to tolerate his belittling attitude. Now, I don’t care about him. I am not sure it is a good human trait and I didn’t really know that I could ever have it, but I just don’t care about him at all. He isn’t going to get under my skin or tick me off because there is nothing about him that deserves any part of my attention. There is a phrase that I jokingly use a lot “You are dead to me” but now, for the first time, I really understand it. There is no longer anything about him that matters to me. I do feel that I still need to tell him how cruel his comments were and I might. My feeling is though that he already knows it. All of this shook me but it didn’t stir up the volcano of emotions that I thought it would have. I didn’t fall into a sad sobbing depression over having to plan mom’s funeral; I was just stunned and deflated. Hope was gone. Jerk didn’t send me into redneck rage or cause me to burst into tears. He stirred nothing inside of me at all. I guess I was shaken but not stirred….not a reaction I would have ever anticipated.

The Slippery Cloud

("The Cloud"-it's a glamor shot...and no, that is not my house)

I finally, finally, finally bought a new….used car. My plan was to buy a black car as that is my all time favorite color. My second choice, depending on the type car, was red/burgundy, or champagne gold. I had it narrowed down to a champagne gold (inside and ou) Lincoln MKZ and a Black with tan interior Honda Accord. The Honda was newer but the MKZ had fewer miles and was just prettier. So what did I end up with? I white Ford Taurus? What??? I’ve never had a white car in my life. It just feel odd.

The irony to all of this is that three years ago I was in a black Prius and someone ran a red light and totaled my car. It was a huge old van and it slammed right into the side of my car and smashed everything from the front of the wheels to the bumper. I was “T-boned”.A half second later and it would have been right and my door and I wouldn’t be typing right now. I had told myself that night that my next car would be a big, white tank. I had even thought about buying a used ambulance as I was now on “total number two”. The first wreck almost killed me and the second one could have but just shook me up, spun me around and slammed my head into the side of the door. It left me loopy for about a week. I started thinking that I could just buy a used ambulance and cut out the middle man. I guess this car is a bit like an ambulance…just without all the bells and whistles.

So I ended up, after all, with a huge white tank that is really safe. I drove my huge, dirty car home and have been loving it ever since. Today, I took it back to let them do their final clean up and detail work. They charged enough for it so I was going to make sure to take advantage of it. I picked it up and it was spotless. It was the cleanest ambulance/tank that I had ever seen. It was gleaming.

I got in, feeling very special, and noticed the nice clean scent. I will say that I miss the antifreeze scent…it has made me a little bit nervous over the past few days thinking about not having it. I calmed mysel by putting a little antifreeze in my scented oil diffuser at home. I think that will do the trick. I don’t HAVE to have it, I just like it. It’s no big deal, really.

Anyway, I got in the car and noticed immediately that the people who detailed the car had put Amor All in my car (if you don’t know what that is, it is a type of silicone/oil product that lubricates plastic and rubber and also makes everything shiny and slick). Unfortunately, it was in places it wasn’t intended to be. First, I have these big rubber floor mats that can hold mud and water (or green tea with ginsing) and they had lavished these rubber mats with Amor All. I couldn’t keep my feet in the same place while driving. They also put Armor All on the steering wheel. So there I was driving down the road with my feet on the lubricated rubber floor mats and my feet kept suffling back and forth (Fred Flinstone style), and all the while I was giving my steering wheel a nice, long, therapeutic, Swedish massage. How do these things happen? I was just happy that it wasn’t raining. I can’t imagine me trying to walk in my newly lubricated tennis shoes on a wet surface. That would have been a cartoon waiting to happen.

I decided that I needed to hurry up and give my car a name. I always name my cars. This one was tough. It reminded me of the Michelin Man and I thought that I could name the car “Mitch” for short. A smart friend of mine informed me that the Michelin Man actually has a name. It is Bibendum. That’s just too much to explain. Then I thought about naming it after an ambulance and calling it “Lance”. That’s not bad. Really, looking at it, I just think it looks like a big white cloud. I am going to name it “The Cloud”. I am only writing that in pencil though because often, after driving a car for a bit, it takes on a different personality that seems to have its own name. I know how that goes; I have several of them myself (and so do I).

I guess that it is only fitting and normal for me to set out to buy a black car and have a long forgotten synapse fire off and find the perfect car for me that is white. I guess it is also only normal for me to get my car detailed and have the rubber floor mats and steering wheel lubed. Anyway, the car search drama/trauma is over and I can get back to my “normal” life. I feel better now. I feel a little bit safer and a little less "antifreezy".

Car Chess

I can no longer make fun of people that go nuts on Black Friday. Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving when people give in to their pre-hoarding nature to search for the deal of the day. I don’t do it; I don’t understand it…until now. Today I found myself in a car shopping frenzy and somewhere in the midst of it, I lost myself. I started driving car after car, and talked to salesman after salesman from one car lot to the next car lot. It was just one car after the other and before long I wasn’t even picky. If it looked halfway decent I would drive it. By the end of the day I felt dirty…and just a little bit cheap. What had happened to me? What had I become? Had I turned into a caroholic? It wasn’t the real me; don’t judge.


I knew I had worked myself into a frenzy as I was sweating like a fat man in a suit on the 4th of July. I was a mess and in a hurry and I had told myself I had to get it done today. Everything was going as it had the day before. One car would look nice but ride terribly, while another would be ugly but drive like a dream. I was losing it and my standards were lowering like a….no, I am not going there.


I had a moment of temporary buyer’s insanity where I took a really bad idea and talked myself into thinking it was a good idea. Let me preface this with an excuse (that will not hold up in court). An old friend of mine called me about her new business and was telling me about it and we were just trying to figure out what would be good ways for her to promote it. This conversation stopped and started at each car lot and in between sales pitches. I thought that I could multitask but it seems that I was wrong.


So, I was test driving a car and took a route through town and hit the interstate, I missed my first exit for my loop back and took the next exit down. Off of that exit is another large car lot that I drove past and remembered seeing a car there that I wanted to look at later. I decided that since I was right there that I might as well check it out. I pulled in and drove around until I found it. I hid my test car off to the side and went over to look at this other car. I liked it from the outside and before I knew it, a sales man with poofy hair (was that redundant) came up to me and talked and went and got the key. Off I drove in this car for a test drive. I made the long loop around town and really liked the way this car drove but wasn’t a huge fan of the interior. I cut back through on a road I don’t usually take and passed another car lot. I just took a quick look over and saw what I thought was a good deal. I pulled over just to check the price. I was wrong on this one but beside it, was a Mustang convertible. Hmmmm, I have been looking for a bigger, safer car with good gas mileage. I already have alligator/cheetah skin and really don’t need all day sun exposure. I looked at the info just for the fun of it and in my skim-read dysfunction had read the 4.6 (?) liter engine to be a four cylinder engine. It was a beautiful color and I started rationalizing that it was time for a fun car and a four cylinder probably got good gas mileage, etc. Once again, a ninja salesman appeared out of nowhere and dangled…dangled the keys in front of me. What’s a man to do? I am only human.


I pulled out of the car lot in this beautiful car and accelerated to get in front of oncoming traffic. I heard the low guttural growl under the hood and something aroused my inner man/beast. Oh my, I didn’t redial the phone for a while. I just listened and got goose bumps from head to toe. I knew immediately that this was not a small engine at all and that this car was definitely not for me. So I continued in the opposite direction of the car lot and headed for the interstate. I remembered our interstate exits as being much farther apart. It was amazing. Eighty was the new sixty and I just wanted to keep on going. As I slowed down onto the off ramp, I mentally lit up a cigarette and slowly drove back to the car lot, listening to the low purr of the tiger under the hood.


When I got back I pulled the car around up to the front of the building and got out. The salesman came up to me and I told him how much I loved the car but that it was not what I really needed. He looked at me, then at the car and said, “That’s not our car. Where is the car you drove off in?” Ooooooh my…I was in three cars deep and had them scattered all over town. How did I do this? Was it the lack of focus from talking on the phone (yes it was hands free)? Was I losing it? Had I gotten lost in the moment; the buyer’s frenzy that has been the ruin of many a good turkey and dressing scented credit cards? I finally understood what can happen on Black Friday and how a parent can buy two of everything for one child and nothing for the other. After my “now I get it” moment I realized the salesman was still waiting for an answer. I couldn’t think of anything! Nothing! I was, without speech. I couldn't tell him that I had no idea where I had left his car. I just blurted out, “Well this is your competition and it was a great ride. I’ll go back and get your car now…but here it is…it’s really nice…so you can see…yes.” He looked at me like I was some kind of caroholic (there’s that word again) and said, “I thought you were looking for a large, four door sedan that got good gas mileage.” I squirmed and answered, “Yes, I am and this one is not right for me but it rides great…so I am going to take it back…and bring you your car.” I couldn't tell him that I had no idea where I had left his car! I swear I can’t believe he didn’t call the cops or have someone follow me. I pulled out trying to remember which car went where. At the stop light I could read the sheet taped to the windshield and like Hansel, I started to retrace my steps. It wasn’t easy to figure out in my head but as long as I just took each car back to whatever was written on the sheets taped to the windshields, I was ok. It was a bit like an episode of the great race but not so fun and a bit too real.


I had never been so happy to see my car in all my life. It looked so warm and welcoming…and familiar. I couldn’t wait to get in my car, lock the doors, crank up the radio and drive away. I loved my car more at that moment than I ever have before. I started to rethink the whole selling situation. Then I remembered that my car leaks. Yeah, hidden in the bowels of this car is a leak and after two long auto repair visits and $3,000 later I was told, “I don’t think it can be fixed.” So for a couple of months, I’ve been schlepping around antifreeze in the trunk of my car like some kind of mobile meth lab and I know my neighbors have their suspicions. I probably always have a little bit on me somewhere and I don’t think that I should try air travel any time soon. Homeland Security would have me flagged and tagged for a cavity search before I could even make it to the airport Starbucks. I’ve been putting this off buying a new car but this leak just keeps getting worse so now I have just got to get it done.


I drove to the gym with the stereo pumping and the a/c on high. I was a mess. I was soaking wet from the trauma of feeling like I had just run some type of test drive Ponzi Scheme. I had gotten caught up in the buyer’s high and had tramped my way across way too many car lots and had even taken a turn on a mechanical bull. I had to cool down and get a grip and cruise back to reality. I also had some serious phone calls to return. That will not happen again. I think that was a lesson that a guy is supposed to learn somewhere around 18 and for some reason I am just now getting it. I’ve always been a late bloomer. Now I am a late bloomer that smells like he works in the back room of a meth lab….I’ve got to get a new car. I’ll start all over again in the morning. I am sticking to my printouts this time and no more test drive chess games.

We Are Not Trees (a serious note)

Trees are amazing things. They grow up tall and strong. Almost all trees have leaves that are green and many turn bright orange, red and yellow in the fall. Trees offer shade in the heat of summer. Their strong arms can be a home or a resting place for a weary traveler like a bird or a child. Those big strong arms can lend a hand in helping a climbing imagination’s reach for the sky. Trees can blossom with beautiful flowers; some are even fragrant. Trees always have some kind of bark. Sometimes the bark grows thick and hard while other bark is thin and fragile. Sometime’s people take a knife and cut into the bark. They can cut in a word or symbol to mark time. Those cuts will not kill the tree. The tree will continue to grow but those cuts will always be there as a reminder of that moment in time. After years that mark may be almost impossible to find but it is still there, if you know exactly where to look.

It is easy to look at a tree and think of it as big and strong but every tree is different. Some are very strong and hard and can withstand almost anything. Some trees are soft and can easily split or break under very little pressure. Some trees are not all that strong but they can bend and no matter how terrible the storms are around them, they will bend and sway but almost never break.

People are a lot like trees. As adults we all look big and strong; it is just assumed. Some of us grow taller than others. Some blossom and are beautiful to behold. People can be watered and fed and nurtured and grow into big healthy adults. With the power of the sun, some of us may even turn bright red but it is rarely a beautiful site. We can grow to support others who need a place to rest and we can also be a great resource to add fun and joy to another person’s life. We can help to inspire the imaginations of those around us. Just like trees, we are not all strong and some of us will easily break. Some of us can snap under very little pressure while others seem to be able to survive life’s storms no matter how difficult the circumstances. Many adults, at some time in their lives, have been cut, scared by someone whose words or actions have left an impression on them. These actions didn’t kill anyone but they did leave a scar that will not go away. That scar might even be almost impossible to see, unless you know exactly where to look…but we are not trees. We are so much more. Deep inside we hurt. The cuts will heal but the pain remains. We are emotional beings that love and hurt, remember and dream.

Trees are large and powerful. We look at them sometimes in wonder but forget that we are only looking at half the tree. Deep beneath the earth are the roots. They may be just as large as the tree itself yet, for the most part, they are hidden from the human eye. Those roots have helped to nourish the tree and have helped it to grow strong and tall. Not only have those roots helped to determine the health and life of the tree, they are what keep it standing tall. Without those roots, a mighty tree would fall in even the slightest of storms. Many trees of the same type will grow up to look the same. Even though they may look similar, many are very different indeed. This is because of what we do not know, what we cannot see, the roots that are under that tree. Some are surrounded in healthy fertile soil while others are shallow and end at a bed of hard, unforgiving rock. People can be the same way.

Some people have grown up surrounded by healthy nurturing families and friends. They are strong, stand tall and can weather almost anything that life throws their way. Some people, on the other hand, have not been so lucky. Their roots run shallow and have no support around them to lean on. Just like the tree, a person with roots that have not been allowed to grow and strengthen over time, that person that does not have the nurture and support will fall in the face of adversity…but a tree is just a tree and we are not trees. We are so much more.

A tree will grow strong and stand tall for many, many years. At some point it’s time is over and it will eventually die. Those who were lucky enough to enjoy the tree will hold it’s memories while people who come later will only hear stories of what the tree used to be. There may be pictures, there may be stories, but nothing will ever match the living years shared by those who got to enjoy the life of that tree. It is very much the same with the life of a person. The memory of a person is never as great as the life shared with them. So with all of that, people and trees have many similarities, but we are not trees; we are so much more.

When the tree is gone it is gone. Trees and people alike, after their death can be taken and used in parts to help others have a better life. With people, the parts are never greater than the whole. Unlike the tree, we have something deep inside of us that never goes away. We do not go away. Our bark, our trunk, and even all our roots may return to the ground itself but we live on. We keep going, we will still be able to provide joy and laughter and will be able to climb tall and strong from here to the sky and beyond. Maybe, in many ways, we are like a tree with a soul.

We must be careful when we look at each other. We cannot assume that everyone is strong and can handle the storm we want to throw their way. We cannot see what kind of roots they have and we don’t know if they will bend and sway or if they will snap and break. We need to be gentler. Words and actions can cut deeper than the bark on a tree. Even though cuts can heal over and be almost invisible, the scars are still there, especially if you know just where to look. Not all of us are strong and some of us are barely standing. Be careful with the storms you cause in other people’s lives; be careful of the cuts you make. Enjoy a person’s life while they are here and try to nurture and not tear down. We are emotional beings that love and hurt, remember and dream.
We are not trees; we are so much more.

Dont' Raise Your Eyebrows At Me

The following is rated PG-13. Don’t complain; you have been warned.

I am going on steroids. I don’t mean something to increase testosterone a little. No, I mean hardcore, “Mexican Muscle Juice” given  to me in the back of some horse trainer parked behind Big Lots….that kind of steroids. I want to be huge. I want my biceps to look like basketballs. I want it to look like I have cantaloupes at the end of each shoulder and I want large man-lumps between my shoulders and neck that look like footballs. I know my doctor has told me that I need to keep my weight well below 200 in order for my joints to continue working but I don’t care. I want to pack on the muscle even if I have to ride around in a Hoveround to do it. I want to be the Hulk. People can all me the “Hulkaround” and that will be just fine.

Now what has brought me to this point, this life altering decision? I’ll tell you but realize that I know that this is one of those stories that my mom would laugh at and then say, “Now Mark, I think you should probably just keep that story to yourself”. Since she is no longer able to give such advice, I am left with using my own "appropriate filter system" and it has a hole in it. If I stopped to think about who might read this I would never print it. With that in mind, I will just not think about it. Kind of like I do when I type things anyway.


I had just finished doing a Google search and was really thrown off by what I had seen. I clicked off of stories, videos and images that will stick with me long after I have forgotten what my name is and where I live. I got up and went to the bathroom and when I looked into the mirror I had a movie moment flash before my eyes. My brain had one of those “Matix/Inception” moments where everything fast forwarded backwards and replayed what had led up to this moment…an entire afternoon in a second. It was like watching a video of a water balloon exploding in slowmotion, backwards and then in real time forward again.

I had decided to go walk yesterday out in the 95 degree weather with 100% humidity because it just seemed like it would be a nice thing to do on a summer day. When I got back into the car I was soaking wet and realized that I had already burned through my gallon of ginseng green tea (maybe that’s why it felt like I had a two hundred pound clock sitting on my chest). I needed to run to Office Max so on the way, I stopped at a local market to pick up some water. I saw a half price energy flavored water thing so I grabbed it. It was kind of like Gatorade but an off brand…Crocade? It was nice and bright red and the flavor was called something like “Atomic Red” or something like that. On the way out of the store I grabbed one of those freebie papers that have all kinds of stuff listed for sale.

I drank my Crocade and it tasted like watered down Kool-Aid with salt, very much like Gatorade. When I got to Office Max I sat there for a moment, still cooling down, and finished listening to a good song on the radio. I opened the paper and started looking at the cars for sale,etc. I guess it was from the heat or from things in bloom again after we finally got some rain but my eyes were really itching me like crazy. So I sat in the car rubbing my eyes and finishing off my Crocade and listening to the radio, just having a good ol’ time. Yep, I know how to enjoy the summer.

I ran into Office Max to grab a glue stick. That’s all I needed. I got it and noticed a tall young black man kept staring at me. I figured I probably knew him from the gym or something, so I gave the smile/head nod that you give to people that you recognize but do not know. Then I got in line and just enjoyed being inside in the cool. I heard a voice behind me ask, “Is that what you use?” I didn’t turn around as I didn’t think he was talking to me. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I could tell the person behind me had moved closer and to the side and asked again, “Is that what you use?” I turned and it was the young black man talking to me. I told him “Yes”, thought it was an odd question and was hoping this was not another one of those moments where I had just met another wing-nut looking for a new bff. He continued the conversation and said, “I wax”. During that sentence he stroked the contour of his very thin, highly arched eyebrow with the tip of his ring finger. “It don’t hurt that bad and it lasts forever”, he said. It was at that moment that I knew I had walked into another land mine experience and I knew that I had to make a quick decision as to whether or not I opened up that Pandora’s box or if I was just going to let it go. I really wasn’t up for it for the challenge, so I just smiled and said, “Yeah” and turned back to the now ready cashier.

What the heck was that all about? I drove home wandering if maybe he was saying that some people use glue stick to remove eyebrows and if he had me confused with a makeup artist somewhere. It was just crazy but well, I am kind of used to that. I could not wait to get back home and Google search “glue stick and eyebrows”. So that is what I did. Hmmmmmm, it seems that using a glue stick to cover eyebrows, followed by using concealer and makeup, is the preferred method of transformation for drag queens all around the world. Yes, there are hundreds of YouTube videos showing how it is done.

 So I clicked off my searches and had some vivid images emblazoned into my memory banks. I was still completely confused about what had happened at Office Max. I got up to go to the bathroom and took a quick look in the mirror….OH-MY-WORD.  Where do I start? I do remember when paying for my glue stick that my fingers had black ink on them from my cheap newspaper reading. I forgot that I had been rubbing my eyes. I had smudged black all over my eyelids and under my eyes. I was Tammy Faye Baker! Also, my Crocade was on sale for a reason. My lips were bright red. They were not just red lips though; my upper lip had a nice round circle above it. Have you ever seen that tradition Kabuki look on Japanese women where they only put lipstick right in the middle of their lips and it goes above and under their lips, kind of forming an “0”? It was that look. I was Kabuki Tammy Faye Baker!!! No wonder! That guy at Office Max must have thought that I was a big ol’ drag queen that had just done a long run of shows, couldn’t get all the old makeup off and had run out of glue stick. AAAArrrgh! How do these things happen?

It was at that moment, after the brain flashback/rewind/fast-forward that I decided to go on steroids. Hello biceps (goodbye manjunk); I want to be the Hulk. I want to be so big that it won’t matter if I roll into a store sporting a Hello Kitty t-shirt and a hair bow, no one will think I am an out of glue stick drag queen….not that there is anything wrong with that.