"To err is human ...

... to forgive divine." - Alexander Pope

I glanced at the clock, and did the math in my head. I had plenty of time. I needed to get up to Tampa, but there was one more thing I needed to do before leaving Sarasota. I had to go eat at Barnacle Bill's Seafood. I walked the short two miles to Main Street then chose a table on the sidewalk. The server brought me a menu and informed me that all beer would be 2-for-1 until 3pm. I sat back and thought to myself, "I won $7oo gambling last night, I slept in this morning, I'm about to eat delicious sea food outside on the loveliest of days, and now the beer is 2-for-1?" The thought made my heart laugh and reminded me to be grateful for times like these.

I finished one frosty Amber Bock with my salad and ordered another when my meal came. As usual, the snapper was delightful and I looked forward to washing it down with another cold beer. I smiled again at the great day as I lifted my glass. Then I stopped just short of taking a drink and set my beer back on the table in disgust. The alarm on the crappy minivan parked less than six feet in front of me had started going off and making all kinds of unnecessary commotion, and that pile of shit was loud as hell. I spun into a dimension of pissed off that few have ever witnessed. I looked around, hoping I'd see someone hurredly fumbling for their keys to shut it up. Instead, I just saw the other patrons looking at me quizzically, wondering what I would do. I swiveled my gaze back to the honking whooping ruining my lunch van and back around the sidewalk once more as I stood up, flinging my napkin onto the table. As I stood there shaking my head in bothered disbelief, my server hurried out and offered to move my meal inside to the bar. Just as I turned to walk inside, the alarm stopped. I looked around again, trying to spot the idiot responsible for all the noise, but didn't see anyone. I sat back down at the table and finished my lunch, stopping every few moments to angrily glare at the rude van in front of me.

I signed the bill, grabbed the book I was reading, and started walking back to Becky's condo, still kinda pissed about the whole shitty van incident. I hadn't gotten very far when I realized I'd left my pen at the table. It was a pretty nice pen, so I turned around and went back for it. Just before I reached the table, I saw a nervous-looking middle-aged portly man step out of the shop next to the restaurant. He looked around quickly and then scuttled over to the offensive van. As I took the last few steps to the table and grabbed my pen, I turned and looked at him with a burning red laser stare. He stuttered and fumbled with his keys as he said, "I'm really sorry about earlier, I really hope I didn't ruin your lunch." I took a deep breath, preparing to spew some snide cutting remark. Then, somehow, in just that one short breath of time, I saw so many of the bonehead moves I've made in my life. I remembered how many times I'd made honest mistakes, but still deserved to be chastised for them. I also remembered how relieved I'd felt every time someone took mercy on me and forgave me without a tongue lashing. And then, I remembered for the second time that day to be grateful. I could tell he'd already rebuked himself enough, so as I exhaled a scold-less breath, I said, "It's cool, but you might wanna adjust the sensitivity on that thing."

I smiled at the sun and felt good about myself as I turned to walk back. Then I giggled when I looked at my restaurant tab and saw "1 Shrimp Cock - $6.95."

Don't judge. I can't be mature about everything.

Out-dicked.

"What a dipshit," I thought as I watched the jackass across the table push another fifteen bucks out to split his Kings against the dealer's face card. With my chin in my hands, I watched the guy's one winning hand turn into two losing hands as the dealer pulled another face card to beat everyone at the table. The click click click of chips stacking punctuated the steady rumble of slots spinning and dreams dying. The last swig of my ridiculously not free beer reminded me that I should visit the ladies' room before long. As I stood up, I politely asked the dealer to hold my spot and he said, "I need you to take your chips with you and I can't hold this spot for you." Now, mind you, I've been playing Blackjack since before I was actually old enough to legally gamble. Never has getting up to go to the bathroom been an issue at any casino with any dealer, so I don't think I was out of line to ask, "Is that a new rule?" The dealer officially became a dick when he replied with, "No, it's always been that way." I tried to call bullshit and responded with, "I was in this very same casino not one week ago and several different dealers held my spot for me." He came back with, "I don't know where you play, but we don't hold spots here and I'm not responsible for your money." While I stood there reeling from the blatant lies, the lady next to me offered to play my spot till I made it back. In the following fraction of a moment, I simultaneously pocketed my chips and plotted my revenge. "I'll be right back," I spit, as I sprinted like a Kenyan to the nearest restroom. I nearly knocked over the attendant as I barreled into the first stall and took care of my business. A few seconds later, she just stared as I washed my hands in a fury of soap and water that she'd likely be wiping up later. I slammed a one dollar chip on the wet counter not so much with authority as with a rarely seen sense of urgency as I dashed back toward the table. When I reached my seat, the dealer was taking bets for the next hand. He looked at me, waiting for my bet, and said, "That was really fast." I looked right back at him and as I pushed my chips in without breaking my spiteful glare, I replied, "I didn't wash my hands."

I lost that hand. Maybe it was karma. Maybe you just can't win 'em all. Either way, as the dealer took my chips with a smug glance, I smiled and winked, nodding toward the stack of now supposedly diseased chips in his hand.

No matter who you are, where you go, or what you do, you're gonna have to deal with a dick sooner or later. We all know there are many ways to handle such a situation, but sometimes, the most satisfying option is to simply out-dick them.

Another Parking Story.

Here I am with yet another empty promise to blog more often. Considering my last sporadic post involved a vehicle, I figured this one might as well too. Here's how it went down:

I rolled into Charleston, South Carolina and promptly located the Hampton Inn. It was only mid afternoon, so the parking lot was nearly empty. I found an empty row of spots, perfect for the truck and trailer. I pulled up far enough that my front bumper ended up just over the line of the last parking spot on that row. This little maneuver is something I always do to ensure the spot in front of me remains empty, allowing me to get out later. I checked into a room and got some work done before I decided I needed to go get some dinner. As I rounded the corner, I saw that some dipshit had parked his stupid little car in what was left of the end parking space. Seriously. That parking spot was clearly occupied by the front end of my truck. Just because it was an abnormally wide parking spot doesn't make it okay to park there too. There was no way he could have opened his door all the way. And he had no excuse. The parking lot was still largely unoccupied. It's not like this spot was any closer to the building than any of the 50 other empty spots. Normally I would have quietly voiced my annoyance under my breath, backed up to get out, and left it at that. In this case, however, someone had also parked directly behind me, albeit in a legit parking space. I clearly was not going to be leaving anytime soon, so I decided to go back up to my room and just order a pizza.

But first I pulled my truck forward a little more. Passive-aggressive at its finest.

I went back to my room chuckling at how difficult it was going to be for this guy to get back in his car. I would have been satisfied had it ended there. I guess it was just my day though, because about an hour later, I went back down to my truck to get something. This time upon rounding the corner, I saw the guy trying to open his car door. I held back a smile as I opened my passenger door, grabbed what I needed, and then shut the door and locked the truck. As I started to walk away, the puzzled man made eye contact with me. The confrontation went like this:

HIM: Hey, uh, do you think you could back your truck up a little?

ME: (looking behind the trailer) Not so much, there's someone right behind me.

HIM: Oh.

ME: How'd you get out of there in the first place?

HIM: I just did. It seemed a lot easier earlier.

ME: Weird.

HIM: (still clearly puzzled) Yeah.

ME: There wasn't anyone parked here when I got here. I didn't think anyone would park here later, my truck's kinda taking up a bunch of that spot.

HIM: (now a little defensive) Yeah, well it's a big spot, it's on the end.

ME: Doesn't look that big to me.

HIM: I guess it's easier to squeeze out than to squeeze back in.

ME: Apparently. Good luck with that.

HIM: Yeah, have a good one. (as he started crawling in through the passenger door)


In this rare case, my friends, two wrongs did make a right and I hope that guy chooses his parking spaces a little more carefully next time.

The Lost Car Debate

To mark my return to blogging after a 2-month hiatus, I thought I'd write a post that isn't really about me. For a few weeks now, I've been meaning to get back to writing, but I just haven't been very motivated. However, someone did something today that gave me the nudge I needed. She didn't so much inspire me, it's more like she provoked me.

My friend Sarah lost her car. Then she blamed me for it. Then she just started being ridiculous. Here's how it went down:

(Sarah, I know you're smirking right now. Stop it.)

I had left Sarah a voice mail earlier in the day, so a few hours later, she called me back. We were chatting about nothing in particular as she was driving to Wal-Mart. During the course of our phone call, she arrived at Wal-Mart, parked her car, and gone into the store. After a few minutes, she decided she needed to focus on her shopping, so we ended the call. A while later, I heard my phone ring. Sarah was calling again. She was calling to let me know that she was in the parking lot and could not find her car. She couldn't remember where she'd parked and had been pushing her loaded shopping cart around the parking lot for 15 minutes hoping she'd come across it.

At that point, I tried to be helpful. I suggested pushing the panic button on her key while she walked around, that way if she got close, she'd hear it. I also suggested perhaps she be a little more methodical in her search instead of walking around randomly, lest she skip a row or something. As she searched, her frustration grew and it had to have somewhere to go, I guess. So then she decided that all this was my fault. She claimed that the reason she couldn't remember where she parked was that she was on the phone with me when she did it. She said I distracted her and that was why she coudn't recall where she parked. Now, I can see how that might have been a factor, but it still wasn't my fault. She is the one who chose to call me back while she was driving to Wal-Mart. If she didn't have the mental fortitude to take note of where she was parking while talking on the phone, then perhaps she shouldn't have called when she did. It's not like she was driving along about to park when I called and distracted her. She distracted herself. Thus, it wasn't my fault.

Of course, she was never going to see it that way, so we moved on. Instead of blaming me for her losing her car, she decided that someone had stolen it. Awesome. I can just imagine that conversation with the police:

"So your car was stolen? Which parking spot was it in before it was stolen?"

Yeah, Sarah, where was it?

Exactly.

So after a while of walking around yelling at me while looking for her car, she finally found it. At which point she exclaimed, "Ah! Someone moved my car while I was in the store!"

Do you see how ridiculous my friend is? And then she had the nerve to blame me again for her losing the car. Instead of just admitting that she had a dumbass attack, she continued to try to make me the one responsible when all I did was answer my phone. And that is why I am telling the entire world (or just everyone who reads my blog, but ... close enough) about how my friend Sarah managed to lose her car.

Sarah, the jury is out.

Catchin' Up.

Alright. I'm done backdating posts. At the rate I was going, I was never going to get caught up. There were plenty of fun times in October and November that really do deserve lengthy verbose posts, but being so behind is irritating me. Perhaps some day I'll revisit those times. For now, you get a list:

• I spent October in North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, and Texas.
  
• I got to hang out with Troy and Nixon for a day in Oklahoma City.
  
• I got to home for a few days in October too.
  
• I spent November in St. Louis and Florida.
  
• I also took a short trip to California in November.
  
• Thanksgiving Day kinda sucked because I was on a plane all day long.
  

And now I'm in Atlanta getting ready to drive back down to south Florida. I'm pretty stoked since it's warm down there and because I get to start heading home on Sunday afternoon!

That's all I've got. I know, lame post, but don't worry, there are better ones to come. Maybe.

Eastbound.

Contrary to popular belief, I do have a job and I actually have to work sometimes. So, it was time to head back east and get back to work. Troy also needed to head back east, so we figured we might as well fly together to keep each other out of trouble (not the most effective plan). So Wednesday morning, Tori hauled Troy and me to Salt Lake City to catch our flight. We made good time driving, so we had time to stop for lunch at The Red Iguana before having to say goodbye. If you're ever in Salt Lake City, I highly recommend stopping in there for some hella good Mexican food. In fact, if I ever find out you were in SLC and you didn't go to Red Iguana even after I told you to, then I will find you and stab you in the jaw. Hard. They have SEVEN different kinds of Mole! So anyway, we got to the airport and decided that we needed to document our flight together, but my camera was broken, so we took the old school route and we each bought a disposable camera. Hilarity ensued and everyone within a ten foot radius of us was either quite amused or mildly annoyed.

Enjoy: