Monday, November 30, 2009
by wompsett



So for the last six weeks I have been living in a bubble of anything-goes-edness with my boss out of town and his number two out for a few of those weeks as well. Luckily number two is not a senileistic ( I'm pretty sure that's not actually a word) old man who should have retired before I was legally old enough to work without my parents signature. And then the bubble burst. The boss came back today and I'm still dripping with the shiny bubbly funk that is actual work. And now it's back to the reality that is (quite literally) the Crapper.

It's not so much that I dislike work in general. I mean I do, but I can deal if it's at least something that peaks my interest a bit. But selling, shitters and pissers and sprayers and anything else plumbing related, from augers to nipples (seriously, some plumber came up with the idea to call short pieces of threaded pipe nipples. and if you think that's awkward the black nipples are really going to get to you. especially when you have to sell a lady a pair of three quarter by four inch black nipples. I've almost been socked a few times for that). So if I at least had a job that interested me a little bit more it wouldn't be such a big deal for my boss to come back from a looong business trip. Because I would've been working just as hard with him gone as I do when he's there. But that was not the case this time. This time around the world (for him), I took advantage of the new baby and the plethora of excuses that accompanied him out of the womb.

I don't really think it's wrong to take advantage of the wonderful opportunities that arise from having a newborn.

"Sorry so and so, I'll be into the office in an hour so. The kid kept us up all night." (1 hour turns into 2-3 hours quite easily with this one)

"I'll be in by lunch time, my Wife's not feeling great and I'm on Papa duty."

"I forgot that little RQ had a doctors appointment today. I'll see you tomorrow."

(I've used all of these and more at least once.)

And then he's gotta come back and ruin everything. There is just something about the boss man coming back from a long trip, with a stack full of work that he is expecting to be done 3 weeks ago, that kind of takes you out of neutral and throws you into first as you start up the hill that is eight hours of your Monday through Friday. And you feel like all your good energy is gone by the time you stumble in the door. The only saving grace in this instance is the fact that it's the holiday season. And while I'm not necessarily the it's the most wonderful tiiime of the yeeeeaaar kind of a guy, I do enjoy the holidays. Assuming of course that we are celebrating the holiday on the actual HOLIDAY and not as a season. And I especially enjoy them because the scum guys that handle all the warehouseish duties at work are part of the corrupt, prickish, assholeistic prestigous Brotherhood of Teamsters. Why on hell I am thankful for that? well because they bring with them one awesome fucking holiday/paid time off schedule.

So yea, I have to start working hard again. And it'll totally blow. But at least I can look forward to the three, four day weekends in less than two months, that are headed my way. The only people who get a better deal are teachers, stay at home mom's, europeans.....Wait, am I getting screwed here? I thought this was legit.

So in another couple months. Well pretty much after the new year, I'll really be fucked. Then I'll have to really start working for real. Though I think there is already another trip scheduled for march. I need to get me one of those circularpaperlinkscountingthedaysuntilchristmas things that we all used to make in school before we went all religiously correct on the education system, to track when I can tune out for a few weeks. And then I can start getting all the inane shit I don't want to deal with at home, done at the office.

And I really shouldn't be bitching about my job in an economy where so many people are trying to just scrape by until business' start hiring again, but I like to bitch about work. So my apologies if this post just pissed you off. (And hell no I won't tell you the name of the company I work for so you can come gunning for my measly position.)

Saturday, November 28, 2009
by wompsett

So yeah, I changed the way this here blog looks. I don't know whether I'm done with it or not, but I really did not like the one that I originally set up. I had just previously been to lazy to put out the effort to do anything about. Until tonight. And maybe tomorrow. So I hope you like it at least as much (but hopefully more) than the old one.

For the last three or four years a group of friends has been getting together to play a game of kickball on Christmas day. And let me tell you that heading out after the morning craziness festivities surrounding corporate bonus earning day the oh so joyful day, is a great way to forget that you have only been to half of the houses you are supposed to go to, and it's already 3:00, and you're already a bit drunk, and don't really want to go anywhere else other than home. Somehow heading out with a group of friends and kicking some serious fucking ball just makes it's more manageable.

So when this year we decided to add a date after the feasts of all feasts I was rather exited. We decided to do the game a couple days after Thanksgiving to give everyone enough time to digest, and recover from the hangovers (food and alcohol related). it meant that there were no parents/grandparents/aunts/uncles/brothers/sisters/children waiting on us, and we could enjoy the game without any time limits to abide by. No agendas to consider. So we went out and rocked it like we were in fifth grade all over again.

Uniforms were donned. Drinks were poured. Teams were picked. Chants were shouted. Team names were assigned (Boutonnieres vs. Black Spanish Boots). More drinks were poured. And then the balls started rolling. And boy did they roll. And fly, and get smashed, and deflate, then pumped up and fly some more. And there were up and downs all throughout. Psychological warfare was used. Brothers were pitted against brothers, husbands against wives (which is a bit awkward since the husbands team won). And then the trophy was awarded. Or maybe accepted is a better adjective since the other team was in no mood to award us for anything.

Yes we have a trophy. It makes it all the more competitive. And it's not the first trophy we've thrown into the mix of competitiveness among this particular group of friend's. We've also had a couple extreme croquet trophies circulated as well. The kickball trophy is of course the largest and most ornate of them all. It only seemed appropriate to make the trophy for the cup o nuts the best of the bunch. And as I typed a few lines back, the team with the husbands came out on top, which means that for the second consecutive trophy match (we just injected this trophy into the mix last Christmas), I have been on the winning end. Last year the trophy went home with me to spend the off season. This year it goes to a new home. I figured it was unfair for me to keep it for two years in a row, so our team captain is taking it. It was a good game. Because my team won. And it was fun. But my team won.

So now the balls are returned their sack until Christmas when once again that sack will be ripped open and the balls will roll!


Friday, November 27, 2009
by wompsett





Wednesday, November 25, 2009
by wompsett



So it's here. The time for us all to sit around and tell each other why we're thankful for something. This is a completely foreign tradition to me. We never did this in my family. I don't know why, we just didn't. We did it at school (wow, take that sentence out of context and I may be in some trouble). But at the homestead, not my family's cup of tea. And I thank them for that. I have never been the warm and fuzzy kind of family guy. We were more like a G rated, less offensive version of the Family Guy's Griffin Family (My mom is cursing my name right now for writing that. I'm sure of it). But we certainly were no Keaton Family. Not that we were dysfunctional, we just didn't get all cozy with each other. There was of course the constant fighting, bickering, hair pulling, ball kicking, knife chasing fun that any family of four (3 boys) experiences.

We did try the warm and fuzzy go around in a circle thing once, when I was maybe 8 or 10 or something. This was at christmas time though and it was somehow related to a school project for my sister M. It went like this (if I remember correctly. which I often don't); we had to go around in a circle and say something we liked about every other family member. All was going fine as the complements spun around the circle until the dart landed on me. (Now let me just preface this with telling you that I was a bit of a drama king as a child.) So the time came for M to say something nice about me, her littlest bro. "I like how Nate can always get whatever he wants just by crying for it". Me "Waaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaaa" as I ran down the hall and buried my face in my pillow for the rest of the night.

I think that may have something to do with why we never did the whole and I am thankful for_____bit. I have a feeling it would have ended with me crying. Or kicking one of my brothers in the balls. Or crying. Probably crying, I only kicked when my parents weren't around.

Surprisingly I have great relationships with all my siblings now (at least I think so). With some of the havoc I wreaked on them as a kid it surprises me some days that they even still consider me their brother. And for that I'm thankful. Very thankful.

Other things in life I am thankful for include but are not limited to: The rest of my Family. I have a beautiful wife who tolerates living with a prepubescent teen stuck in a young adults body. I have  a kick ass freaking son who is like the absolute coolest most rad little dude that ever didn't walk or crawl yet. I have a set of wonderful (and still married) parents that have come to accept me for the crazy ass weird kid that I am. I already mentioned the siblings. I have two dope ass dogs that are cooler than most humans, two cats, one that's a total prick and one that's the prissiest little pussy you ever met, but I love them anyway. And great friends, a roof over my head, my health, my ability to grow a beard to hide my acne and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting to mention and will get shit for later.

And then there are these things for which I am also thankful:

∞ Getting up and out of the house on the weekends in less than two hours

∞ Not stepping in or seeing cat puke early in the morning

∞ Strong ass black coffee from a reputable roaster

∞ Ale

∞ Above mentioned ale being stocked in my fridge

∞ Apple products

∞ My music collection

∞ Not having to haul around CD's anymore (thank you above mentioned Apple products)

∞ Alarms that forget to go off

∞ White out

∞ A 3G network at work where my internet is restricted by Barracuda

∞ Days when there is no laundry to do/fold (which is almost never)

∞ Sunglasses

∞ Fully intact wrists (which I only have one of)

∞ Daylight savings

∞ Fresh caught fish

∞ My camera

∞ Dark jeans (thank you for only needing to be washed every two weeks)

∞ Deodorant that works

∞ Fresh eggs

∞ California wines

∞ Seat warmers

&

∞ A sock drawer with no plain white socks

Happy Turkey Day!

This year will mark the first time in 10 years that I have eaten turkey at Thanksgiving. Nineteen-motherfreaking-nine little birds. That's the last time I devoured your tasty ass'. By T-day the next year I had given up all meat sources and was on my way to the healthiest ten years of my life. Well I guess the healthiest ten years of my life since I decided to choose what was being thrown down that esophageal passageway. It all started (or ended) with one fateful trip (and I stress the word trip here) to Burger King.

So here's how it all went down........

The event: The String Cheese Incident's Dancing Around The Wheel Of Time.

The Place: The Portland Convention Center

It was THE fucking show to be at. If the world was going to succumb to the Y2K madness this is where you wanted to witness it. In a sea of freakiness. And freakiness it was. I won't bore you with all the drug and alcohol induced insanity that took place over the course of the three (or was it four) days up there. I am pretty sure though that if you happen to lick the sidewalk in front of the Convention Center (hey, people do weird shit) that you will be higher than you've been in a looong time. That's just the kind of weekend it was.

So after a long ass weekend of non-stop partying, when finally the morning of January one double-o rolled around we all needed some freaking food. Good, solid, healthy, electrolyte replenishing food. So where else, but to BK of course. I mean where else can you find a nice whole breast (grown in an effing laboratory) chicken breast sandwich for like .42¢? Cooked your fucking way man. So we ventured on down to local BK and ordered up some grub, sat down and started to eat, and then I whistled for a cab and when it came... er, wrong story, sorry. So we sat at our comfy little booth unwrapped our sandwiches and got down on those bad boys. For like a second and a half until the whole roof of my mouth started screaming at me in pain because some how between passing out at 5 in the morning and waking up at 10 in the morning, someone decided to open my mouth and slice length wise with a freaking scalpel. Not cool dude, so not cool. I don't know what the scientific term, for what this is, is. But this is not the only time I have experienced it, so there has to be one. I think it must be some like partiedtomuchanddidn'tdrinkanounceofwaterforthreedays-itis. I'm pretty sure that's it.

So down went the what should have been the best damn chicken sandwich EVER and instead I had to settle for packets of ketchup and honey mustard. Lovely. Just. Fucking. Lovely!

So that was the beginning of the end. It was the last time (and I am DAMN proud to say this) that I have eaten fast food. And from there it all spiraled into a meatless, no-real-need-for-molars-anymore life. And though it was pretty rough at first, after a short while I came to really love not eating meat. I never had even the slightest craving for anything once living and breathing.

We certainly had to work at it to make the pieces fit. I can remember our first year of vegetarianism and fixing meals like organic mac 'n' cheese with tater tots or Morningstar veggie burgers with tater tots or tater tots with tater tots. But once we hit our stride it was all uphill. I came to (in my mind) master the home made veggie burger. I sometimes still make them just because their so damn good. And we saw our Thanksgiving dinners go from nasty ass Tofurky to wild mushroom Wellington's (yes with home made puff pastry).

I don't know what it was that turned me/us back to omnivorous life. I think it all started with seafood and spiraled down to bacon stuffed cheeseburgers. And now with the turkey day approaching I am having my first second thoughts on the whole thing. It hit me all of a sudden that not only was I far more adventurous in my cooking while leading a meatless lifestyle I also felt a hell of lot healthier (and about 15 pounds lighter, but I blame that on fatherhood). Plus, to add some impeccable timing to the whole mix of it Food Inc. found its way into our DVD player last night and now I don't know if I ever even want to eat again (I'm just glad they didn't bash beer in that flick). While I don't think I'm going to completely give up meat again, at least not right now, I am certainly putting a bit more thought into the how much of it. They just make it so freaking easy to eat meat 7 days a week. It really is a terrible industry. But that industry has killed my culinary imagination, and I want it back. Along with my six pack that I hardly had to work for, and not the alcoholic type.

Saturday, November 21, 2009
by wompsett

I grew up in a fairly small town in the bay area. A town that is most well known for things like; an oil refinery (thank you shell), a guy named Joltin' Joe, the birth of the martini (fuck off Frisco, the martini is ours), the only McDonald's in the country that is closed on the weekend, and Hobo's. And some great Hobo's at that.

We had the guy that would ride his bike against on coming traffic swerving back and forth, an Abe Lincoln lookalike, a guy some of us called 007 (some I think called him McGuiver) because he could make anything out of anything (not really, it was mostly piles of trash, but he was convinced), a guy with more bum names than any other bum anywhere (Bread Man, Mr. Martinez, Johnny Woods & Creeper just to name a few) that used to do things like wrap himself in chains and walk back forth on the main drag through town or sit on busy street corners with his shirt off praying with more enthusiasm than most priests have. (Subsequently Creeper, that was the one I always went with, was actually a really nice guy. Yes, I have held a real conversation with him and he is extremely nice and far more normal than you would imagine). And then there was Ula. Ula was maybe the most well known of the Hobo community, probably due to her extreme eccentricities. She would do stuff like offer unsolicited sex advice, rip the hair from her head, pull down her pants in public, fight with sign posts, and so on and so on. Ula was a classic. An Icon of the town. No one knew her actual story. There were rumors galore about her pre-hobo life, but no one actually knows the truth that I know of. And no one ever will. Ula was found dead this past Friday morning in a lot next to a liquor store and and a Harley shop.

In most towns across the country the homeless folks are just a huge nuisance to the white and blue collars. Not in our little town. I honestly think the homeless in Martinez have it better than most others across the nation. We were pretty kind to them. Sure there were the raging hormonal days of high school when we would ridicule them, but there was never any bum bashing, or killing, or anything really all that devastating to their livelihood. That's probably why most of them have been in the town for longer than I have been alive. It's like the Malibu beach club of the bum community. And it's too bad that bums get such a bad rap. Sure they can be annoying as all hell, they stink, they look like shit, and they really serve no purpose other than our own fucked up enjoyment. But they aren't all that bad to live around. At least not in 'Tinez. They never solicit, they don't harass, they don't rob. They may snort the occasional line of crank, but hey, we are (or at least used to be) the crank capitol of the country. Would you expect anything less. We all have our vices.

I don't really have a point to this little story, other than that Ula will be missed. By a lot of the town. I wasn't there yesterday, but apparently all of downtown Martinez was in mourning over her loss. I mean where else will you find a town that mourns the loss of one of the local Bums? Nowhere, thats where. Maybe it's all the refinery fumes we breathe (and as a side note the site that Shell occupies was once being considered by Stanford as the site for their campus. I guess BIG oil trumped education in the bidding war), or maybe we are just a community of really nice caring people. Or Maybe it's the entertainment the bums provide. Who knows. But the town will never be the same without Ula roaming the streets. So Ula, I hope the streets in whatever afterlife you went onto are nice and warm and made out of marshmallows with hot chocolate flowing through the gutters (I don't know, that just sounds nice).

Now it's time for the town to elect a new Bum King or Bum Queen. Personally I'm hoping that Creeper comes out of retirement.

Thursday, November 19, 2009
by wompsett

If you happened to take a look at my profile you would have noticed that I am from (and live) in the SF bay area. A wonderfully liberal area for the most part. However, I work in the wholesale plumbing industry. An industry that I have come to realize is terribly conservative. An industry that I have no idea how I ended up in. Everyday I sit at my desk banging my head into the window wishing I would have remembered the fucking earplugs I keep telling myself I need to wear when within these walls. How the plumbing industry managed to recruit every right winger in the area is beyond me. Even the most liberal of the bunch is far too conservative for my level of tolerance. There is even a 70 year old gay guy that would be a better fit in a town like Lubbock, Texas than San Francisco (he's actually from Texas so I guess that makes sense). I mean I thought to be gay you had to be liberal. No? Anyway, the vast majority of the folks I work with are tight ass conservatives (with the exception of the gay guy, probably not a tight ass) (By the way I LOVE gay people. Some of the most genuine and hilarious people I have met have been gay, just sayin') that scare the shit of me.

Today the topic of the conversation in the office circulated around the whole trial of the 09/11 mastermind in NY. And how appauled they all are that we give this guy the decency of a civilian trial in our oh so un-corrupt judicial system. And how it would be far better to just take the guy out of his cage and put a bullet in his head or throw him off a tall building to spare us the embarrassment of letting him walk on our stolen soil.

To this my internal voice was screaming out for me to jump into their conversation and lay down some liberalesness. This is a perfect example of the problem I have with the mainstream. I am guessing that folks like me who think "who the FUCK cares if this guy is given a fair civilian trial on our soil" are in the low percentile group of the census on the issue. Wouldn't it be more punishment for KSM anyway if he had to live out his days sharing a cell with this guy. I sure think so. I mean doesn't he want to die? so by issuing a death sentence rule won't we just be accomadating him?

I don't really feel that strongly one way or another about the fate of KSM. I highly doubt that seeing him incarcerated or killed is truly going to make a family member of someone who lost in the attack feel any better. Maybe for a minute, but that's about it.

This is a perfect example of why I am scared as hell of the sane folks running wild in our nation. Because to hold a conversation about shooting someone in the back of the head, or dropping him off a building as a means of retribution is perceived by the masses as perfectly normal. I mean even our Prez issued a statement that he is pretty sure this guy will get the death penalty. Isn't that breaking some sort of unspoken rule. I remember hearing something once about being innocent until proven guilty. If our own president can't abide by these rules then why fuck do they exist. Why even have a judicial system. Maybe we should just live by renegade law (and I'm talking about the kind of law that Larenzo Lamas AKA Reno Raines laid down). Sometimes it seems that's where this nation is heading. Just look at Maricopa county for Christ's fucking sake.

I stick by my view that sanity is some scary ass shit. Go crazy, you'll be better off for doing so.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009
by wompsett

Well, this is the second time I've decided to dedicate my free time to writing about completely random bullshit. I was inspired to start blogging a couple months ago after the birth of my son. My first kid. After he came along I realized that I needed an outlet for everything running through my head. I had no idea how therapeutic it would end up being. So now I look forward to writing. I have come to realize though that a lot of the weird shit that my mind creates is now necessarily appropriate for a blog based around being a dad. I am far too out there to post some of the random thoughts that run through my mind on a daily basis. If I did someone would probably report me to CPS.

So here we go with an all new, say what you want without the fear of offending a grandma or great grandma. Write about whatever the fuck my entirely insane pea sized brain can think up.

And as the title says, I hope to rid the world my world of folks that think that sanity is something to be proud of. If you consider yourself to be sane then you deserve to be locked up somewhere. Sanity is the root of all evil in this country/world. The fanatics that are trying to be so freaking pure that they are oblivious the truths that surround us in the day to day. They're the ones who are afraid to jump in a puddle or lay down in a pile of leaves. That wear their tie so tight that it obstructs their vision.

So this is my outlet. My vice. My sanctuary of bitching. It's where I come to express to myself in ways that most of society would turn and run from. If you like it, great. If not, I'm perfectly fine with that as well. We'll see how it turns out.

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