Crap. That's what seems to be going on most of this year so far. I don't care if we have an ice storm on December 31st, so long as it marks the end of this god damned year.
At the end of April, I had my car serviced for its 30,000 mile tune-up. Of course, this was the first time I'd ever rotated the tires. Last winter, I replaced the front tires for the first snow. Those were moved to the rear and the original, balder-than-I'll-ever-be tires were put on the front! At first I was miffed. Bald tires on the front of a front-wheeled drive? But then, what the hey, it was practically summer. I'd get better traction. But first we had to get through the thaw. Then the heavy rains. Then a vain fist-shaking from Old Man Winter. Then, More rain. We survived.
Well, first week of May, we pick up a screw in the college parking lot. In the shoulder of one of the newer tires. While removing the recently tool-tightened nuts, I threw my back out. This occurred repeatedly, on three of the five nuts. Serious Ouch Factor. Your sympathy is for once encouraged and embraced. OUCH!
Fast forward to Saturday June 7th. I had just gotten out of the bed. I sat in the desk chair and stretched. That level 7 pain from a month before that had died down to a manageable 4, it came back. Worse, it brought a couple kegs and strippers and every "friend" it could rally for its party. I choked it down and carried on. Even "snuggled" with the Mrs. for a couple hours. Probably didn't help. But worth it. Later, at my favorite restaurant, I leaned over to grab my hat... Next thing I know, I'm experiencing the second most physically painful event of my life. My wife about lost it. She almost dragged me to the E.R. But I'm Irish. That means I'm more stubborn than all your asses! I struggled through until Monday morning. Then I ended up in the hospital after all. At least I drove there and not some ambulance.
Now I'm taking so many pills I can barely keep track of which ones when and under what conditions-- with food, full glass of water, no machines, etc. Needless to say, I haven't had a drink of my savored tequila in quite a while. I think Heath Ledger was a rising star, but I don't wish to join him for tea any time soon. Which is interesting. See, I was courting suicide recently. I have it almost figured out. Just that it wouldn't look like an accident. So, if I was as intent on offing my sorry ass as I feared I might be, wouldn't overdosing be a more convenient way? I'd even get to enjoy a drink to go!
Obviously I wasn't all that suicidal. I'm worse than a suicidal person; I'm a survivor.
Here it is, Fire Day. My ALONE day to write and readjust. Screw my head on straight. This is what keeps me sane, this and music. And coffee. Sex and tequila aren't necessities like these.
I decided this afternoon to call my back's bluff. I'm going to work it into the mix like all my other aches and pains. Isolate it and accept it. Work just wasn't kind enough on me this week, despite my doctor's written plea for light duty. I just got hired on full-time with 100% medical and a second raise and I take a Monday off and return with a note saying I'm to be pampered. We are SO far behind now. My fellow workmates are QUITE frustrated. It actually exploded into a confrontation between me and Sean/Magneato, my supervisor, yesterday. He's catching hell from the owner and, in turn, looking for some one to pass the bill to. But, in my defense, I AM injured and it's not production's fault that we have too much work. "Production" is three people. If one of them is out, that's 1/3 of the crew! Might as well be having a strike! So why do we take on so much work? Whatever.
More worthy of our concern is the signs of the times, don't you agree? Natural disasters all over the world. I feel I need to "dust off my bible." Make sure I still have enough time and spirit to straighten out.
But to be frank, you know what I got on my mind? Honestly, this summer's movie line-up. I admire M. Night Shyamalan's work and look forward to The Happening. I'll see Hulk, just because it's a comic book movie. Already seen Indiana Jones 4, Iron Man, Chronicles of Narnia, and countless other movies. Refuse to miss Hellboy 2. Itching to see Will Smith's Hancock. Most of all, I can hardly wait for Dark Knight.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Work it into the Mix
Black Cat
We have two cats. One black, the other white with a few large black spots. The black one, "Nick", was a wedding gift from my sister. He's mine, I like him. He's not shy with guests. He acts like a hunter, although he's really not. And best of all, he likes to be pet rough, like a dog. He doesn't like snuggles or being picked up, held, cradled. Unfortunately, the only displays of dominance he puts on is scratching the furniture and sitting on his "throne" above the throne. The bathroom window that his compadre can't figure out how to jump up to.
The white one, "Zach", (I hope you don't think these are their actual names/nicknames...) is quite a bully to Nick. He chases him, cleans him, beats him up, pushes him aside at the food dishes, scares him off the couch and steals his warm spot. He also scratches ONLY the scratching post, cuddles my wife better than I do, and knows that it is HIS job to wake her up in the morning.
We often joke that Zach always eats and never craps. And that Nick always drinks and is a poop factory. Seriously. We never see Zach use the litter box or the water, unlike Nick. But, also unlike Nick, Zach is always demanding to eat. "NOW!" he screams whenever you get within ten feet of his food bowl.
So it came as something of a surprise when Nick had to go to the emergency vet at midnight (we got home late from Urso and Luna's), because he has, we were later informed, FLUTD. That's Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease. Disease. In other words, it's chronic. The couple hundred dollars we spent to get him better is to be a recurring event. How'd this come to be? Apparently, dry cat food is only to be used as a supplement. A snack for cats, if you will. They, being solely carnivorous, can't process all those carbs. But why Nick? He hardly ever eats and drinks plenty of water. If anything, Zach should have FLUTD, not Nick. Not that I'd wish that on cute little Zach. But it would have been better.
My wife all but hates Nick. He doesn't cuddle, he doesn't accept her affection (only mine :) ), he scratches the furniture, and whenever a stench comes from the litter box, he has just come from the litter box. She's not exactly comfortable with the prospect of spending small fortunes on a cat she'd rather give away to her aunt.
And, to label this as a rant, let me tell you about Doctors... I had noticed Nick licking his crotch too often. I mentioned it to Glass. We looked up cat websites. Urinary tract infections are signified by excessive crotch licking, howling in the litter box due to painful peeing, and sometimes blood in the urine.
Not long after this research, he started to cry when he peed. We decided to track down a vet. What the hell! Everywhere you go for ANY kind of treatment (for any creature, human or otherwise) has a "new patient fee". I think it's a bullshit fee. I paid one last year to my dentist, and doctor. This year, I've paid one to my eye doctor and...THE FREAKING VET! The receptionist, upon hearing our reason for appointment told us to bring in a urine sample. What? A urine sample? What, am I to ask my cat to piss in a cup? She responded that we could bring it in clump form. Alright, whatever.
Before his appointment came to pass, though, we came home late one night to find blood spots leading form the litter box. Damn. I swapped the litter while my wife called the vet's listed after-hours emergency number. They insisted that it was a bona fide emergency and that we should bring him in immediately. By the way, it's $100 just to have the Doctor take a look. Plus any fees for any treatment. Oh, and there might be a slight wait to see the doctor demanding on the urgency of the cases at hand. Holy shit! Is this the vet we're talking to?
We wait for Nick to pass fluid, scoop it into a GLAD tupperware, scoop him into the carrier and haul ass. Thankfully, he was considered urgent, so there was no real waiting time. After a bit, the Doc calls us in. He's not real sure what the problem is. He can give an empirical diagnosis, or run some tests. How about the sample? No dice. It's a dirty sample. Dirty? It can't be tested for crystal composition because of the litter. (Here comes a pisser) He could have gotten the sample there. He could try again, but maybe the cat has no pee to pee. He could do an ultrasound--or some scan-- of his kidneys to see if he does have any pee to pee tonight, for a sample. Unless we want him admitted. A scan. Of a cat's bladder. To see if he needs to piss. For a sample. Another sample. Because the one the receptionist at the regular vet (this is the Animal Hospital we're at, by the way) told us about was WRONG!
We opted for an empirical diagnosis. Nick was given a fluid injection under the skin, to help hydrate him. 'Cause, you know, if the giant clump of piss we brought in is any indicator, he's dehydrated. The injection cost? The fluid: $7. Cost to give any injection: $25. And let's not forget the pain pills and antibiotic serum, week's supply. As we going over our estimate, thank god my wife insisted on before treatment, we noticed another shot. Please recall, any injection: $25. This particular fluid: $30. What is it? A painkiller. How long does it last? Just for tonight. Aren't his pills painkillers? Yes, but... NO THANK YOU. We'll start him on his pills tonight. Only his serum must be taken with food.
At least we saved $60. Small victory. We locked Nick in the bathroom, with all his amenities for the week, to avoid bloodstains or uncontrolled urinating. To my dismay, Zach didn't miss him. my biggest argument in keeping Nick is that his friend Zach would be devastated by his loss. WRONG. How did Nick fare? He seems fine, now. Save for the hole he tore in the couch his first day out of "The Hole." Bah!
Rage-a-holics Anonymous
I've mentioned my driving habits and profanity problem. So has my wife. But get this, she's gotten to be worse than I am! Maybe I'm a bad influence.
She used to stick to 5 miles over the speed limit. Always. Not so much anymore. That, of course, doesn't stop her from telling me not to speed, as I'm doing a meager 65.
When someone is Driving Ms. Daisy in the fast lane, I'll pull up behind them and turn on my Left turn signal. Like a cop. My wife? She'll speed around them, then slow down to about 40 mph. You know, to make her point. :(
The other day, she gets down stairs on the way to work, and finds her car blocked in by someone else's car. Rather than coming inside and calling out for the owner, she screamed outside for someone to move the car. Think anyone could hear her? Apparently not. Her first reaction? Ram his car with hers. She didn't do that. Her second reaction? Leave a note saying "F___ You!" under his wiper. She couldn't find a pen. Her third reaction, the one she did go with? She dug all the trash out of her trash-filled car and dumped it on top of his, taking the time to tuck some under the wipers. Then, she carefully jockeyed her compact car around his clunker and sped of to work.
When I came down to get into my car, I saw a strange scene indeed, but WHATEVER. Later, at work, I get a call. It's Glass: Did I see her purse before I left? It's rather important. She tells me what the car-owner did, what she did, and that she thinks she left her purse on top of her car whilst she was perusing her garbage! Shocked, I can say nothing to allay her fears. I can only flash back in my mind...
A few months back, the nitwits kitty-corner to us were throwing a party on a week night. At 2:30 am, when we were still struggling top sleep, I suggested that I sternly, but with politeness, suggest that our neighbors consider their neighbors. My wife refused. She feared that they were deviant and would retaliate. Say, they might key our car or something...
Back to the present. Thankfully, her purse was safely in the apartment, where she left it in her rush to get to work on time. The car-owner? Apparently he was moving out that day. I recognized the car as belonging to the couple downstairs and across the hall. That morning, there was also a truck with a flat-bed trailer blocking some other nearby parking spaces.
Nice way to say goodbye to your friendly neighbors, eh?
College
I completed my first semester of college. My last final was Saturday the 24th. This semester, my wife and I attended classes together.
Last semester was a fiasco. I started out with three classes. All online. TERRIBLE IDEA. I dropped one, bailed on another and failed the last.
This semester I revisited the one I dropped, Basic Sociology, and shot for a passing grade in Advanced College Algebra. The results? Drum roll: I got a B in Math and probably in Soc as well. My wife? An A in Math and quite likely in Soc too. Smart girl. I dare say too smart.
She's decided to go for nursing, continuing this Fall after a Summer sabbatical. I intend to enjoy the summer with her.
Come Fall, I hope to have my career sorted. I came to the conclusion that any job in a hospital is not a job for me. I'm thinking that my criteria of mobility, job security, and income will be met by a career in plumbing.
I was inspired recently by our apartment complex's maintenance man. If not Plumbing, our desire for a house will provoke me to pursue Heating and Air Conditioning instead.
Now that school is out, I give myself two weeks to regain my sanity before looking into a counselor. Seriously. Also, Fridays are mine and mine alone. I should be doing most of my blogging on that day of the week for now.
Trip Out
We just got back from our trip out West. It was awesome. We really miss Arizona and deeply hate ourselves for having moved to New York. But all the reasons we had to move away from AZ are still valid. It's just that all the reasons we had to move to NY seem like thin broth.
My wife climbed my favorite mountain with me out in AZ. We fell in love with bulldogs. Then fell right back out. I came to have a new under- standing and profound appre- ciation for one of my wife's friends, "Porcelain"
I saw my long-lost brother for the first time in over ten years, "Eagle." He was sporting this wicked bite from a desert recluse spider on his finger. He was cool with it though. Taking the meds his doctor prescribed and having my sadistic sister scrub it clean once a day. I am proud that he's my brother. My two nephews seem to be miraculously shaping up quite nicely as well.
In San Diego, CA, we missed out on the seals. Heck, we missed out on the whole ocean experience all together. We were rushed. But the wedding was perfect. It was the second best wedding I've been to. Of course, being married, I have to say that! "Polaris" made an absolutely beautiful bride, like out of a wedding magazine. And the bride's maids were all knockouts. Including, and especially, my wife.
She actually got me to dance to all the slow songs at the reception, and a few fast ones. The bride felt compelled to don Skechers and have us dance the "Thriller".
I hopefully made some new friends there. There was this "you-had-to-be-there" incident we will conspiratorially refer to as the "Love Dove".
And then, back "home". Within minutes of setting foot on native Western soil, I summed up my hatred of the Northeast in one statement: Anything you want to do, you have to drive through SNOW.
Regardless, our cats survived their caretakers (or maybe it's the other way around) and my wife saw to it that we overwhelmingly enjoyed ourselves. Every time we ate out, it was REAL Mexican food. Every drink I was offered, I had two. Plus one I'd never tried before. Every old friend and associate got a hug, even the pretty ones. And I feasted my eyes upon the splendorous beauty that can only be seen in the mountains of the Southwest.
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I love the west - only visited a couple times but I feel like I belong there. Coming back east, the first thing I notice is how crabby people are.
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YES. people are crabby.....i had a great time too, pacer!
Kicking the Pennies
Wow. I've cried tears of joy only twice in my life. Once, when I saved my mom's life, and today. Sure, today's reason may seem shallow, but you would only think that if you didn't have all the facts.
My Step-dad let himself die in October, throwing my mother in California into heart-rending despair. I wanted so bad to be there for her, but I'm on the wrong side of the country. My best friend in AZ died in December. I found out in January, the same day my big-shot Fortune 500 company laid me off after 18 mos.
This stupid company doesn't hire temps for at least two years. If that's not illegal, it should be. Six months as a temp, no problem. Eighteen months is emasculating and demeaning. After we helped them exceed their fiscal year quota, establish half a dozen HUGE name customers, earn their maximum possible bonuses, branch off into their own company, open a larger state-of-the art facility, and have it operational a week ahead of schedule. Then, to repay us, after bragging about their status, they lay off all the temps...
My new job. They allowed me to take a week off to go to San Diego for our close friend's wedding. I'd only been with them 3 weeks. I got back this week. So did the owner. He said they really appreciate me and that I've already proven how good a worker I am. They plan to hire me on within a few weeks, in the meantime, they've demanded that the DIFFERENT temp agency is to give me a 20% raise. TWENTY PERCENT. Damn.
That made me smile. But it's Tuesday. So the boss comes back up to me and says: "That raise, it's effective as of yesterday." Now I was grinning. So what made me cry?
HA HA HA! I got a SECOND phone call from my old "assignment" asking me to return; they're bringing back all their temps. I've never acted on the desire to tell an employer to KISS MY ASS until today. So, life is decent after all.
I lost a friend and gained a brother. Lost an "assignment" and got a "position". Revisited my old home and reaffirmed my convictions--my faith, my family, my future career.
On the way home, traffic wasn't bad--for ONCE. As I was cruising down the "express"way a BIT over the speed limit, I saw a Trooper going the other way and imagined getting pulled over for speeding. I just started laughing. Until I cried.
Aww. I'm such a tender heart...
<( | )> = <( | )>
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Congratulations! That's excellent news.
I Hate Rochester
I hate Rochester. That's not saying much, considering that I hated Lake Havasu too. But I don't remember hating California.
There's this parable I heard, I think from my wife, about this old man at the train station. He greets people as they get off the train. One man gets off the train, old man asks him: "Moving here?" The traveler responds: "Yes. How is this city?" The old man, rather than answering, asks a question in reply: "What was the city like where you moved from?" The traveler responds: "Pretty lousy". To this, the old man answers the travelers previous question: "Yeah, this city's pretty lousy too."
Another train comes in and another traveler steps off. Again, the old man, in greeting the traveler, asks :"Are you moving here?" The travler responds: "Yes. How is this city?" The old man, rather than answering, asks the question in reply: "What was the city like where you moved from?" This traveler responds: "It was pretty nice." The old man assures this traveler: "This city is pretty nice also."
If I have to explain the moral in this, you either need to drink more coffee or, like Sylar, eat more brains.
I don't mind the cold temperatures so much; I prefer them to the incessant triple-digits of Arizona. And they have trees out here, unlike most of Arizona, and you can TOUCH the trees and hug 'em if you're so inclined and NOT get spiked. I'm not just talking about cacti. There are these trees out West called Palo Verdes, they conceal spikes under all the leaves.
When I had first moved out to AZ, I was walking home from a late movie at about one in the morning. I needed to relieve myself and all the businesses were closed. I saw a lone tree on an embankment to the side of the road, and decided to provide it with a rare treat in the desert: water. As I was navigating the embankment, I slipped. Slid into this pretty pale green tree. Having grown up in Cali, I considered trees friendly. Sure, I suppose parts of So-Cal are classifiable as desert. But parts of Arizona are DESERT. So this "tree". I slide into it, figuring I could have stopped the slide, but why? Trees feel relatively friendly compared to sand and rocks. Son-of-a-sea-biscuit! That friggin' hurt, BAD. And so began my incredibly long list of things I hated about Arizona.
Now here I am in New York. People scoff at me when hearing of my decision to move out here. "WHY?" they ALL ask.
My wife's family is from here, she missed them. Of course, now the roles are somewhat reversed: I miss my "family". My mom and my sister. And my friends, damn I miss them. I've been out here nearing two years. I haven't talked to my best friend in California in over a year. My best friend in Arizona died in December. I just found out last week, I hadn't talked to him since September.
My wife, though successful, seems to be jealous of her brother and her relationship with her mom typically is tentative. I and my mom are thick-as-thieves, despite the crap she put us through and I don't ever think I'll be jealous of my sister. Though I think at times my sister may have been jealous of me. I think it's just a stereotypical girl-thing to be that way with moms and siblings.
Back to terrain. Everything in Arizona seemed dangerous. Snakes, scorpions, cacti, heat-stroke--you remember the evil sun in Super Mario Bros. 3? On the original Nintendo in desert world, like level 2 or sumthin'? It was as big as you and chased you around trying to kill you? Yeah--CLEARLY the Asian that created that level wasn't native to any Asian country; THEY WERE BORN AND RAISED IN ARIZONA!!! But, oh, I've never seen stars or sunsets as beautiful as those in that rugged desert. And as much as humans long for beautiful green pastures, nothing surpasses the colorful beauty of the rocks and mountains out there. More colors than a gay clothing-designer could fathom can be seen on one mountain-side in one dusk out in the desert.
New York. Different world. Before coming out here, I assumed that this being the older part of the country meant they'd be more advanced somehow. WRONG! This part of America should just revert back to horse-drawn carriages. They don't know what to do with vehicles. Out West, sure, about 1 in 3 drivers need to be shot. Out here, maybe 1 in 1000 deserve to utter the word "car". They drive 10 miles under the speed limit on a sunny summer day, yet do 70 in sleet, 50 mph winds, and 20 degree freezing cold. Like an SUV has better traction on ice than my Corolla. Every nightly news report: car crash, SUV involved. Hmph! The speed limits are wrong, the street widths are wrong, the street signs are as big as the fingernail on your pinky--if there's a street sign to be seen at all-- and the stop lights are on your side of the intersection so you gotta peer up at them! Oh GOD! I started off swearing profusely, now I just revert to this prehistoric growling and barking-- no words can dispel the primal rage I feel on the roads out here.
Fire Day
Been itching to blog about last Friday, or in my world, Fire Day.
Flashback a few days. As is the norm these days, my wife and I keep a rather busy schedule which often deters us from cleaning our Crash Pad. Once the bald spots reappeared on my head and in my stomach lining, my trusty wife took action.
So, the kitchen is clean. All the dishes. I missed the bathroom, but I replaced the cat-devastated mini-blinds with some savvy curtains throughout the house while juggling laundry.
Wednesday. My wife notifies the maintenance personnel at our apartment complex that both our sink and toilet are leaking. Something I've been meaning to report for about...oh say5 months now. Go Green, Planet! Or whatever the fad is at the moment...
Mind you, I was a Maintenance Overseer for nearly four years. One thing I know, plumbing is absolutely without argument the easiest task in home/building repair. It's easier than painting. By far. I would have loved to have fixed it myself, but I can't feasibly turn off everyone's water.
Hey, whatever. After all, easier than plumbing, is having someone ELSE fix it. Right?
We get home that night. The sprayer's gone, as is the hookup to the dishwasher. What the crap!?
Nothing I can do about the sprayer. I mend the dishwasher without complaint. I'm too embaraassed of my missing the bathroom cleaning before our visit.
Friday at my job. The 1800 rolls are due/done today. They are being picked up by truck at around 1:30. So, taking this order and all the jokes I've been the butt of quite personally, I work through my break and choose to work through my 12-12:30 lunch to get the order out barely on time. Honestly, I had it wrapped at exactly 1:30, just as the truck honked. As I zipped off the production floor, I yelled over the din: "I'm goin' to lunch!" Magneato is like: "No you're not." Seeing how he's always joking around at my expense, I quickly dispensed with the banter, and WENT TO LUNCH.
I get back from lunch, five minutes early. Magneato is waiting. Risking my wrath and the structural integrity of his skeletal system, he confronts me about my "insubordination." I chose to "work without lunch" and UPS comes at 3:30 so we need to hurry for the end of the day rush. Also, I came in at 6:30am for overtime, like I said I would, instead of 6 or 7am--apparently the only options (and they weren't accepting 7). I can't be making my own schedule. Question: If I HAD taken lunch, wouldn't the 1800 shipment have been delayed? And, two, wouldn't that have cost time from the rest of the orders for UPS? I worked through regular lunch to save the day. Not to starve. I get even MORE pissy when I'm hungry, as if you can imagine that.
Flabbergasted at first, I said nothing. I recall nodding in acquiescence at the end of his soap-boxing. He hasn't been at work since Friday. I'm confident I didn't harm him. I actually remember the incident ( a good sign), I'm not in jail again, and I'm still employed. Besides, he was scheduled for vacation. But the memory is a bit fuzzy. He came close. Chalk it up to learning; I'll never do it again. For Damn sure.
At home, I'm all frown and furrow when the Mrs. gets home. She pries it outta me. Only, this time, rather than pointing the errors in my reasoning and siding with my enemy, she agrees that we should kick his miserable ass! I had to grin. It feels so good to be understood. Of course, we'll do no such thing. It's just that some people eat, some people drink, some people smoke, some people rage, and some people (who have the time and energy, which I didn't--in spades--that night) blog.
Friday night. After 9 pm. My beloved goes to activate the dishwasher. We've been eating out all week, so it's taken the week to fill the thing. She reaches under the sink to get the dishwasher soap and water pours out.
Here's the thing: it was the faucet that had been leaking that precipitated our call. The faucet. Leaking into the basin. If you put the faucet over the drain, you didn't even have to deal with the annoying pinging sound at night.
So, water. Pouring out. All the pots and pans. Tupperware, baking dishes. They're brimming over. ALL of them. Did I lose it? It was Friday night after a helluva long, arduous week. I had TWO shots of tequila on top of exhaustion. I would have laid down in the puddle. Speaking of which, why was it BROWN? My cute, petite little shortcake, on the other hand... Holy Fallout.
Rightly so.
The emergency maintenance man swings by after an urgent call. He comes to the same diagnosis as I did. The pipes weren't soldered right. Now, what I didn't ask is: why in the Hell were the pipes soldered in the first place? He was swapping a faucet!! What an ASS! Worse, he soldered UNDER the shut off valve! Seriously. Was he toking up in our apartment before he began? So there's no way the guy can can fix it until morning and no way we can shut it off until then either. Thankfully, we didn't have to miss class Saturday morning because of it. Apartment maintenance has a key.
Of course, as if it needs saying, I didn't finish my homework.
Now, we have a kitchen riddled with pots, pans and so on. We have difficulty making time for regular dishes with a dishwasher. Hell, I feel that I NEED blogging as therapy, and I gotta piece together my posts over several days. Now, we have every pot and pan dirty.
Oh. And then there's the toilet... Never mind, I can fix it myself.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
What started it all was Stinger. It has nothing to do with Lord of the Rings. It's a Police issue Spyderco knife with a 4" fully serrated blade and partially sharpened spine. That's three kinds of illegal in several states. When I was living OUT IN the desert, I didn't have the luxury of leaving valuables behind. So I took them with me everywhere. Including school. I have never drawn a knife (or gun for that matter) on a person. I have used weapons on vicious stray dogs. And I collected nearly a third of my knives from jerks who thought they could take me on with a knife.
My few friends often joked about me and my formidable knife and "the unlucky fool who crossed my path". Somehow we got to referring to such a situation as me Stinging them, with my Stinger. I think it had something to do with the knife having the word POLICE etched into it.
When I was living in an abandoned van in the middle of the desert, Stinger came in very handy. It got quite abused. Even though knives are just another tool, you shouldn't use knives as screwdrivers or saws unless the need is dire, and even then... Thankfully, somebody actually tried to use a Leatherman knock-off utility knife on me before I got too stupid with Stinger.
Stinger was unfortunately sitting on the table out of reach the night Cruizer went possessed on me. I don't know, I just have a ton of memories with it. It's been a part of me for almost as long as my chain, Pacer. Yes, I named it too. I lost Stinger in late 2002, when I was just starting to excel in my studies to become, of all things, a minister.
On my visit to the West Coast, my sister returned Stinger to me. She was working with the son of the lady I rented a room from back then. He had stolen it. My sister took it back. How? Well, she IS my sister :)
It feels good to have it back. Between seeing all my old spiritually strong friends out West and getting back this virtual talisman, I feel I can really have success returning to the only job that ever gave me a sense of joy and purpose.
im not really sure how i feel about this...
a little scared, a little proud, a little shocked, a little scared....
how DID she get it back?? i never asked!