Apparently, this will be Intermittent.

Sooooo, the best laid plans of mice and men...

As it turns out, I will be a hit-or-miss kind of blogger. I wish this thing had an autopilot feature, like the Airplane movie. That awesome inflatable guy could type up a witty, daily nugget of wisdom and with little or no work from me (I would still redline the little bugger).

But alas, I have no inflatable writing auto-pilot friend. But rest assured, I will have moments of intense creativity, and will hopefully channel these times into lots of clever and fun blogging.

Stay tuned, though at a moderate pace.

love,
Londo

XXX

Alright, Bah Humbug

So another Christmas has come and gone in the Londo household. I have learned a handful of things from this experience that I wanted to share.

In no particular order, other than the order they occurred to me:

1. I do not like Christmas. (yeah, yeah, Bah Humbug to you too:)

2. Christmas is all about the kids. I get it. When I was a kid I looked at Christmas as a magical thing. It was all about the whole family being together and about waking up to a magical tree, with magical presents, and having a big, Southern, magical breakfast. It was about opening the aforementioned magical presents and playing all day with the aforementioned magical family. It was about magic. Now I get it though. All of the magic was a creation of the tremendously hard work of my parents. And now, I am supposed to be the magic maker. (dammit all, I didn't see that one coming, Thanks Mom and Dad.)

3. I haven't liked Christmas music since I worked in a mall. However, I really like singing Christmas songs to the Pumpkin. She gets a kick out of them and I realize just how many of the darned things I know all the words too (thanks Mall.)

4. Some of the things we do as Christmas traditions make no sense. For example, WTF are we doing bringing a tree into my living room, then stringing electric lights to it. The trees must be furious this time of year. There they are, hanging out in their foresty homes and taking in the sun when out of nowhere, some jackass with a chainsaw comes around and takes 'em down. Then to top off the humiliation, we put them in their little tree-stand life-support apparatus' and humiliate them for a month. I feel the worst for the ones that get replanted afterwards. Can you imagine the stories they tell their friends: "Dude, you are never gonna believe what happened to me..." (Thanks a lot Pagans.)

5. Christmas cartoons are still pretty damned entertaining. I especially like the ones that are all claymation and stuff. (Thanks California Raisins.)

6. It's impossible to get EVERYTHING done. It's highly unlikely that you will get 75% of everything done. There is a 100% likelihood that, at some point, you will scream if you try to do too much. (Thanks Valium.)

7. I absolutely love watching the Pumpkin opening presents on Christmas morning. Mind you, all she wants is the wrapping paper and to chew the gift bag that is probably made of Chinese lead paint, but it's a blast to see the look on her face. (Thanks, import/export laws.)

8. I will make it through as many of these things as I need to, and she will never, EVER, know that her Father isn't Christmas' biggest fan. She will have all of the magic, all of the family, all of the presents, and all of the love that she can handle. (thanks Mom and Dad.)
P.S. this blog will self-destruct in 8 years or so, to preserve my Daughter's hero worship of her Daddy.

9. I love Christmas. (Thanks Pumpkin.)

-Londo

XXX

Snow Commute Like My Commute

So I am guessing that roughly 79% of all DC based bloggers are talking about their drive to or from work today. It sucked ass.

If you have read my first post, you know that I am working on the prospect of getting my own lane. If I had my own lane I wouldn't have had to spend 2.5 hours trying to go 26 miles today (you do the math.)

But then again, I also wouldn't have witnessed the lady who thought that icy roads and a driving snow (no pun intended) were the perfect place to do her makeup. Or that guy who was doing the crossword puzzle. Ugh.

I wouldn't have witnessed the American Legion Bridge in a state so icy that if you didn't take it fast enough, you would be stuck on an incline, spinning your wheels futilely. That was pretty cool actually.

It's days like these that make me very happy with my decision to go with the Jeep. It is a gas guzzling V8 with big, knobby tires, and it's also trail rated. This is its first snow test, and after I got the hang of it, it performed wonderfully. Mind you, even though my car handled beautifully, doesn't change the fact that I had Volkswagen's flying at me like I had pissed off the Germans or something.

Ahhh, my own lane. I could zip straight to work (or wherever else I want, since it is also a magical, mythical lane) and wouldn't have to watch out for other drivers.

But where's the fun in that.

Please share your awful commuting stories, and feel free to lament for your own lane.

-Londo

XXX

Signs of the Apocalypse

NOTE: So, I am hoping that this will be a recurring column, as I tend to notice these sorts of things all the time. However, given that the idiocy around us tends to be random, so shall be these entries.

I present to you proof positive that people are stupid.

This sign was found on a gas pump at my local station. When I saw it, I read it 3 times, then proceeded to laugh so hard the lady on the other side of the pump peered around the side to see if I was ok. When I pointed out the sign, she didn't get it. Which explains why the sign is still there.

Now, as a CYM I naturally lean towards smart-ass antagonism whenever possible. I thought about asking the pump-jockey behind the counter if it was ok to continue filling my tank. After all, I can honestly say that I have never even thought about improving my cars fuel container. In my last car, I had to replace the little plastic tie that attaches the gas cap to the car, but that was more maintenance than improvement.

Do I need to go out and buy my gas tank some bling? If so, do they still sell the kids craft kits that turn into date-rape drugs when swallowed? I feel like I need to anesthetize myself a little when I see things like this.

Would a simple sticker suffice? I still have a Nintendo Power Club sticker from my youth that I have been itching to bust out on something.

Now I know how this happened. It was clearly like one of those cell-phone commercials where the person on the one end says one thing, and it gets a little garbled on the other end, resulting in an amusing game of operator.

"You want it to say what?"

"No problem, I got it."

"No, I'm sure, I got it."

He didn't get it.

In the end, I decided to simply mention the error to the guy. I snapped this pic with my handy dandy cell cam and trotted gleefully into the store (yes, CYM is still capable of glee). I grabbed a Diet Mtn. Dew (I am watching my figure) and waited in line for a few seconds till it was my turn. I showed the guy the pic and told him they might want to change the sign since it was misspelled and had a crazy unintentional meaning. He didn't get it. I pointed it out very specifically, and he still didn't get it.

Now I am guessing here, but I don't think English is his first language. It may not even be his second. I don't fault him too much for not getting it, English is, after all, a needlessly complex language filled with silly irregular conjugations and insane and arcane grammar rules. I simply said that he should change the sign for accuracy and I jotted down the proper reading.

That was 3 months ago. I specifically choose that pump every time it's available (I fill up once/week) and the sign remains the same.

I live in constant fear that I will be arrested because I haven't upgraded my gas tank to the all-chrome model.

Apocalypse I tell you.

-Londo

xxx

On Becoming Crotchety

I didn't start out this way.

I was once a perfectly normal and friendly-to-strangers sort of dude. I am not sure when it happened exactly, but I have a feeling it was sometime between buying my first house, and having a baby. I started to view the world in a slightly different way. I first noticed it when the kids skateboarding in the middle of the road in my neighborhood began to bother me. They have a little practice rail and a few large plywood boxes they set up (in the middle of the street mind you--their parents must really love them) and they won't really move out of the way when you are driving through. Now, in my youth, I wouldn't have been bothered by this, but now I can see myself flooring it and making them dive out of the way. I don't do it, of course, but I can see myself doing it.

Besides the skateboarding pre-teens I also started really disliking a few of my neighbors. Specifically, I don't like the ones who can't seem to grasp the fact that if you don't park properly, not everyone gets a space (you know who you are).

Then there are the other drivers. DC and the surrounding areas are full of many different kinds of drivers. All of them suck except for me. Seriously people, stop going 45 on the beltway. Stop slowing down to 25 when it sprinkles rain. Stop rubbernecking when you pass a bright and shiny accident. Start using your turn signals. Start yielding when you are supposed to yield. Start merging when you are supposed to merge. (You know who you are).

I suppose it is inevitable. I am a crotchety young man.

I want to get out of my car and pull the little skateboarders by their ears to their parents front doorstep. I want to ring the bell and have a long conversation with their parents about why the middle of the road is not the place to let little Johnny "express himself" with his delinquent friends. I want to wedge my Jeep tightly into the parking space that my neighbors should have left for me by alternately backing and pulling into the bumpers of their cars until their alarms bring them running from their houses. And I want my own lane. When I drive somewhere, I want to be the only one on the road. You other people may continue to drive amongst yourselves, just leave me out of it.

God help me, I am actually thinking of voting Republican.

Next up: Being Married to a Hippie (and Loving It)!