I'll write a blog!

That's what I'll do!

Well the results are in and I'm officially visually impaired. That's right, blind as a bat. I decided to go get an eye exam yesterday while we still have insurance before that Marxist, you know who I mean, takes away my insurance and my family doctor that I've come to love over the years (just kidding, I am pumped to get free healthcare whenever I want it I don't care if I have to wait in a longer line and I'm also happy that everyone can get said healthcare. Call me a socialist I don't care in-fact I call myself one). I had quite a good experience at the ol' optometrist office I'm happy to report. The first lady that helped me noticed I'm reading The Brothers Karamazov (yes I'm still reading that) and we started talking about books. She had never heard of Cal's so I told her all about it. The Doctor was a very sweet lady from India that spoke three languages. She was kind enough to answer all my questions pertaining to eyeballs and India. And the lady that helped me choose glasses was just a friendly lass. I tried to choose some neat looking frames, but all the ones I liked were expensive. I ended up choosing some that will probably be dorky and I'll have to hear Kelly poke fun at me whenever I wear them. That's life. I even enjoyed the test itself. I was pretty surprised to see how much more clear everything looked through lenses. I never even knew that I had bad vision, but turns out I do.

Does anyone do this anymore?

Boy that blog boom really died out didn't it? For a while everyone was really into it and posting almost everyday. Guess most of us got burnt out. Oh well, this is what Kelly and I have been up to:

Going to southern California for:

A. My sisters baby shower

B. My Grandma's 80th birthday bash

We went to Mariposa for a wedding and after the wedding drove to San Fransisco for the oldest foot race in California. It's a funny race to watch because, while it is only 8 miles long, it is very grueling and many people faint crossing the finish line. Also because when people come running down the home stretch they are often covered in mud or blood or both from wiping out earlier.

I have poison oak on my arms and it looks pretty gross. An asshole doctor prescribed some steroids for me on Saturday. Now it is Wednesday, I'm out of steroids and still covered in oozing oily poison oak bubbles. Here's why that doctor was an asshole: He needs to get laid. Just kidding. Those are the kinds of jokes I make when I watch too much Sex and the City, which is what I've been doing lately. Here's the real reason: He talked to me like I was a "rural" living hick that is full of stupid questions. That's all I want to say about that.

I just finished reading a book called World War Z, an oral history of the zombie war. Sounds nerdy right? Right. But it was really good, so good that it gave me a dream that I was killing zombies! One of which was a dog whose skull I smashed with an aluminum baseball bat. It was a fun dream and book. The book takes place a few years after zombies almost take over the planet and is told through a series of interviews with survivors of the war. Now I'm reading Animal Farm. It's about animals on a farm sans humans, but I have a feeling that Orwell is using some kind of symbolism.

I haven't been working that much lately, so I've been thinking of ways to make an extra buck or two. One way is I did a little weed-whacking for Dan and Ann-Marie Morrow (that's where the poison oak came from). Another is I built a bike and am going to sell it. The bummer about making money this way is that I spent all the weed-whacking money (and then some) getting poison oak treatment, and you can't sell a bike if nobody buys it. Oh well.

Kelly and I are going to Argentina in a month for 3 weeks. We are very excited and plan on:

A. Drinking lots of Argentine wine

B. Going to a soccer game

C. visiting Iguazu falls

D. Eating lots of tasty steak. Allegedly the best in the world.

E. Might get a tattoo

OK bye.

off to work

I have to go to work really soon, a few minutes.  But I have a water belly and I'm a little sleepy and don't really want to go.

Blog-worthy?  I'll let you decide.

Today my neighbor told me...

"I'll be glad when you move."  And I thought we were friends.

I'm in school again!

Hey bros! and babes!  For school I had to describe a place by using "mere words."  So here is a place as described with my "mere words."  (I'm quoting my new English teacher if you're wondering.)

Very few people have been here.  In-fact, nobody has ever “been” here.  Some people have tried, all have failed to enter though.  They cannot seem to find the door which will grant them passage inside.   I see them looking for the door; probing possible entries only to find themselves shut out still hoping for a glimpse inside.  Some of them, my friends, will stick around.  While others, those I do not particularly care for, will leave upon discovering that I will not grant them entry, often never to be seen again.  

The ones that stick around, the friends, will occasionally get a glimpse inside.  I never allow them to get a good of the view inside though.  I don't know why I deny them, but I do.  Maybe I am afraid of what will happen if they can come inside.  What if they start touching things and rearranging the things that I have spent so much time to set up and place exactly where I wanted?  What if they don't want to leave?  What if they come in and overstay their welcome, like a relative that parks their motor-home on your lawn and asks, “Where can I plug-in?”?  {I'm not sure about that punctuation}

Or maybe it is not that they would stay too long, but would enter and be horribly uncomfortable and terrified and leave as quickly as possible.  What if those that I hold so dear to me, entered in, and fled from me forever, repulsed and shamed to have known such a beast?  That seems like such a risk.  One that I dare not attempt.  So instead of letting my friends in, I will sit, and stare out of my windows at them while they try to find their way in.  While they try to find Alice's fabled rabbit hole so they can enter a different place.

It's when I am watching them that things will suddenly start flying around inside of my secret cocoon.  I cannot see these things flying, but I am aware of them.  They flitter to and fro, like a bird trapped in a grocery store, longing to escape.  But I cannot open my mouth to let them out.  If I do who knows what would happen?  Who knows what it would sound like?  If these things ever escaped from my den, people could become aware of what is inside, or worse yet, they could get inside.  

I find myself wanting to let these fluttering things escape and spread their open wings upon the infinite sky.  But if I did, it could be the end of me.  It could be the end of my relationships.  It could do so much harm.  So I don't speak, and I don't let people inside of my head.

One step forward, five backward: succumbed to the will of anger

My last post was written during cold weather while this one is being written (and possibly read) in warm weather.  Crazy.  I think I always talk about the weather to start my posts, which I suppose makes me like a boring old man.

But I will now cease to write about the weather, and begin to write about what a bad person I can be.  As you may or may not know, bicyclists in Redding aren't exactly, should I say, catered to.  Or for that matter liked.  Personally I have been honked at, shouted at, sworn at, had lemons thrown at, and of course, spat upon.  All with little to no provocation.  I am usually simply degraded for the mere fact that I choose to ride a bike rather than drive a car.  With this in mind, please, read on.

I was riding home from work a couple of days ago, heading west on Dana drive.  I had a green light in front of Discovery Village and asserted my rights as a cyclist to go through the intersection.  During the same time, a black Honda Civic with rims tried to leave the Disco. Ville. parking lot.  Seeing myself and the line of cars behind me, the Civic driver (whom I shall refer to as DBPOSAHTBL (douche bag piece of shit asshole "t" butter licker) from here on.) had to wait for me and all the following cars.  I'll own that had it not been for me DBPOSAHTBL would not have needed to wait for the line of cars.  But I was there, so DBPOSAHTBL  had to wait.  After the line of cars passed me, I changed lanes so I could turn left onto Canby and go home.  Once in the turn lane, DBPOSAHTBL had caught up to me and felt it his duty to roll down his window and shout a certain profane phrase at me.  The one that begins with an F, and ends with an Uck you!

Visions of all the ill treatment I had received as a Redding cyclist played in my mind.  I thought of forgetting about it (turn the other cheek again).  But then I thought, fuck ME? No, Fuck you DBPOSAHTBL!  He was stuck at the Churn Creek traffic light so I pursued.  I rode around the right side of his car and circled around the front.  I looked through his windshield,  made eye contact with DBPOSAHTBL and spat onto his car. 

Then I rode home.

It was stupid and immature and does nothing positive for Redding's cyclist/motorist relationship, but oh well.