Half Past Awesome

All right, so Friday is here again, time for your input with regards to various aspects of this crazy life. I asked you to describe the weirdest / worst piece of information you learned about someone on a first date. Apparently, dating creepy individuals was not limited to just my experience, and for that I am grateful; maybe I’m the normal one. Riiiigggghhhtt. Remember that the Half Past Friday is your turn to air grievances and otherwise. If you’re not catching the question, I try to post it early in the week on either Facebook or via email. If you catch the question there, but crave the ability to be brutally honest and anonymous, just email me your responses or top ten ideas at bluecayucos@gmail.com

Without further bull, here’s your top ten for this Friday:

10. “Hmmm…..that they were married!!!” (this seems to happen to the ladies most frequently, according to poll results, except for number 9)

9. What’s-her-name: “So, my husband was telling me…”

Me: “I’m, sorry, what?”

WHN: “What?”

Me: “Your what?”

WHN: “My husband? Yeah! He was telling me just the other day that I–”

Me: “What?”

WHN: “What? My girlfriend said that wasn’t a problem for you.”

Me: “What?”

I guess, technically I learned more about me than I did about them

(this is such a damn solid answer in terms of self awareness, in my opinion)

8. “Beggars can’t be choosers – and that’s all I got to say on the subject!” (do I detect some subtle hostility here? just me?)

7. “I know we just met, but do you believe in love at first sight?” (wow…..boiling bunnies on date #2 would be my guess)

6. “I think we might be related” (this did not bother this particular respondent at all; no surprise he’s a fireman)

5. “I dumped my first and only blind date because she was fat and ugly; I later found out I had just been staring in a mirror all night” (I still can’t believe I’m related to this clown)

4. “A date once casually informed me that he had left his wife and 2 small children (under the age of 5) in the middle of the night, without telling them, to move cross country because, ‘California just seemed like a cooler place to live than Massachusetts’ “ (awesome reply from a first time post responder….I expect more gems like these)

3. “….that they produced porn for a living.” (and she still dated him, thereby assuring her position as one of my most kick ass friends!)

2. “Her mother was in prison for murder. That was quite the icebreaker! One of those conversation smothering topics, you know. You can’t really discuss the pleasantries of the subject, and yet changing the subject seems very awkward. That was a tough date.” (and who says doctors don’t walk on the crazy side of living?)

…and in the number one slot, from the great state of Iowa we have a new number one poster…

1. “…the guy had really small child-like hands….blind date, was really bad and he kept trying to touch me….it was creepy” (I shudder as I type out this response, and yet have the urge to go eat Fair food and ride the ferris wheel)

Uli Half Past Friday

Here’s the Half Past Friday top ten list in response to the following question: “we’ve all been to a concert that has changed our life. Tell me yours and why.” Your responses were insightful as ever and I apologize that I was late in posting….it’s just that I spent the day being all “dad-like” and then smoking meat all evening. A piss poor excuse at best, but as The Wife says, when you accept an invitation to dinner, you have a moral obligation to be amusing. And we’ve had some funny folks over tonight.

10. “Santana….I was sober and remember it. Besides that, they’re excellent musicians”

9. “Jane’s Addiction…. it was like a religious experience listening to ‘Jane Says’ live with steel drums while nursing the perfect beer buzz”

8.”U2 in general…….but I have to give an honorable mention to the Def Leppard concert- can’t recall a lot of the details but seeing as how there were leaves in my bodysuit the next day, I’m pretty sure it was crazy !!” (hint: I am married to this person…..yikes)

7. “Naturally — the Grateful Dead at Shoreline” (this from a neighbor of my grandparents who I had the biggest case of butterflies over…she was so damn cool back in the day)

6. “I would say Steel Pulse at the Ventura Theatre….epic concert and I will always remember it!” (this is remarkable because it comes from Bones who can hardly remember that I am his brother)

5. “(My husband) said he saw Melissa Ethridge in Vegas and that’s when he became a lesbian”

4. “Liberace” ( a writer friend said this……and I STILL can’t tell if he was serious. This might explain why he carries a candleabra everywhere he goes….that, and the whole cape thing)

3. “The first time I saw Blink 182 on New Year’s 2001. I saw a bunch of girls all together with shirts that said “Blink Girls”. I have since devoted my life to becoming the perfect ‘Blink Girl’” (this from my “brother” Barbara)

2. “My buddy Alan said he lost his virginity after his first Willie (Nelson) concert. That is always a high point. I, on the other hand, kept my virginity after seeing Willie for the first time with my Grandmother at age eight. I learned a lot that evening at the fairgrounds on the front row with 10 or 15 bikers and my Grandmother. While she passed around a half gallon of Jack Daniels, I stuck to a quart jug of root beer. I learned alot about life that night and I think I got my first contact high.” (web designer of HalfPastAwesome)

1. “It’s a toss up. Prince….proof positive that a man can look good wearing purple high-heeled boots. Richard Marx…after the concert I made out with a band member in the elevator.”  (both answers equally classy, in my opinion)

Uli Half Past Friday Barbara, Bones, The Wife

** 5/20 POST UPDATE** Read the comments from The Dirtbag to this post for a hint of the madness that rules this man!

There comes a time when normal discourse between two parties reaches an impasse. How do we get past that roadblock? The more timid among us might avoid conflict altogether, while some put their head down and forge ahead through the tense times. And then there is my favorite category of folks: those who eagerly anticipate the tension and view it as an excuse to vent all their rage, related or not. It would seem that I surround myself with those who are thrilled when trouble comes knocking.

Buns lives with the outlook that everyone else’s purpose in life is to make his better; when folks don’t seem to be on the same page, he has no problem screeching at them in parking lots. It helps that he’s like 6′10″+, so there is rarely much argument when he DOES step out of the car, unless it’s from a psychotic urban outdoorsman. The Lyrical Jackass will try his very best to convince you to bend to his will, but when he has run out of patience (this takes, like, three minutes), it’s not unusual for him to start letting his redneck roots get the best of him. This involves his complexion going through several color changes, from red to purple to sheet white. Next up, if his situation isn’t resolved, is for his eyes to pop out like golf balls and then rotate independently as he rails on (think rabid gecko), enormously long arms waving around, knocking crap off shelves as his voice ratchets up a notch or three. RoJo is a “peace” officer: need I say more?

The Dirtbag brings this anger to a new level of existence, as it permeates his very core. In his opinion, they ARE ALL out to get him, and he finds this irritating. He will rotate and swivel in the seat of his truck, cursing (loudly and with his window down) people who don’t understand the fundamentals of merging onto the highway. He reserves most of his ire for the big box home improvement stores and HGTV, as he believes that they are the ruination of the trades and “real” tradesmen, and therefore in part responsible for the major decline of  this country.

The undisputed king of the realm, at least in terms of my friends, has to be Fury the Landscaper. I met him during a construction trade show, when we had booths opposite one another. Soon Fury became a customer of Pacific Excavating (my former outfit), in part because he seemed to appreciate attention to detail, something that is often overlooked in construction. We hit it off immediately, he benefiting from my obsession with digging ditches “just so”, me benefiting from getting a chance to work with a real-life Soup Nazi. This aspect of his persona is never more evident than the lunch hour. Being someone who is adverse to change, Fury almost ALWAYS takes his lunch at a Subway, but he is running out of Subways who are “doing it right” in the greater metropolitan area. You see, it is imperative that they slice his sandwich EXACTLY in half. It is even more important that they NOT use a knife that has been used to spread something as vile as mayonnaise on someone else’s order. I have been with him when he declared a Subway on the Forbidden List because they “spread his vegetables all wrong”. The difference between Fury and most of the general public is that instead of just taking the guff off of some poor slob who chose to work at Subway, Fury will DEMAND a new knife be used, or a new loaf be cut. To quote the stoner/prophet Tom Petty, he won’t back down. There is always the moment of incredulity on the employees face when Fury insists that they get a different piece of bread; THIS is the awkward moment I live for. (I also make sure that I order before him, so that I don’t get a sandwich laced with spit). He just wants the people to do their damn job, as he has said on more than one occasion. I have also been witness to his furiously punching his steering wheel hard enough that I was reasonably sure that it would somehow set off the airbag and we would both die soaring off a bridge; it took all I had not to laugh out loud, both out of a sense of respect and of self-preservation.

At the end of the day, I am thankful for people like Fury the Landscaper and The Dirtbag; they bring a little order to not only my own chaotic existence, but also to the general unruliness of this world. If some punk with three pounds of jewelry in his face wants to get a little surly while almost throwing change back at the customer, you can bet that it won’t stand with these gentlemen. When an entitled cell phone yakker barrels through a construction zone at 100 mph (true story), RoJo will be there to give them the law enforcement slap down. Buns will always be around to argue with the bums on a street corner if that’s what he deems they need. Those closest to us help keep it all in perspective. Here’s to hoping they don’t turn that furious perspective against us.

Uli Family DysFUNction, Tales of Misery Buns, Dirtbag, Fury The Landscaper, RoJo

Welcome to the birthday edition of the Half Past Friday highly scientific opinion poll. This weeks’ question was “what was the worst movie you’ve ever sat through?” Included from emails, FaceSpace updates and the like, here is the ranked scorings, in 3D. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will celebrate turning a decrepit 35 while soaking in beer and friendship down at a local watering hole and leave you to enjoy the results of your cinematic nightmares. Here ya go:

10. The Last Dragon (this was from a Springfield, Il. fireman who thinks he’s a ninja)

9. Soul Plane w/ Snoop Dogg

8. Stop or My Mom Will Shoot (I think Buns was going for obscurity points…well played)

7. Alpha Dog

6. The Cable Guy (creepy, but in my opinion not his WORST work….but that’s me)

5. Kazaam (this from Bones, whose OCD doesn’t permit athletes to “act” or vice versa)

4. Georgia “….then I had to listen to critics call it a ‘bold performance’ which made me want to start punching people” (this ranked so high because of the personal rage it triggered in Oliver)

3. Gigli (this was almost preordained, wouldn’t you say?)

2. Plan 9 From Outer Space (high value place on randomness…smooth work, Chad)

1. “Triller(sp), by Michael Jackson. I know it’s not a movie but it SUcks so much it should be told to everyone NEVER TO WATCH”     (this made number one only because it comes from my brother Barbara, who clearly wasted those 7 years in college, hoping to become a teacher. This is a direct and exact quote, people.)

So there you have it, amigos. Enjoy your weekend, and join me down at Finnegan’s Wake tonight for a beer or three if you’re in the neighborhood. Cheers!

Uli Half Past Friday Barbara, Bones, Buns

A short while back, The Wife and I attended a wedding reception held out in the picturesque countryside, complete with a Jimmy Buffett cover band working their magic poolside. I took note of these guys for two reasons:

1. They looked like a bunch of middle aged goobers with Hawaiian-shirt- covered paunches,  “skullet”-style haircuts, and handlebar mustaches

and

2: They kicked a lot of ass. They were tight, sounded clean and rehearsed and genuinely looked like they were having a blast up there, bringing smiles to the barbeque and beer besotted revelers.

I was infinitely jealous.

This brought to mind my own musical journey; from playing bass in high school productions (not too much thumb-slapping  in “Hand Jive”, sadly enough), to rolling around on banjo in college with The Whole Enchilada, to currently trying to master Lindsey Buckingham’s finger-picking style on “Never Going Back Again”, my tastes and instrument choices have been diverse to say the least.  But there never was a time in my life, in terms of playing music, that can compare to the teen years, and this is for one very distinct reason: the opposite sex.

The other day a fourteen year old kid came in to get his outrageous mop of hair worked over. His mom was telling us how he was VERY much into playing guitar in his band, and how she was impressed by his talent, his love for music, all the usual parental doting/pap. I felt an immediate bond with this kid, because I remember well the first day of bass lessons when I was fourteen. The teacher told us two things that I’ve never, ever forgotten: the first being that 99% of all rock music was based on three chords, and that second, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, that he was well aware of the fact that the ONLY reason we all wanted to thump the bass or strum guitars was to impress the chicks. The man was a damn clairvoyant.

To the kid’s shock and amusement, I told him that I understood that all the musical talent in his body was driven by a hormone-laced urge to impress the ladies. His mom looked at me as though I’d just offered him his first vial of crack. And in what was no doubt a rare momentary break from believing that ALL adults are ignorant fools, he cracked a knowing smile. Chord progressions, mind-numbing speed, all that is secondary when you begin thinking about a career as a REAL guitar hero. I’m not talking about video games either. I’m talking visions of maniacal love-struck beauties throwing their unmentionables onstage. There’s no drive quite like it on earth.

At some point in this life, though, we have bills to pay. Very few can make the jump from slayin’ em all at the high school talent show to filling stadiums; by the time you reach our age, people that can do that may also be the type who steal your lawn furniture to fund their drug habits. So we trudge along, preparing strangers taxes, programming computers, framing houses, making the mortgage. There is a reason: spouses might not understand it if they came home and found you squeezed into leather pants with a pink pointy guitar in your hands, rambling about finally putting out that death-metal song you wrote about some chick named Jenni back in 1986. Bill collectors don’t accept blazing guitar licks in lieu of the minimum monthly payment. It’s a fact.

Somehow the Jimmy Buffett cover band guys, who no doubt have day jobs to support their guitar and beer habits, managed to survive not making it as big rock stars. They’ve transcended the inherent roots of why they picked up guitars in the first place. Now they have beer guts, eyeglasses and excessive hair on their shoulders to contend with, and yet they couldn’t have seemed happier. They were playing their asses off, grinning like mad dogs, and whipping up the revelers into a lather with their own rendition of “A Pirate Looks At Forty”.  Man, I thought to myself, these guys really have come a  long way from the years of acne and heartache. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of some of the dancing partiers…..and they were all women, singing along and gyrating to the beat. And I realized in that moment that nothing changes.

I think it’s time to put new strings on my guitar.

Uli Wandering Ponderings The Wife

So I’ve decided to add a new catagory to the Half Past Awesome corner of the world: the Half Past Friday Top Ten list. Each week I’ll toss a random subject out there and the answers will be harshly judged and the best will be posted. This past week I asked via FaceSpaceTwit what the lamest excuses my amigos had ever given or received when either standing someone up or being stood up. The results were, well, predictable for the most part, although there were a couple of shiners among the awful things you’ve said to others. If you have any ideas for next week’s Half Past Friday, please feel free to email them to halfpastawesome@gmail.com

So without further shenanigans here’s this weeks list

TOP TEN LAMEST REASONS YOU’VE GIVEN OR RECEIVED WHEN STANDING SOMEONE UP (OR GETTING STOOD UP):

10. I have a boyfriend (told to me….it sucked; I married her)

9.  I’m constipated

8.  I, um, “”forgot” you were having Fight Night at your house

7.  My DVR is broken and Brett Michael’s Rock Of Love is coming on

6.  I decided to get drunk with my homies at a sh**-hole bikini bar instead

5.  I have “explosive” diarrhea

4.  I am bloated (told by a guy)

3.  I can’t go out with you again. My dad says you’re a bad influence

1 (tie):  Um, sorry dude, my dog is sick

1 (tie): I just found out my ex-boyfriend is bisexual and was told to go get an AIDS test; I can’t make our date

Sometimes the truth IS better than fiction

Uli Half Past Friday

“OhMyGod you are so stubborn!!!”

This is not an unfamiliar phrase to me, so when The Wife or anyone else yells this in my direction, I am inclined to take it as a compliment. For many years I attempted to deny my true self and would argue the point. From the childhood years up until the recent past I would occupy a good portion of my time arguing that I REALLY AM the King of Compromise. The day finally came when I had to wrap my mind around the fact that obstinacy has long been a hallmark of my character. This is a trait that is neither endearing nor “cute”. You know it. I know it. But that which I refer to as an iron will of the strength of perserverance can actually just irritate those around me (who, I might add, are constantly trying to bend me to their will; I’m on to them). So I decided to embrace all of those “stubborn-as-a-Missouri-mule-in-the-mud” analogies that people associated with me. Defiance as a virtue, I say.

Unfortunately, this jaw-clenched, bulldog style of living is not so much learned as it is genetically inherited. The Lyin’ Dutchman (aka my pater familias) is a shining example of how this behavior can lead you to seven ex-wives and not a friend in the world. And, much to my chagrin, Heathen #2 looked at me the other day and uttered a family trademark phrase when told to do a chore……“Don’t tell me what to do!” This from a 3.95 year old. MY 3.95 year old. This IS a disturbing development, to say the least. As the gleam in his eye took on a taunting shade, I roared back at him “WHAT?!! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?” At that point his lower lip shot out 4 inches and the crocodile tears began to drop, as if on cue. God, this kid knows how to hit my switches; I took a softer tone and told him that, yes, I still love him, but backtalk and disrespect won’t be tolerated, even IF all the kids are jumping off bridges these days. He shuffled over to me, gave me a big hug and said “Daddy, I love you.” As he was busy wrapping me around his finger, I recognized this behavior for what it was: he was utilizing his heartbreaking charm to get out of putting his shoes away. Smooth move, kid. I like your style…but it won’t get you out of this chore. Head down in momentary defeat, he headed off to his room to engage in the unspeakable back-breaking torture of putting his shoes in his closet. I swear, I wouldn’t have been surprised in the least if he turned around, shook his fist at me and declared “You may have won the battle, Old Man, but this war is far from over!”

There are positive aspects to a stubborn streak, and I would have you look no further than my relationship with the Lyrical Jackass to prove this point. At one time, we got so pissed off at each other that we didn’t talk to each other for almost a year. The reasons are immaterial (read: my fault) and to this day we will argue over who approached whom first about mending fences. Around the time that he was going through an incredibly tough divorce from the world’s craziest hag, we crossed over our lines in the sand. Here was one of my very best friends getting drug like a plow through a mile of pig waste and what he needed was support, to know that his friends were there for him. I told the L.J. that in being my friend,  he’d inadvertently bought a ticket on my own version of the Titanic, and as far as I was concerned, we ride this mother ALL THE WAY TO THE DAMN SILT! AND I WANT THAT PIANO PLAYED THE WHOLE WAY DOWN!” Fact is, I’m just too stubborn to let go of a good friendship, despite the many bruises we give it over the course of time.

I guess my hope is that despite all of the inane traits I may pass on to the Heathens, they will learn to grab the very best aspects of this life and hold on like a junkyard dog. I’m talking about things like appreciating a worthy friendship, knowing the value of a good set of tools in your shop, the worth of a cup of coffee made RIGHT.  These are the aspects that I hope to instill in ‘em. Despite my little lecture on backtalk to Heathen #2, I couldn’t help but admire his resolve. This behavior also drives his mother around the bend, a bonus as far as I’m concerned. I know that one day, his friendships will be based on the dogged determination to be a friend worth having. That, and an ability to ride it all the way to the silt, should the need arise.

Uli Family DysFUNction the Heathens, The Wife

So, as far as I can tell, everyone in the fire service has a vomitus trigger. We have the sympathy pukers, whom you can always see flying out of the back of the ambulance when the patient has tossed his or her cookies. There are also environmental hurlers, those who wade knee deep into a medical call only to find the patient sitting amongst the contents of several cat litter boxes, and begin to gag uncontrollably, resulting in (from my perspective) riotous results. Typically, we send in the newest member of the crew to deal with the crazed half-tonner wedged between the toilet seat and wall, just to see what sort of violent physical reaction we can witness. Firefighters, being as they are, will capitalize on ANY weakness, ESPECIALLY if we can get a co-worker to lose control of a weak stomach.  A classic firehouse example? The Lyrical Jackass is deathly terrified of feminine hygiene products, and can be made to dry heave if you utter the word “tampon” preceded by various descriptive adjectives.  We are an immature lot, no doubt.

My own debilitating scenario?  ANYTHING at all with regards to teeth, their breakage, oral hygiene, dentures and/or meth mouth. This most likely originated when I saw, as a rookie, a patient who unsuccessfully tried to cap himself with a .22 to the mouth. The result? One pissed off old man with a pie hole full of broken choppers. Riding the ambulance to the hospital, I was assigned the task of performing suction and never got past the hideous sounds he made as he spit out teeth like so many bloody Chiclets. I vividly remember how my stomach turned over and over on itself and it wasn’t but a few moments of this until I found my very own puke trigger; unfortunately, so did the ambulance crew and our irritated suicide attempter. Years later, every car wreck involving facial trauma reminds me of how, despite an ability to waltz through bodily fluids, human remains and other assorted disgusting things, I can’t stand to look at broken teeth, or worse, the ever-feared meth mouth.

You might well imagine that this presents a bit of a dilemma when it comes to my own oral hygiene. I am fairly religious about keeping the click-clacks meticulously clean. Visits to the dentist, however, are still a source of much anxiety, even routine cleanings. I recently found the perfect dentist, though, one who mocks me loudly as I preemptively writhe in agony moments after entering the waiting room. There are two things going in her favor. One, she is a she and as such, there are no over-sized hairy knuckles with which to contend. This is a definite plus. The second positive for her is that she is more than willing to dispense drugs to me during each visit in order to minimize my screaming. And, for the record, I AM a screamer. She did a minor filling on me the other day (the horror! A cavity?) and actually had the audacity to ask if I needed some “numbing” for such a minor procedure. I made one thing clear: if she was approaching me with an air-operated drill that operates at a pitch that can break glass, then she better have me doped up to the nines. At that point the assistant (a friend of mine) laughed at the big pansy in her chair and then strapped the nitrous oxide mask on me to smooth the rough edges of the unhinged lunatic in front of her. Shortly after the numbing solution and laughing gas began to take effect, the doc came at me with what looked to be the kind of needle with which you might anesthetize a horse. I tried my damnedest to not flail my legs about and pitch a fit, but I can’t really recall how it all went down; there’s a good chance I made what might be referred to as a “scene”.

The upshot of all this is that at no point, as far as I can remember, did I lose my breakfast. Of course, as I write this, my hands are all clammy and  I am getting a little uncomfortable. Maybe the doc NOT having knuckle hair helped; putting up my most macho front might have been beneficial as well, right? I have no doubt that the next medical call involving the removal of a patients dentures will have me back to gagging, but I think I am headed in the right direction. And as to the time when The Heathen’s baby teeth come out? I will do as any testosterone-fueled tough-guy fireman might: I will leave The Wife to deal with it, calmly head out to the shop and nonchalantly puke my guts out.

Uli Siren Songs, Tales of Misery the Heathens, The Wife