Quote of the Day: “Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain – and most fools do.”
- Dale Carnegie
Well, life has whizzed by me again (I guess that’s better than whizzing on me).
Let’s see what has happened:
Thursday: Big Truckasaurus
Truckarius Tiberius Truckasaurus officially became a Washington resident again. I had to make my way to the Department of Licensing (different location than where you get your actual license, oddly enough) and get new plates, tabs, registration, and title, all to the tune of $104.50.
But I also got to spend a little time with the wonderful, helpful, and eager people that work there. And if you think I am being facetious, you are RIGHT!
I’m REALLY sorry to make you, you know, do your job and I am REALLY sorry that you are not enjoying your lot in life. It saddens me to see you like that so just a little slice-o-free advice… if you don’t want to do your chosen profession, pack your I-could-give-a-shit bags and skedaddle.
That’s right, I said “skedaddle.” And Word’s spell check helped me use it right. Twice.
Anyway, yeah, the people that work there weren’t what I would call aggressive, passive or otherwise, just kind of not interested in anything to include me or what I had to get done.
I know that is the stereotype but it would be refreshing to actually have a perky, interested, helpful person when you have to go to the dreaded Office of Doom known as D.O.L.
Too much to ask? Obviously so.
But I overcame and in the end, I got new plates for Triple T that, for the first time in decades, didn’t say anything. I decided not to go with the vanity plates since I will someday give the truck to my in-laws and having “PVT2MAJ” probably wouldn’t make much sense then. Plus, I would like the save that for the Pilot!!!
Getting the plates on the truck:
SUPPOSED difficulty level: 3 (cross out) 2
ACTUAL difficulty level: I don’t even want to effin’ talk about it!
I mean, those little bolts are rusted, stripped, and the backs that spin when they are supposed to hold tight are behind somewhere that even elfin hands couldn’t manage to get to.
It involved about 6 more tools than it should have and 30 minutes more than logically possible.
I hate mechanics. HATE!
The things I do for Truckarius Tiberius Truckasaurus….
Fri: Big run, big hurt
I decided I had better get on the road and the way that these things works for me, the route popped into my head the day before and never mind that I had no idea how far it was going to be, only that I would complete it, rain or shine.
It was 12 miles and it was rain.
To tell the truth, the rain didn’t bother me. I understand that if I put off my training runs to when it is NOT raining, I would be as much a runner as Paris Hilton is a Rhodes Scholar.
What did bother me though is getting to the bottom of an enormous hill at mile 4 and developing a pulled muscle between my right ankle and mid-shin.
Nothing spectacular, just a pain that developed over the course of about 1 minute that brought me to a
OK, well, I said to myself, I could turn around and head back.
Hmmm, OK, well, you have your iPhone. You could call Alex and have him come pick you up.
Have my son pick my up in the middle of the run because my leg hurt?
You could limp forward and cover 8 miles with a painful gimp-like stride in the cold rain.
Yeah, that sounded like a solid plan.
2 Â½ hours later, I limped onto my front porch, soaked, and a little pissed off but I finished the #$@*)(%^ run so the Universe can kiss my ass.
I knew that if I sat down, I would likely not be able to get up so I
hopped gimped into the shower, got ready, ate something, and headed out to get my driver’s license.
Again, not the greatest idea for a few reasons:
1. I was in no mood to put up with epic-retardation and the DMV is like the factory where it is made.
2. I probably didn’t look my top form after dragging my hurt ass through the rain for 2 Â½ hours so a photo that would ID me for 4 years would probably look worse than even the DMV normally manages.
3. Sitting in a waiting area for God-knows-how-long was a guarantee that my physical deterioration would ripen to full pain-bloom.
All my fears came to be.
It’s like they have a special camera-manufacturing process that maximizes the horrendousness.
It’s like there are scientists somewhere that tinker with secret processes that makes their cameras capture the worst humanly possible moment and accentuates every single detail you fear.
Like it looks into your soul and finds whatever you are most sensitive about and blows it up like a carnival caricature drawing.
I will not be scanning the photo and posting it. In fact, it will only see the light of day when absolutely necessary which, because it will be my official form of ID for now on, will be more often than I would like.
Oh, and limping around in the DMV made me feel like such a loser. I mean, you have all been to the DMV so you know there are perpetually a collection of people that dribbled out of the world’s ass crack so to add to that group, I present the really tired-looking guy with a heavy limp. I expected mothers to scoot their children closer to them as I passed by.
The good news is that I didn’t have to take a test, other than the eye test. And it only cost me $60 which is $15 more since I had them transfer over my motorcycle endorsement. Not that I plan on riding any time soon but they lady said that if I didn’t renew it and ever wanted to get it, I would have to take the test and everything all over again so I caved.
That afternoon, my daughter, who had stayed home sick, wanted to go to a volleyball tournament to cheer on her fellow players, even though she couldn’t play herself.
You know what’s worse than watching teenage girls playing JV volleyball? Watching teenage girls playing JV volleyball, none of which are your daughter.
Sitting on wooden benches.
With bone crushing pain shooting up through your leg because you were stupid enough to run/walk 12 miles hurt.
Saturday: Big pizza, big party
In the morning, we went to my nephew’s soccer game and he’s at the age where one of the kids kick the ball and they all swarm after it.
Kick, swarm, kick, swarm, kick swarm… and so on.
Every once in awhile one of them will kick it past the frightened kid sentenced to the goalie position.
What’s sad is my nephew is 16.
After the game, we headed to Auburn where we partook in the traditional gorging of the jumbo Godfather’s Taco Pizza. My bro-in-law and family have a long tradition with this and the Auburn Godfather’s is the last one probably in the state.
And WHEN Auburn floods this winter (or next spring when the snow melts), it will be under 10 feet of standing water and the likelihood of them reopening it are about the same as my license picture showing up on the internet as “America’s Hottest Dad.”
It’s this big deal here. There is a dam that is about to crumble so they will have to let out any water that falls to maintain the same level but that means that the whole valley (Kent, Auburn, parts of Renton) are gonna flood big time. The insurance companies won’t even sell policies any more.
What does this mean to me?
Godfather’s is in danger!!!!!
Damn you to Hell, Corps of Engineers!
The big event for the day though was the party. My in-laws both celebrate their birthdays in October so
we Carrie decided we should have a combined birthday party and housewarming party for the family. She is the oldest of five so we had about 140,000 people over.
With this in mind I got right to work when we got home for pizza.
First, I got the quilt and then I kicked off my shoes…. what? It was TACO PIZZA and it was Saturday. I mean, these naps don’t take themselves, people!!!!
Carrie was nice enough to keep the housecleaning and party set up to a dull roar while I thought about stuff.
Oh, and I was smart enough to tape the Husky game but not smart enough to tell everyone not to tell me the outcome.
What’s worse than watching the Husky’s get their helmets power-launched up their collective rectums?
Having the knowledge bequeathed to you as you are watching the game.
Sunday: Big Fall Festival
That brings us to today. In my never-ending quest to obey the M.S.H. approach to life (Make Shit Happen), I decided to take the family to Maris Farms where they have a Fall festival.
Was it worth 35 miles one way and $40 for us to get in?
You bet it was! It was a FALL FESTIVAL!
It had pumpkins, a corn maze, hayride, goats (yes, GOATS!!! I know!), baked corn, nachos, cherry lemonade, and funnel cakes!
I didn’t feel so good afterward. I took a nap.
But it was fun spending time with the kids. At first, they were all teenager-like and acted like “this is stupid” and “Dad, really?”
But there’s noting like getting lost in a muddy corn maze to bring kids back to being a kid. OK, maybe it was me too a little but it wasn’t long before we were laughing and enjoying the scenery.
I mean, a brisk day on a farm with trees shedding multi-colored leaves, pumpkins, and the spectacle of a Fall Festival with your kids? What could be better on an October Sunday?
Nothing, my friends, nothing.
F.M.L. of the Day: “Today, a friend of mine got a bit drunk, but said she was fine and didn’t feel drunk at all. I took her keys anyway and said she could sleep on my bed, while I slept on the floor next to the bed. I was rudely woken up in the middle of the night to her rolling over and vomiting on my face. FML.”