From the Hirp

It’s happened for a second time, and it’s even more annoying this time. Downtown Lee’s Summit is this really great little area, there’s some fantastic houses that Coco and I love, some good food, and neat shops. We love the area, and would one day like to live down there. About a month ago one of the cooler houses had a “For Rent” sign out front. So we stopped and picked up the flyer, which really didn’t help us at all. Not because it lacked info or anything, but it actually sounded even better. Stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors, big pluses for us. And the rent was really pretty reasonable. But shit, we know getting the place is the wrong decision.

We passed on it, and it was the smart move. As much as it sucks, we’re wanting to save for a house of our own. How many more stories can there be about this being the time to buy? Well, sure it is, if you have the loot, which we don’t right now. And to be honest, I could have a little more job security. I’ll admit it, I’ve been careless with my money. Not just occasionally, pretty much from 18 to 30, I was a complete idiot. So now, as embarrassing as it is, we’re paying the price for my stupidity. And that sucks, because I’d love to get us in a house.

And that’s why renting one is so tempting. Sure it would delay us owning one, but at least we’d be in a house until then. Apartments are fine, and the single Hirp, preferred apartment or at least, condo living. But that’s not me anymore. The things I want have changed, and I want room so the kid can have friends over, and even we can have company over. But we can’t move the kid again, that just wouldn’t be fair to her. That’d be down right shitty to do to her.

So of course, as I was driving through downtown last night, one of the houses we like most had that “for rent” sign in the front lawn. That damn sign just stood there, mocking me, taunting me and making me feel like shit. I don’t need a sign for that, that’s what my friends do. Oh, but if we had a house, our friends could come mock me and taunt me in the comfort of my own home. Damn you sign, revenge will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine. It may come in the form of my car running you down, or it may not. But I will have my revenge, rven if it’s just taking the dog for a walk, and letting her piss all over the sign. Maybe I’ll do it myself.

Tuesday Night Drama

By all appearances, it was just a typical Tuesday night, with a few subtle differences. There was no work Monday, so it kind of felt like a Monday night, and I had some work to do on a project. Nothing really out of the ordinary in any of that, except the whole me working story line. But then bed time came, which has been a big of an adventure the past few nights. The kid has been claiming to be pretty scared, and unable to go to sleep. It turns into a battle of wills, and we’ll never question how strong her will is. But there was a feeling that there was something more to her fears.

She claimed it was tornados, but it’s been about a month since we had to hide out in the shower while the sirens went off one night, and she hasn’t had trouble till now. Coco and I discussed the possibility that she’s actually scared or upset about school coming to an end, because she’s going to be going to summer school at a new school, and then next year, she’ll attend that new school. But she never mentioned it, and we were afraid to lead her down that path.

Then last night hit, and out came everything she thought. She wasn’t talking about being scared of any tornadoes, she was scared of change. She wanted to go back to when her mommy would lay with her every night until she drifted off to sleep. This happened back when Coco and I were only dating. She even went as far to say that I made her start going to bed without her mommy, and she just wants things to be like they were. And now everything has changed, and she doesn’t want anymore change. This is when I asked her if she’s worried about starting a new school, and she said yes.

For the most part, I don’t think this all came from her, and only her. I think there may have been some coaching from a third party, and to be honest, that blows. But I do believe, and understand, that the kid has seen some major changes in her life in the last 14 months or so. And it isn’t that she wants to undo those changes, she just doesn’t want to change schools. I can’t blame her; I hated changing schools, just as I still hate changing jobs. Change sucks for the most part.

But I would rather Jeff Gilluli take a whack at my knee with a crow-bar. I’d volunteer to have someone give me paper-cuts between my toes, stand in a pool of alcohol and have a donkey kick me in the nuts while watching Nascar in my very own Zubaz, than see this little girl so scared and upset. Just as I’m sure every good parent, feels the same way. And if you think, well, some parents actually enjoy Nascar and Zubaz (can you have one without the other?), remember that I specifically said “good parents” for a reason.

She'll be fine, there's more change coming this weekend. But she'll be happy about the new addition to the fam...not THAT kind. We're looking to get a dog, and hope to get her Sunday.

Thanks, Ma

I thank my mother for this. My wife probably doesn’t, and truth is, I’m not all that thankful for this little gift. It could be anxiety, not really paranoia, just a mind that worries too much. My mom is an early riser, doesn’t help that she gets in bed by 7:30. Okay, that’s not true, but, no later than 9, I shit you not. And then she gets up by 6am, and that’s sleeping in.

Then there are her “mornings” much like the one I’m having. They come along when there’s something going on at work that causes some stress. A deadline, some extra responsibility because someone is out of the office, or some sort of change. Then she’s up by 4am, and that’s the official “got physically out of bed” time. That doesn’t count for the two hours spent staring at the clock, justifying when she should get up.

And today, I am most definitely my mother’s son. With a pretty visible project going on at work, and lots of important eyes on me, and very little time to get this done, I woke up early. Hella early. I actually left the house a little before 5am today, and I know chances are I’ll get this done by 11, but I couldn’t chance it. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to rest enough to make it beneficial to me. So I dressed in the dark, made coffee by the light of my cell phone (its not for me, just my morning ritual, I’m the coffee guy), said my good-byes and hit the triangle.

And as much as I’ll be hating life at 2pm, hoping for a nap, I still kinda like this. There’s something really peaceful about being up so early. The Ritalin kicking in, so I’m not dosing, the anxious feeling my stomach that doubts I can pull this off, and the empty highway. I’m stuck somewhere between being someone who hates morning with a passion, and someone who likes to get an early start on the day.

But one thing I know for sure, is I love my naps. I just hope I get one in today, or I probably just screwed up my entire long weekend. My internal-clock may not get right for days.

Jeans Day

Jeans day, how did we ever fall for this? Mutter those two words in an office where the attire is business or business casual, and you’ll see a bunch of adults turn into salivating kids that can hear the ice cream man’s bell ringing blocks away. You work for a multi-million or billion dollar company, and the one sure fire perk they can occasionally offer, is to allow you to wear a pair of jeans. This some how makes up for the fact that you don’t get to spend time with your family and friends, or instead of playing golf you’re stuck in a cube, and you’re supposed to forget that you’re dream of driving cross country never came true. All because they were so grateful, that the only thing they could do to show you how much your blood, sweat and tears means, is to allow you to wear jeans.

What the hell is so great about jeans? They aren’t that much more comfortable than any other pair of pants, and they sure as shit aren’t cheaper any more. Is it because Fonzie wore jeans, sometimes jeans with holes, that we now thing they are the ultimate sign of rebellion? Are jeans a way to rebel? C’mon, that’s what you’re the wall paper on your monitor is for.

And then we get jeans on Fridays, because, well, my company just cares about us that much. It’s like we aren’t even working, because it’s the weekend, and I’m already wearing my weekend uniform. Except not really, they want us to wear nice shirts with the jeans. So we can look, like, well, we aren’t really wearing jeans. So I can’t wear my “Poker Players Love a Good Pair’ tee, and that’s fine, I can’t wear it at home anymore either. Amazing how things change when a kid learns how to read. Cosmo ends up upside down on the coffee table, or is only allowed in the restroom, and then I’m stuck reading it when I have to drop the kids off at the pool.

So if I’m feeling extra saucy, sometimes I’ll wear a vulgar tee shirt as an under shirt, and you know what, I don’t even need to wait for jeans day for that. Right now I could be wearing my “It’s Magically Delicous” tee under my button up. That’s just my way of telling my boss to, “suck it.”

Then they have the audacity to ask for donations for March of Dimes, and if we pony up, well then we can wear jeans for two, maybe even four weeks if you donate enough. And we can spot those cheap assholes, who obviously must hate kids, because they’re wearing slacks. Nice grade school psychology going on there, right up there with sitting at the cool table.

Jeans day is an insult, it’s that simple. I’m supposed to think this company cares more, because they allowed me to wear something I purchased and they wrote a rule against? Wow, they’re sure care about the employees. With such a willingness to bend the rules for is and all, I should never want to leave. What if my new employer didn’t allow such wonderful things as “wear different pants for a random day,” I’ll just feel so much more un-appreciated working for such a hateful company. Unless they pay me better, that always helps.

Waa

My job is pretty easy, the pay is okay, the company is iffy at best, the flexibility is great, and there’s maybe even room to grow. So I’ve come to the conclusion that I want a new job, timing never was a strength for me. I know how good I have it, I don’t have to work hard and all things considered, I decent coin. So I don’t love what I do, of all the people I know, I could count those who love their work on one hand and still have enough fingers to flip off the guy driving the pick-up on steroids that screams “over-compensation.”

But I don’t feel challenged, I often feel lost, completely un-inspired, and I feel this new stress from with-in to provide for my new family. But the grass isn’t always greener, and I know that. I have friends with what appear to be great careers, and make a very nice chunk of cash, but they don’t get to spend nearly as much time at home as I do. They deal with work around the clock, where as I pretty much leave it in my cube 30 minutes before I leave. I grew up with a father who traveled probably 40% of the time, and as much I would have loved to travel just 18 months ago, I can’t stand the thought of being gone for one night a month.

It doesn’t help that I’m not really sure what I want to do, only that there are a lot of things I don’t want to do. The thought of interacting with people I don’t know, well, is a less than pleasant thought. I’m good with joining a team, and working with those people, but having to sell myself to new people on a regular basis sounds as appealing as sitting next to a crying baby on an overseas flight.

A few people have suggested I get into writing, which I’d love. But shit, how? I don’t have a degree, and I’m pretty sure the stuff I wrote for the high school paper are as helpful as a note from my mom. So I’ve toiled with writing a screen play, which hit a bump after the first page. I started a book under the urging of my pops, and that hasn’t gone too well either. I can’t even update my blog as often as I used to. But I swear if someone is willing to give me 45 grand a year to write whatever comes to mind, I’ll wear out my keyboard. With both hands, not like college.

I search the job sites, and the one in 83 jobs that doesn’t sound like a work from home scam, seems to put too much emphasis on having a college degree. I get it, I should have one. But come on, the only people who really need one, are doctors. I really believe anything else can be learned. So then it comes down to my work experience, which doesn’t really make me all that attractive to someone hiring for a marketing position. I made glasses and did glorified data entry. By the way, I’m pretty sure this little ditty won’t be used as a cover letter. Although, maybe it should. Someone out there would have to appreciate the honesty right? I applied for a couple of writing related jobs earlier this week, and I tried to be a little different with my cover letter. I haven’t heard anything back yet either.

What kills me is everywhere you look, there’s something that made someone rich. The chair I’m sitting on, the mouse pad, my keyboard, the paperclips on my desk, the plastic cups, the friggin papers I haven’t looked at, the walls of the cube itself. Every single item, and all I can come up with is words for a blog that someone else is making money off of. Well, I’m going to take some time to slam my head on my desk now.

Hirpasms

Friday night Mrs. Hirp and I went to dinner with some friends, good times, yet uneventful. Then on the way home, I look in my rear view mirror ( I do that from time to time) and I see these headlights coming up on us in the passing lane. Now, these headlights weren’t just moving, they were hauling ass. When they passed us, we felt the car shake from the wind (I’m sure there’s a scientific name for it, but I don’t know it). And then suddenly there was another car, which I didn’t even see coming, that flew by us too, and the car shook again. We both commented on how we’d like to see them either “end up as spots on the highway,” or simply just, “crash.”

Seconds later we saw tail lights going in directions that were well, less than consistent than you’d expect from a car going down a straight path of highway and dust flew, and then we came on the scene. And low and behold, those little teenage shits wrecked. We’re not sure what happened, but based on the damage we could see, it appeared that the Acura had some how spun around, and in doing so made contact with the drivers side door of the Mustang. The Mustang was off to the left of the highway, and the Acura was on the shoulder on the right hand side of the highway. There was another vehicle, a mini-van of all things, parked in front of the Acura. And there were kids everywhere. Not in the, bodies littering the side of the highway like Keystone cans, but gathered like they do in front of McDonalds. No one seemed upset, no one appeared hurt, in fact they didn’t seem to even give a shit. Seriously, these punks were lucky to be alive, and they most upset kid looked like their phone dropped a call.

Our first reaction was amazement, amazed they weren’t affected. We were amazed that we sort of asked for this to happen, and amazed that these shits had such nice cars. We pulled over, called the po-po’s, and waited and observed everything. Then we decided there wasn’t really a reason for us to sit there any longer, and we drove off. It took seconds, maybe, and then we began to think about the fact that our six year-old was 10 years away tops, from being in cars with idiots like the one’s we just saw. And panic set in. Sympathy for the parents of those morons was next; those poor saps were just getting the most terrifying phone calls of their lives.

10 years, that’s how long I have to convince this girl not to date and that using a bicycle is the best way to get around. Wish me luck.

***

I really need to start buying Powerball tickets. We keep talking about what we’d do if we win, but that probably won’t happen if we don’t buy a ticket. And I don’t see any other way for me to come into money, unless I jerk-off onto a $20 bill.

Yesterday at lunch, a waitress at Longbranch lost the diamond from her wedding ring. Not known for their service, we were treated to watching the entire staff perform a Fugitive-worthy hunt for this rock. I just hope they washed their hands after crawling around on less-than sterile floors.

I’m a little nervous; tomorrow I have to present some team builder ideas to my director and her managers. My public speaking skills are more than lacking. To speak like President Bush would be an upgrade, although I’d like to refrain from making a stupid face anytime I think I make a point. So tonight I won’t sleep, and I’ll get up there slur my words like Mel Gibson at a sobriety check point. Bad times.

By the way, this is post #401. That's the scary stat of the day.

From the Hirp

Here is something I can not understand, why is Barak Obama catching all this crap for Reverend Wright’s statements, yet the church he’s associated with is being given a pass. We want to hold Obama responsible, on some level, for the way another man feels, yet the organization this man works for hasn’t been asked to do anything? What a crock of spit. Rev. Wright doesn’t speak for Obama, but he is a voice for the Church. But I guess if he’s building a 10,000 sq ft house as I heard he is, someone else is probably making even more money off this guy.

Is it in poor taste that the special edition DVD of Twister is coming out tomorrow? Will they edit out the tornadoes so the survivors of this past weeks twisters won’t be upset? Or is it just in bad taste to release such a piece of shit movie? Helen Hunt, what were you thinking? Flying cows, ‘nuff said.

Was there a more upsetting story in the news last week, than the revelation that Barbra Walters had an affair? I don’t care when it happened, that’s a visual our country doesn’t need. I will now jab thump tacks into my eyes.

What kind of odds is Vegas giving that Miley Cyrus ends up in rehab? Over or under 16? These girls get all the headlines for the situations they get in, but why isn’t more time spent looking at their parents? I have a much bigger issue with a father whoring out his kid than I do a 15 year old trying to be sexy. Billy Ray, Joe Simpson, Britney’s mom, and Lindsay Lohan’s mom all need to spend a few years in prison.

Get Showtime ordered now, and rent the DVDs so you’re all caught up. Californiacation season 2 and Weed’s season 4 are set to debut June 14th. Entourage is scheduled for a Sept 28th debut.