tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50310838178582326602024-02-19T03:28:31.340-08:00What The ...Random thoughts of an "average" mind...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-44012221131261332242011-09-27T14:56:00.000-07:002011-09-27T15:06:48.326-07:00Too Much Free Time...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTCsRuIXDMyGofBvU4r9k7cT4xREShoXGUT8eWg-Luv7-tx7KEgTQZS9iSqYw9u5vT4LLJ3Fwu346k5AGbMIqSVGXSJt2x3nd8l_aczswwF6Woy69MRFmn-MU0f5Yoj38F168YRBKokpx/s1600/tiff2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTCsRuIXDMyGofBvU4r9k7cT4xREShoXGUT8eWg-Luv7-tx7KEgTQZS9iSqYw9u5vT4LLJ3Fwu346k5AGbMIqSVGXSJt2x3nd8l_aczswwF6Woy69MRFmn-MU0f5Yoj38F168YRBKokpx/s400/tiff2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657162044234143298" /></a><br />I Love Photoshop...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-2163063133610047512011-07-14T23:01:00.000-07:002011-07-14T23:50:17.706-07:00Trailer Trash... or Treasure?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVFQUYeuJADThLqIl0PRq1Li7efHxXU8oocebgdA1x1oRyrAP3eswTyXsh9xDsBP_zK1FWpt1e_s0sS5WHsIU8d_3s0-gYC0hyphenhyphen8byplBShuQMNU9hwKl-QGf08LgqTrzekFQs70E1tWhG/s1600/126920882915naN1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVFQUYeuJADThLqIl0PRq1Li7efHxXU8oocebgdA1x1oRyrAP3eswTyXsh9xDsBP_zK1FWpt1e_s0sS5WHsIU8d_3s0-gYC0hyphenhyphen8byplBShuQMNU9hwKl-QGf08LgqTrzekFQs70E1tWhG/s400/126920882915naN1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629462934965390258" /></a><br />Greetings Websurfing aficionados! For some strange reason you have found yourselves here at my blog and for that, I apologize. I have just returned from school with a load of homework, a kitchen to clean and have spent the last hour watching nothing but movie trailers... I'm the kind of movie goer who hates missing the trailers at the beginning of a film.<br /><br />Why would anyone bother to watch movie trailers with so many daunting tasks ahead of him? Because first off, homework is boring. Secondly, I find the anticipation you experience when you watch a movie to be much like that before a first date. You may be scratching your head and wondering what I am talking about, but think back to your first date and apply it to a movie.<br /><br />You know what I mean right? It always starts out the same with the trailer. Seeing something interesting out of the corner of your eye. The flash of color and the compelling places you have always wanted to see. The movie intrigues you. This may apply to even movies your are publicly opposed to, but privately long to see and to know. The captivation you feel when you see mere glimpses of what may be hidden within it's depths. The excitement builds as you buy your ticket and are welcomed into the velvety depths of the theater. And then... BLAH BLAH BLAH, SNORE FEST, YOU GET NO ACTION, and then you are calling your friends the next day, telling them how much of a loser your Movie was and you warn your friends to stay away ( I'm looking at you M Night Shyamalan).<br /><br />Watching a bad movie is like expecting a kiss at the door and getting a hearty handshake instead (which has happened by the way). But you will always have that magical wistful moment of what could have been before you actually saw The Green Lantern or Year One or Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'hoole or The Last Airbender. <br /><br />Ultimately though, it's about personal preference. Let's face it, like people, the movies you love will always be one that touches you inside. Your friends will always wonder how you ever fell in love with a movie like MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING with it's strange accent, and nerdy main characters, but you will always see the intelligent, romantic, endearing and humorous movie that your construction buddies will never understand!<br /><br />Check out trailers on the web if you don't believe me. Time to hit the books...<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-29126060360863557042011-05-19T11:49:00.000-07:002011-05-19T12:22:34.998-07:00Apocalypse now?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UTpq1pYAXeqWSKjWgHAG9Sd3zi-r7bZVYsCudUto2C572mpj8SS4o-DaJf80VHagBds-pt7WGNcmlIZzEw5cuu_H1WmuhQEFAhaaLMLhxD-wfGTZKiSTQj0778HHTzSIKm0tGOJFq-5g/s1600/JudgmentDayBillboard_620x350.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UTpq1pYAXeqWSKjWgHAG9Sd3zi-r7bZVYsCudUto2C572mpj8SS4o-DaJf80VHagBds-pt7WGNcmlIZzEw5cuu_H1WmuhQEFAhaaLMLhxD-wfGTZKiSTQj0778HHTzSIKm0tGOJFq-5g/s320/JudgmentDayBillboard_620x350.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608501654191905346" /></a> So has anyone seen the judgement day billboards around town? Time to start editing those bucket lists, because in two days most people won't have time to climb <span style="font-weight:bold;">Mt. Everest</span>, See a <span style="font-weight:bold;">U2 concert</span>, swim with dolphins or fight<span style="font-weight:bold;"> Mike Tyson</span>. Most guys bucket lists will probably be reduced to two things... Eat a steak and touch a boobie. I'm not really sure what method the Almighty will use to wipe us off the planet, but I would like to think it's going down Zombie Apocalypse Style. I think it will be the most exciting way to do it. So examine the picture below and determine your number... I would like to think that I am #5. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eD0TuGT_d9mzphKvxo-Mr9OlPQ2OUIW_S9CKtHhJJhvNKA6eh6PJ52PNY20RvVK2-i5VOV8LJskr9W46HQ-1uMYAcuuSSCKZ-Iqwlpw2zgqLAVBArIYwO793jtCKR-ZhhbrncCpUQxG4/s1600/incase-of-zombies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eD0TuGT_d9mzphKvxo-Mr9OlPQ2OUIW_S9CKtHhJJhvNKA6eh6PJ52PNY20RvVK2-i5VOV8LJskr9W46HQ-1uMYAcuuSSCKZ-Iqwlpw2zgqLAVBArIYwO793jtCKR-ZhhbrncCpUQxG4/s400/incase-of-zombies.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608505203704094882" /></a><br /><br />The only thing that I regret is that God would schedule the End of Days in the middle of my birthday "Pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey," game. This is gonna be a fun filled birthday for me. So start stocking up on Shotguns and baseball bats, Watch some <span style="font-weight:bold;">Shawn of the Dead</span> and <span style="font-weight:bold;">Zombieland</span> for survival tips, and work on that bucket list.<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-80314908934096994302011-04-04T16:09:00.000-07:002011-04-04T16:58:33.625-07:00Eyebrows...The other night, I was laying on my bed and my beloved fiancee decides it would be fun to start plucking my eyebrows. I did try to resist, but there was nothing I could do, without throwing her bodily off the bed. Eventually, with much crying and pleading... on my part I finally give in, and she starts the process of emasculating me via eyebrow tweezers. Each hair she pulls feels like a burning needle being shoved into my skull, all the while she comments on how wimpy I am because I am sobbing like a little girl who has just finished watching Ol' Yeller for the first time. Minutes pass, feeling like hours, while she happily hums a nameless tune and I am sure that I have passed out at least twice. She sports a self-satisfied grin as she announces triumphantly that she is done. While I gingerly touch the slightly swollen flesh, that use to be my eyebrows, she steps back to admire her handy work. And then I hear it... Possibly the worst thing a vulnerable individual could hear in my position.<br /><br />"...oh..."<br /><br />I stop dead... And all I can can do is whisper one shaky word... <br /><br />"...mirror..."<br /><br />After a few minutes of assurances that " oh, it doesn't look bad," and outright refusals to retrieve a mirror, I finally wrestle one out of her death grip. She then frantically explains that she had gotten a little carried away and put a little too much "arch" in my left brow. I am shocked to find that my left brow looked like it was half an inch higher than my right. She then chooses that moment to announce, mid laugh, that she is going to let me walk around ... " looking suspicious". I blurt out that I look like I am slighty confused or bewildered. Eventually she stops laughing and wipes the tears from her eyes. And I endure another eternity of searing pain to achieve semitry on my face.<br /><br />So if you see me on the street with a slightly surprised look on my face... It's the brows not me.<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-37424088100664570792011-02-14T02:17:00.000-08:002011-02-14T02:49:21.866-08:00First V Day...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ8DYPBB_UaC6q5ZBpxvKG0uRbLvYfYGQ_kio_spT9YFUO-QdyDgZDD-Q-uGveWeaSfEIzZq2vVFfTOeytoeKdKLBVPAtDd5XJl7bp170LZ6313a3BO7D5E_p929NqbVEvKQuV48_uVNAF/s1600/Heart.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ8DYPBB_UaC6q5ZBpxvKG0uRbLvYfYGQ_kio_spT9YFUO-QdyDgZDD-Q-uGveWeaSfEIzZq2vVFfTOeytoeKdKLBVPAtDd5XJl7bp170LZ6313a3BO7D5E_p929NqbVEvKQuV48_uVNAF/s320/Heart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573495143428217938" /></a><br />Usually I have a tough time finding a subject to blog about because of the randomness of my thoughts, but today being Valentine's Day makes it easy...<br /><br />I just wanted to post about my girl. This is our first Valentine's Day together and I thought I would make an abbreviated list of why I never stood a chance when I met her.<br /><br /><br /><br />She is the world to me and is super special. <br />She attracts black dudes like a flower attracts bees.<br />She has the most beautiful eyes that I've ever seen.<br />She calls me out on all the stupid stuff I do.<br />She is bugged by the same things I am bugged about.<br />She is WICKED HOTT!!! (and yes, she warrants two "t"s)<br />She is also SUPER SUPER smart.<br />She makes my life worth living.<br />She makes me question my sanity sometimes.<br />She drives me crazy every time I see her, in a good way.<br />She didn't like me the first time she met me.<br />She tried on multiple occasions to hook me up with her friends.<br />She drives me crazy... sometimes <br />She is a Democrat, which is awesome in to find in Utah.<br />She finds me attractive, which is hard for me to wrap my head around.<br />She makes me miss her when she isn't around.<br />She is better than me.<br />She is a super graceful dancer.<br />She is in love with me.<br />She makes me want to be a better man for her...<br /><br />I know this is a short list, but I don't want to sound too sappy on this V Day. I am lucky to have such a wonderful woman. <br /><br />We recently started taking this intro to ballroom dance class and I gotta tell you that I love it. This is the kind of thing that she does for me. Makes me expand my horizons.<br /><br />She is also a little offended that I think I can beat her at Jeopardy... I still think I can, but then again she is wicked smart... so it's really a tough call. She does beat me at Scrabble on a regular basis though. <br /><br />She is the driving force behind everything good I do in my life and no words can express how much I love her. If all people in the world could find a person like this to share a life with, We would all be better off.<br /><br />Happy Valentines Day to you my love and thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-86569809644166024432011-01-20T07:34:00.000-08:002011-01-20T08:34:50.335-08:00It's decided... I AM STRONG LIKE BULLFor weeks I've been hearing about a change in the zodiac calender. I didn't really think anything about it until my little sister posted something on Facebook about how she is still a Cancer no matter what anyone says. So, finally, I decided to see what all the hullabaloo was about and found out a few... weird things. <br /><br />Apparently, Minnesota is where the change in the Zodiac Charts took place...MINNESOTA? I always thought that their only contribution to society would be the NFL team the Vikings. I didn't realize that they were also the Astrological capitol of the world. It just seems kinda weird to me that one guy says that we need a new sign for horoscopes and everyone in the world just immediately agrees. I wonder if there is a group of astrologists out there that are trying to resist... you know like that fifth dentist who hates Trident gum. I can imagine them in a bunker somewhere in Texas going over star charts, plotting to overthrow the astrological regime in Minnesota.<br /><br />The new sign is called <span style="font-weight:bold;">Ophiuchus</span> /<span style="font-style:italic;">O`phi*u"chus</span>/ and it is delineated as a man holding a serpent in his hands. Kind of creepy sounding right, but then you look at the other signs that are scorpions, archers, creepy twins, and so on then it's not so bad. The dates for the new sign are Nov. 29 - Dec. 17.<br /><br />The final little tidbit I discovered is that they changed the signs because of the shift in the Earth's axis, which I can get behind because it's science. So what does all this have to do with my title? For years I've been a "fence sitter" of signs. My birthday is was on a cusp between Taurus and Gemini not really a big deal, but It's kind of like being caught in the middle of the Montague v. Capulet astrologically. I was never able to pick a side, but with the new sign throwing a monkey wrench in the whole thing, I am now firmly in the Taurus camp... Go Montague.<br /><br />Thanks for the vent sessionBIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-74663386895590238092011-01-18T21:54:00.001-08:002011-01-18T23:01:04.012-08:00The BIggest Mistake of Her Life...It's been a little while Internet... <br /><br />A great many things have happened in my life since my last blog. The most important of which is that I got engaged. Crazy right? So I'm gonna tell you how it happened whether you're interested or not.<br /><br />It's not really a romantic story, but it is kind of unconventional:<br /><br />My younger brother was married the weekend before Thanksgiving and my girlfriend and I flew down to Long Beach for the wedding and decided to spend the week there for the holiday. The wedding was a very happy occasion for my family. So naturally, suddenly finding myself to be the only one of the boys in my family to be unmarried, I became the focus of matrimonial speculation. I hadn't planned on being engaged for a very long time, but jokes about a future wedding started to fly like snow in a blizzard. <br /><br />My girlfriend and I are both 30 years old. In the Polynesian community, as well as the Mormon community, being unmarried at that age is unheard of. We might as well have been some kind of sideshow attraction for all the peculiar looks that we received, but we both felt there was really no big rush to get married... Fastfoward three days from my little brother's wedding...<br /><br />My father and I are driving somewhere, I think it might have been back from the grocery store for the traditional Thanksgiving fare, and my Dad is <span style="font-weight:bold;">STILL</span> spewing jokes like they were going out of style. Then he asks me when we are gonna get married. I say "Let's go get a ring then..." and he promptly almost crashes the car. Needless to say I am very pleased by the reaction.<br /><br />By the smile that split his face, you would have thought I told him that I was going to give him $100,000,000 in cash. He tells me that he is going to come home early from work, which is a miracle in it's own right, and we will go downtown to get a ring. <br /><br />For those of you who don't know, Downtown Los Angles is a shopper's paradise and my girlfriend wanted to go shopping for a few things. So my entire family, which include Both my brothers and their wives, My teenage sister, My parents, my six year old niece and 17 month old nephew, jump in the car with my girlfriend and me and happily drive downtown. At this point my girlfriend has no idea that we were going ring shopping.<br /><br />We arrive at the jewelery district. My girlfriend, who had also been assaulted with the marriage talks since my brother's wedding, was happy to leave the jewelery store when she saw that my dad was looking at rings and had a crazy twinkle in his eye. So my sister and my girlfriend go looking for earrings and I pretend to go look at watches. I find a ring but quickly realize that I don't know her ring size... so I call my sister. My sister being a teenager, hatches an elaborate plan to find out my girlfriends ring size... and to my surprise pulls it off. I buy the ring and we leave. It's at this moment that it dawns on me that I have no idea when I'm going to pop the question. <br /><br />At about 11 p.m. that night, my girlfriend asks me if I can take her to the store for some medicine, so we hop in the car and start driving around. I decide to do it then, but have no plan on how to execute. So I start taking her on an impromptu tour of my old hangouts. I take her to one of my favorite spots in the city, a breakwater in the Long Beach Harbor. <span style="font-weight:bold;">BREAKWATER:</span> <span style="font-style:italic;">n</span>. <span style="font-style:italic;">structures constructed on coasts as part of coastal defence or to protect an anchorage from the effects of weather and longshore drift</span>. We reach the end and you can see the entire city... I am standing behind her with my arms around her as she is taking in the sight. And then I just pop the box open right in front of her face. The fact that she was speechless was astounding since she always has something to say.<br /><br />She turns around slowly and I drop to a knee, landing it on a sharp rock, but I remain undeterred. All I say is I love you... Marry me... and wait. Let me tell you, the 10 seconds it took her to answer seemed like an eternity. She starts to cry and says yes. She will contest that I cried first. If I did, it was because of that sharp rock that I was kneeling on. And just like that... two people, who profess that they will never marry are engaged.<br /><br />This is the short version of the story.<br /><br />Thanks for the vent session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-88513755144041604592010-10-11T16:49:00.000-07:002010-10-11T17:15:11.380-07:00Bring it on rain, wind, cold, snow....sob...So I guess the summer is finally gone and fall, or autumn whichever your mom told you was right, is upon us. I had a good summer. Lots of laughs, first time in court, first auto accident, and first vacation with my girlfriend... followed by numbers two, three, four, and five. I'll stop there before I start to sound like an episode of Sesame Street. I would like to take this time to bid farewell to summer by starting a new job at Hill AFB... in the freezing rain...sob.<br /><br />I've been on the job for about a week and already the base is on High Alert( I don't know if that's secret or not... don't tell anyone please.), we've had a nuclear drill, chemical drill, air raid drills, thunderstorms, tornado warnings, and work called off because of the possibility of being struck by lightning. I was told under no circumstances to go near the jets because I might get sucked into them, and if I pass a certain fence, I will be treated like a terrorist and shot in the face... maybe. Actually the safety guy was unsure if I would get shot or tackled by three guys. He actually gave me a second look and said "maybe six in your case..." but regardless of how many guys, we wouldn't be able to leave the base for many hours. But on the plus side, there's a Popeye's Chicken on base...Yummmm. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6XTo_6XcKDvFyCeRl-kGZpb6wT2FN-zr13RBboqhqBu8eiRTHRV0WnCWFWVmXWwNx0Hzxbc2ZjKyUNBEBgzNUGCuZuDTE98ZmdjnHRdTqXwgO92yG84ShpllQraFYiliig1XAayvvHYn/s1600/popeyes.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6XTo_6XcKDvFyCeRl-kGZpb6wT2FN-zr13RBboqhqBu8eiRTHRV0WnCWFWVmXWwNx0Hzxbc2ZjKyUNBEBgzNUGCuZuDTE98ZmdjnHRdTqXwgO92yG84ShpllQraFYiliig1XAayvvHYn/s320/popeyes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526944830999622546" /></a>You know you're jealous. Kinda makes the possibility of being sent to GITMO worth it. So with a hearty "Fair-thee-well" to the carefree days of summer. I turn with a slight glistening in my eye to face the coming Fall and eventually Winter. I plant my feet in the sand and roar a defiant "BRING IT ON!!!" to the icy grip of the elements ahead of me...This blog was brought to you by the letter Q<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-62236260867965073352010-08-19T00:10:00.000-07:002010-08-19T01:03:48.917-07:00Strangest city in Utah...<span style="font-style:italic;">I can imagine that Ogden would want to use this post in their tourist pamphlets</span>:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Welcome to Ogden.</span> <br />While walking down the street I came across this little sign which is posted on a major street.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih7K0sWzWsh3ygsKLELbHNotkTzrMRRU8O9lXX8hQnW1jBK3W68E8u-oHgRabU-VTGpSkXdPQRmuUOToNJgL9XJ1rfsHuO3ZnY2cDSOrl_EEiprnDwmIGoBmQ_LkO-X1obbtKQTi6YCmJQ/s1600/IMG_1316.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih7K0sWzWsh3ygsKLELbHNotkTzrMRRU8O9lXX8hQnW1jBK3W68E8u-oHgRabU-VTGpSkXdPQRmuUOToNJgL9XJ1rfsHuO3ZnY2cDSOrl_EEiprnDwmIGoBmQ_LkO-X1obbtKQTi6YCmJQ/s320/IMG_1316.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507020802123081410" /></a><br />I'm not really sure how to take this... what exactly is in Ogden that is so valuable that they are prepared for an eminent nuclear attack? Maybe these beauties?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWET9dIoDPDZj_TyoJbRxFhKd3bY_25SefGv-dG_Gri6CLe8E_z_pkzVetUQ_RBobR-QrZ-w4sL0VZGfyfNokvar-jsONiQALtGc4Qs_9sqxpk9p5ZsdP0ZGAZi82shhqGzUiubPna8br0/s1600/IMG_1313.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWET9dIoDPDZj_TyoJbRxFhKd3bY_25SefGv-dG_Gri6CLe8E_z_pkzVetUQ_RBobR-QrZ-w4sL0VZGfyfNokvar-jsONiQALtGc4Qs_9sqxpk9p5ZsdP0ZGAZi82shhqGzUiubPna8br0/s320/IMG_1313.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507022020033772882" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-Aaol-FDdf4U8UyhxyAkvSAfV0LdmZC-TdaxhpyKF6CKvhuZbaiaUpleXginERHzviWiwwj2kDblW6HA6t7EZpiIJlA6FqE-XAHak7z00y1rFJ8PnQ1g7El1SngYpT-nLgtkduk9I_XH/s1600/IMG_1312.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-Aaol-FDdf4U8UyhxyAkvSAfV0LdmZC-TdaxhpyKF6CKvhuZbaiaUpleXginERHzviWiwwj2kDblW6HA6t7EZpiIJlA6FqE-XAHak7z00y1rFJ8PnQ1g7El1SngYpT-nLgtkduk9I_XH/s320/IMG_1312.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507022009906825074" /></a><br />Rare specimens indeed. Ogden has a "beautiful" city hall where, within ten steps, you can get a marriage license and visit your abusive soon-to-be spouse without the pesky inconvenience of guards.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqc4lphbSsdyF1TNDQHGfoskBmdbdeY9FZe8rTPs5rGybGn2kGgSxO1-aVYF_5VhFUnEeA1jFovJBAG0zuTOhCpp681pfhylTn0MyyQB0pdTD6sWj-PXo0bhyByFKcLx8JczcaNqYDhuN/s1600/IMG_1314.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqc4lphbSsdyF1TNDQHGfoskBmdbdeY9FZe8rTPs5rGybGn2kGgSxO1-aVYF_5VhFUnEeA1jFovJBAG0zuTOhCpp681pfhylTn0MyyQB0pdTD6sWj-PXo0bhyByFKcLx8JczcaNqYDhuN/s320/IMG_1314.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507023832702813506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-s6YOC2GAjQE-H_ZR4DMgj9iuxypv7TJfgImuhyxkfkl2l2pHvGtNWHkcWC8oMduIXo-7aFjXYt04RdBFhj2yazFozBP5TmBVuShtUnRaPqQvzBZMW83ePfQBKR_GmJZ7tiaSq9MPSQKO/s1600/IMG_1315.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-s6YOC2GAjQE-H_ZR4DMgj9iuxypv7TJfgImuhyxkfkl2l2pHvGtNWHkcWC8oMduIXo-7aFjXYt04RdBFhj2yazFozBP5TmBVuShtUnRaPqQvzBZMW83ePfQBKR_GmJZ7tiaSq9MPSQKO/s320/IMG_1315.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507023823655541234" /></a><br />but the best parts are the businesses here in this wonderful city where you can get your car detailed and be entertained by child neglect while you wait.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKRUiDClCyluq_qPtuINZDErIojgZMVjsMFNjPS-Ffo9fgsJnDMaPtnJ8e3noF2a7gRDciGHmDM3wl-NdGV8m-Ss28MCqmR3LFjzem4QUyzaZjPKkQhu_9WfS91Tf00A7cs-BXqQmQKKC/s1600/IMG_1317.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKRUiDClCyluq_qPtuINZDErIojgZMVjsMFNjPS-Ffo9fgsJnDMaPtnJ8e3noF2a7gRDciGHmDM3wl-NdGV8m-Ss28MCqmR3LFjzem4QUyzaZjPKkQhu_9WfS91Tf00A7cs-BXqQmQKKC/s320/IMG_1317.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507024380506148706" /></a><br />This poor kid was alone screaming his head off in the detailers office... but hey they did a great job on my girlfriends car...Shiny. So the next time you're in northern Utah, please visit Ogden... I know hardened ex cons that would be afraid to walk these streets at night. Enjoy!<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-36788177889185922612010-07-20T16:20:00.000-07:002010-07-20T17:20:27.424-07:00Attacked and sad...<span style="font-style:italic;">Please note that my views are my own and do not reflect the views of any other individuals or organization... thanks and much love<br /></span><br /> I just finished watching a movie about proposition 8 in California and the role the Mormon Church had in passing that proposition. First off, I am a Mormon. That being said, I believe that <span style="font-weight:bold;">any</span> man or woman have the right to live their lives as they wish. I am not gay, but I don't condemn homosexuals because it's not my place to judge anybody. I have gay friends and relatives, who I love dearly. But this movie made me feel like I was under attack for my beliefs.<br /><br />I was raised to believe that the relationship a person has with God was his own concern. The Church leadership did ask people to support the proposition because the Mormon view of marriage is that it is a sacred bond between Man, Woman, and God. I support that. I'm not exactly sure if the Gay community ever involve God into their marriage vows because none of my gay friends seem to want to get married...(maybe because most of them are men and, as any woman will tell you, men have commitment issues.)<br /><br />I personally feel that the whole gay marriage issue is more of a "right to do something" thing than a "we're gonna screw with God and all religion" thing. Maybe some people feel that way. But as far as I am concerned, God gave us each the right to choose and we will deal with it when we see him individually. I don't care if homosexuals marry... let them find their happiness while they have their time on earth, just like I would hope that they let me find mine.<br /><br />The movie I was watching did portray Mormons as Blindly Obedient and Mindless. That is where I have issue with the film. I am no ones puppet and to be called one offends me greatly. Members of the Church, and other churches who supported Prop 8, did the most American thing possible and cast a ballot. The political process wasn't cheated, nobody was stopped from voting at their polling locations, the simple truth is that prop 8 was passed because more people voted for it than against it. To persecute Mormons for what they believe would be just as wrong as persecuting Homosexuals for what they believe.<br /><br />I'm all for Gays and Lesbians having their freedoms. Just beat them at the polls next election.<br /><br />Thanks for the vent session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-72525799947939082182010-06-17T22:58:00.000-07:002010-06-18T19:18:18.456-07:00The Squeeze...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_LOT2IM-vW9Fy9ZaO7pUZNjEcpEV3eRX9-iK2uKUXGhUPPPTKUHtOnc4PLLgCzNtkiJJ-LZAT0z5X-I1H3Xs0tg0XP7iM-WvJ_NPiMaFlc8yyP9lxJCA6nWqc1Z_sPMMDHyjRcahBkS3/s1600/wedding-rings-3d-thumb2188633.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 281px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_LOT2IM-vW9Fy9ZaO7pUZNjEcpEV3eRX9-iK2uKUXGhUPPPTKUHtOnc4PLLgCzNtkiJJ-LZAT0z5X-I1H3Xs0tg0XP7iM-WvJ_NPiMaFlc8yyP9lxJCA6nWqc1Z_sPMMDHyjRcahBkS3/s320/wedding-rings-3d-thumb2188633.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484303402911050514" /></a><br /><br />Just got back from sunny California the other day. The weather was perfect, the beach was amazing and had some good food. It was a mini-vacation/performance trip. On this trip, with my girlfriend in tow, I was able to visit with my parents. Most of my friends and family just recently found out that we were an item, so we have been the center of a whole barrage of probing questions.<br /><br />My father, being my father, is as subtle as a punch in the face. He sits us down and the first thing out of his mouth is "So... What's the hold up? When are you guys gonna get married?" Oh the awkwardness that was felt by all. Then he proceeds to give us an hour long lecture why we should get married. Followed by my mom. My poor girlfriend.<br /><br />It didn't end there. We get home and I get the speech from my older brother. Meanwhile my girl gets it from her folks in Idaho. And finally... we go to babysit my nephew for a couple of hours. Having a good time waiting for my sister-in-law to come back from the dentist with my niece. She gets home and we are talking about the kids. I go to the bathroom and when I come back... you guessed it... my sister-in-law is giving the speech to my girl.<br /><br />My sister-in-law and my brother dated for 10 years before they got married. I always thought they would be the last ones to lecture us about getting married so soon. It's not that I don't want to get married. I love my girlfriend, it's just I don't wanna hear about it from every single person who knows my name...<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-61234390445457661302010-06-17T03:03:00.000-07:002010-06-17T03:36:17.569-07:00Propositioned... Ewwww...The other day I was leaving my girlfriends house downtown. I decided to stop over at the 7-11 to grab a drink. In front of the store I noticed a couple of people who appeared to be transients, a male and a female, but there are usually a few there so I didn't give it another thought. I buy my drink and head for the truck. I roll down my window and the female approaches me with a gapped toothed smile. Me being me, I start to fish out my wallet because I assume that she is gonna ask for a couple of bucks to help her out... silly me. We had a short conversation.<br /><br />Female: "Hey, got a question for ya."<br />Me: "What's up?"<br />Female: "You a cop?"<br />Me: "Nah."<br />Female: "Lookin' for a girl tonight?"<br />Me: "... uh... Nah."<br /><br />Off I drive wondering if that really happened. WHAT THE CRAP?<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-2850654211213182472010-04-29T01:31:00.001-07:002010-04-29T01:47:06.757-07:00Dear Internet...Dear Internet,<br /><br />It's been a while since you and I spoke. I feel bad for not calling for a while, but I find it hard to believe that you've missed the likes of me. I wanted to say that I've missed the your pop up adds about cleaning supplies, and male enhancement supplements. But you have been a dirty, dirty, info highway. You have been with every guy who happens to come your way and who knows what bugs and viruses you have been spreading along the way. But I still love you and feel like we can work things out. <br /><br />I will try to see you as often as I can. My friends think that I have neglected your advances and constant updates. Hopefully we can get to a place where we can enjoy coffee shops together, rant about outrageous topics like health care, the starving children of the world, global warming and if Batman can win in a one-on-one fight with Superman. If not, hopefully we can work out a visitation agreement with your offspring e-mail and facebook.<br /><br />Look forward to Blogging again<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent SessionBIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-18019926155676588982010-02-04T23:23:00.000-08:002010-02-05T00:18:00.075-08:00Random Fears...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVz5loFr5jX3GM0BucD9lteYYL5nw8Kb94Ratbx3l4qkq1VzhKmaRZmt9dXJ8oj9DbZA-tM6HukmiTl3U0TwgzbhvE4_YwjatKPRrrMmAXgveteiNdoyMOVLnIE3_MZWZWpwHfh3CmsPl/s1600-h/fear.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVz5loFr5jX3GM0BucD9lteYYL5nw8Kb94Ratbx3l4qkq1VzhKmaRZmt9dXJ8oj9DbZA-tM6HukmiTl3U0TwgzbhvE4_YwjatKPRrrMmAXgveteiNdoyMOVLnIE3_MZWZWpwHfh3CmsPl/s320/fear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434666615002138722" border="0" /></a><br />Lately, fellow bloggers have been telling me to blog something. When I say "tell" I actually mean yelling at me (you know who you are). I usually write about things that happen to me, but nothing interesting has happened to me...well nothing that I am allowed to write about legally anyway (again you know who you are). So I thought I would flip on the ol' TV for some inspiration and caught a little bit of Dr. Phil or some other guy who was trying to help people with their problems. The shows subject was about irrational fears. That got the wheels-a-turnin' so I thought I would list a few of mine. Just to show everyone that I a human... kind of.<br /><br />1) Spiders... give me the willies every time I see them<br /><br />2) When I was in high school, my drivers education teacher told me a story once. He use to be a C.H.P. officer ( That's California Highway Patrol or Chippies to you non-Californians) and was at a hospital filling out a report, when in comes a guy to the emergency room with his finger in his nostril to the knuckle. He stared in amazement as this unfortunate man was wheeled past him. My teacher asked the paramedic what had happened. The paramedic replied, failing to keep a straight face and laughter out of his voice, that the man with his finger in his nose was picking his nose and failed to see the car stop in front of him. So now I am scared to death every time I feel an itch inside my nose while driving.<br /><br />3) The Boogie Man<br /><br />4) Door-to-door sales people. I hate being rude to them so I always hear them out. I guess I am more annoyed with them than fearful.<br /><br />5) did I mention Spiders?<br /><br />6) The dead eyes of porcelain dolls or even worse... Faceless porcelain dolls. My aunt had a faceless porcelain doll on her television set and I swear even though it didn't have eyes, it was staring at me.<br /><br />7) Being thought of as a liar.<br /><br />8) Drinking expired milk.<br /><br />9) Carnival folk or "carnies"... Small hands. Smell like cabbage.<br /><br />These are some of the irrational fears that I must deal with everyday. Fear is one of those weird emotions that can drive people to shut themselves inside their homes for 50 years. I was watching a cartoon with my niece called <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Astrix and The Vikings</span> (great movie by the way). At the very end Astrix asks his village wise man Get-a-fix what use does fear have. Get-a-fix replies that fear is were courage comes from. For true courage is overcoming your fears. Never thought I would find a nugget of wisdom like that in a cartoon. By the way, if you are a Carney and are offended by my last item on the list. I am truly sorry about that. I thought it would be funny to include. If you have any complaints please contact:<br /><br />Somebody who gives a crap or New Line Cinema for letting that one into <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery</span>. New Line Cinema will most likely refer you back to that first guy.<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-29703374770594803502010-01-18T20:28:00.000-08:002010-01-18T21:31:42.607-08:00Spot the D-Bag!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTd4Z7DXmkDXX62_ES-aefvg7c95QRBMmfgZpDRoulp28paYs-FwIfcQLE9YFGt8JERhAaSdm7fIlTOJiCAvRWeqdGV1NlUCMilZps0LvcmsRNKikkfr01WdSInK_PhyphenhyphenM8ceMBStXkaC0I/s1600-h/Youre-Right-Naked-D-Bag-Playing-Guitar-Hero-WE-Are-Ones-Suck_500x500.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTd4Z7DXmkDXX62_ES-aefvg7c95QRBMmfgZpDRoulp28paYs-FwIfcQLE9YFGt8JERhAaSdm7fIlTOJiCAvRWeqdGV1NlUCMilZps0LvcmsRNKikkfr01WdSInK_PhyphenhyphenM8ceMBStXkaC0I/s320/Youre-Right-Naked-D-Bag-Playing-Guitar-Hero-WE-Are-Ones-Suck_500x500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428314517258909346" border="0" /></a><br />I went out to dinner in Downtown Salt Lake to a little pizza shop with a killer chicken sandwich. While staring out the window, I started to play a game I would always play in college while at the beach that we called "Spot the Douche-Bag." The rules are simple. Spot a likely candidate, come up with an imaginary reason why he/she is a D-bag, and see if you can get the most.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">For example, I spotted a guy with a winter coat, bleach blond hair w/ a corporate hair cut, an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Abercrombie</span> and Fitch t-shirt, New "old" jeans from the GAP, flip-flops, a computer bag, and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bluetooth</span> head set. I imagine that this guy is an unemployed screen writer. He has no talent, but hangs out at the local Starbucks pretending he does. He is writing his screenplay while sipping Italian coffee and also makes <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">damn</span> sure everyone knows he is writing a screenplay. He name drops celebrities that he has served coffee to during the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Sundance</span> Film Festival and drones on about character archetypes in boring French films and firmly believes that Mel Gibson should play the lead role in his action/comedy. After all that explanation, do you know how I know he is a D-Bag? He is wearing flip-flops in the middle of winter...<br /><br />Another guy I saw was wearing a green vest/jacket thing, with a scruffy looking knit cap and a chin strap beard. A half inebriated look on his face and a smirk as if he knew something funny that nobody else knew. I imagine him as a 25 year old bag boy at the local supermarket who steals cartons of cigarettes from the receiving dock and sells them to local kids. He also hits on the "cougars" that frequent the store and tries to regale them with tales of other conquests and his knowledge of classic rock. When his job is done he rides his skateboard home to his mom's basement and smokes a bowl of the chronic while repeating rap lyrics in an attempt to gain some street "cred" with his fellow suburbanites. You know how I know he is a D-Bag? You guessed it... chin strap beard!!!<br /><br />That is pretty much the rules of the game. There are at least two at your job right now. Find them and enjoy picturing their lives. If you feel bad, tell yourself you are not judging them. You are picturing them in the most likely situation they could be in with the outfit they wear. Just like a police officers uniform denotes a policeman, so does a D-bag outfit.<br /><br />Thanks for the obscure and random Vent Session...<br /></div>BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-63244431491382603902009-12-22T08:22:00.000-08:002009-12-22T08:48:20.234-08:00Warmer Climate...PLEASE...*sob*This blogs a short one but I know you will feel my pain. Just spent an awesome weekend in Las Vegas. Weather was warm, casinos were a sad spectacle of human boredom, security was eyeballing me wondering if they could take me (they can't by the way), and the food was... meh. Who goes to Vegas without going to a buffet anyway? <br /><br />I had lots of fun. Sang some good music, hung out with friends, even watched a minor league hockey game and saw a fight!!! The weekend temps there were in the low to mid 50's the whole time, but, alas, it was time to return home to the frozen tundra which is SLC. We were sitting at Jack In The Box getting ready to hit the road and out of curiosity, I jumped on my good buddy's iphone to check the weather...<br /><br />Salt Lake City Las Vegas<br /> <img src="http://www.kutv.biz/images/wxicons/64/16.png" width="64" border="0" height="64" /> <img src="http://www.kutv.biz/images/wxicons/64/32.png" width="64" border="0" height="64" /><br /><br />...Salt Lake City will have a low of ONE DEGREE on Christmas Eve! Whose idea was that? Could be worse... Could be in... Who am I kidding? I wish we had sun!!!BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-27124524385440559082009-12-17T17:49:00.001-08:002009-12-17T20:40:59.053-08:00The Hook-Up Magnet!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_aToBLk8q8IM5GVoTAs2aPe42qPKjg1RIARUqItqVHTZLol5iptiQy10TXpm0HZxL8Er91gmA2d6Zgz9oZnh72pGmoBLgJme00G-7VPo2xOOZKrVSn5iaPFjU4eapbwszhZp1BMGoeFgb/s1600-h/image-blank-headline.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_aToBLk8q8IM5GVoTAs2aPe42qPKjg1RIARUqItqVHTZLol5iptiQy10TXpm0HZxL8Er91gmA2d6Zgz9oZnh72pGmoBLgJme00G-7VPo2xOOZKrVSn5iaPFjU4eapbwszhZp1BMGoeFgb/s320/image-blank-headline.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416430153817021986" border="0" /></a><br />Long ago God paired up everything into twos and sent them on a cruise. Thousands of years later most of my friends have taken on the responsibility to do the same for me. I don't know if it is because of the Christmas season and the thought of me being single gets the hook-up mojo going in my "<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">homegirlz</span>," or that I am oblivious to everything and girls are throwing themselves at me. Probably not the latter...<br /><br />People are constantly trying to fix me up with girls from work, church, their relatives, and so forth. My neighbor has been trying to persuade me to go out with this girl at the post office for about a year. It's to the point where the mother of the girl is bugging my neighbor to just bring me to the house to take her out. The only thing that I really know about this girl is that she is very tall, somewhere along the lines of 6'2" . I am 6'6" ( depending on what shoes I have on) so the height is not really a problem. My brother made the comment that we could breed "super athletes". So the question is how do I get from here to having superhero children? I am really uncomfortable around new people and never know what to say. So I try to get to know a girl before I go out with her.<br /><br />A friend of mine from California hit me up on Facebook the other day. She was raving about a girl she met at a dance in Huntington Beach and how we would be perfect for each other. I was then firmly instructed to call her promptly or she would revoke my "man card". I can imagine how I would sound during the phone conversation with the mystery girl:<br /><br />"Hello?"<br /><br />"Hi I'm Jr."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">... Long awkward silence...</span><br /><br />"Okay. It was nice talking to you..."<br /><br />I'm not much of a phone conversation guy (ask my friends), but I will party 'till the crack of 9:30 PM because that's how I roll. I must have a big target on my forehead with flashing lights that says "Single. Please fix me up!" But, keep trying folks, I'll find a winner in there sooner or later. Hopefully sooner...<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-42108459626448699732009-11-13T20:20:00.000-08:002009-11-13T21:03:38.562-08:00Hole In My Soul...So I went out with a girl the other night to see Paranormal Activity. I had seen it the week before and thought it was kind of weak. The girl I went with has a big problem with scary movies and made me enter into a verbal "contract of conduct" before she would even consider seeing the movie. I was not to make any noises or sudden moves that would intensify the scary scenes. I was not to mention that was once ghostly activity within her house (another blog for another time...) and I was NOT to make fun of her thereafter about the screams that would ensue. I agreed to the stipulations, but being the sensitive guy that I am gave her some chances to back out.<br /><br />There is hardly any gore in the movie so she figured it wouldn't be too bad but she was also vary aware of the actions of people around us. There was a group of women behind us who got up and left 15 minutes into the movie... she considered leaving. The first loud noise... she considered leaving. Ouija Board scene... she considered leaving. Most of the movie was spent with her cutting off the circulation in my arm because of her death grip, meanwhile, I am dosing off during the movie. Probably would have fallen asleep if it wasn't for a certain someone trembling next to me. Don't get me wrong, this girl is one of the toughest women I know, but this movie rocked her to the core. She actually went so far as to scream during the movie. And of course I did give her ample opportunity to get out of going before hand. <br /><br />She was soooooo mad at me about "MAKING" her see Paranormal Activity. She even went as far as accusing me of having no soul. No soul? Ouch right? I said to myself, "Self, you have as much soul as James Brown," but still felt bad about her reaction. Wanting to make her at ease about how much the movie disturbed her I took her out to eat. She did later admit, in between bites of an Apple Bees Blondie, that I must have been an evil genius to be able to manipulate her so masterfully. First of all, it does say in my profile that I'm an genius of the evil kind and secondly, I'm not saying that I manipulated her, but a persons actions can be predicted... if you know what buttons to push. <br /><br />She had also purchased a brand new bed during the day and I almost ruined the first night in the new bed for her. So I stayed over until 3am to make sure that she was soothed. But hey, at least I got her to sit in my lap during the movie...<br /><br />Thanks For the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-87283546624047740292009-10-31T02:51:00.000-07:002009-10-31T03:18:33.491-07:00Why am I awake?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6jpAKoBi4fxmabJyTQ8bCX7eSuz9jc1GnVuC6eVACsEi38sbukh38-RPSfEkIvBRrSbWrNdmiXFKqNR7RJPOKIlEGrs_LyX2A8qpTpXCsXbCaqSTlUqDhiVzET_bdAWXQFXO77AkTNsz/s1600-h/bedclown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6jpAKoBi4fxmabJyTQ8bCX7eSuz9jc1GnVuC6eVACsEi38sbukh38-RPSfEkIvBRrSbWrNdmiXFKqNR7RJPOKIlEGrs_LyX2A8qpTpXCsXbCaqSTlUqDhiVzET_bdAWXQFXO77AkTNsz/s320/bedclown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398705258619242482" border="0" /></a><br />So I have to start work at 6:30 am, but why did my body decides to wake up at 1:15 am? I hate the fact that I am awake right now at 3:53 am... so I decided to complain about it on the Inter-web. I think part of the reason I am awake is because I had a dream about layoffs. My job lost 50 guys yesterday and I wasn't among the lucky few, or unlucky depending on how you view waking up at the crack of dawn. So now I must wave goodbye to any chance of weekends off for the next little while, but at least they pay me overtime for it.<br /><br />I still feel bad for the guys who were let go. I overheard management say it was trimming the fat, but it seems needlessly cruel to refer to somebody as unwanted weight (man... I'm hungry). Me and my partner at work are on loan to another company to help out with their equipment testing so that makes us immune to the layoff axe, but sooner or later some company suck up is gonna take my place. It might be survivors guilt that keeps me up at night, but it could also be because I fell asleep at 6:30 pm the night before and didn't eat dinner... I am gonna make a chicken pita.<br /><br />Thanks for the mini Vent Session... by the way... clowns... scary...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-50619010078679658342009-09-28T22:14:00.000-07:002009-09-28T22:48:52.218-07:00Show em your GRRRRR face...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGCbnA1MHCXsExRLDopjmSUkK2QbvbjBMsKr6ngf8ibSKlT2M2zMOLlLlEuyRZ_JbFSOxlBcqFphdcfdUPDG4W_vFpIBzOnUCrPa2dRuuZ-EcUfMiErdu1oX2x2_h2iW_3cOH3lBlLvOl/s1600-h/heavy-lift.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGCbnA1MHCXsExRLDopjmSUkK2QbvbjBMsKr6ngf8ibSKlT2M2zMOLlLlEuyRZ_JbFSOxlBcqFphdcfdUPDG4W_vFpIBzOnUCrPa2dRuuZ-EcUfMiErdu1oX2x2_h2iW_3cOH3lBlLvOl/s320/heavy-lift.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386761869474692786" border="0" /></a><br />I went out to eat with some friends a few days ago. Being Polynesians, we naturally start making fun of each other. One of the girls started to tell a story about me and made a growling sound as she pretended to lift some heavy object in the story. We all laughed, but that got the ol' wheels turning... do I make that sound unconsciously? I started to travel back into my memory and realized that other people make the growl when they describe me lifting things also. I hope that I'm not walking around all day making the sounds of distant thunder to innocent bystanders. The last thing I need is an old lady keeling over because she thought a bear mauling was eminent. I'm already big and scary looking. I don't need people to think that I am a wild animal in heat too. It makes me wonder what other things I do subconsciously as well...<br /><br />Do I do the things that drive me crazy? Do I slurp my noodles, or chew with my mouth open? Do I say things like supposibly instead of supposedly? Do I constantly raise my eyebrows when I speak to people like Shaq does or pronounce the word cross with a "T" at the end? These are just a few things on a long list of things that I might do.<br /><br />Now I feel self-conscious about the things I do. I bite my lip when I pick up salt shakers, pencils, the morning paper, and the car keys. Sure you would expect some kind of audible vocalization when lifting heavy things, but why take the chance. There is another side of me that wants to embrace the snarl, a more primal and wild side of my brain. In this spirit, I would like to try other bestial articulations. Maybe a howl as my boss greets me in the morning, or a gruff bark to the neighbors. I'm even willing to try a ...meow. Maybe not.<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-22487757620917090722009-09-02T17:26:00.000-07:002009-09-02T19:22:07.288-07:00Vertigo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUteQh-UjnJS8BUXnsR9DB2W-QaR4xBCggywDpjTWUjNosPuGCFdUgUMbsgFC-_sZcxHaHn4LEKsFcGajRZdMStIq7znWwG30tHYPee79WEejWRpaUaJVf7N1wneX2kY4DXjoBeHgEsmPY/s1600-h/url.htm"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUteQh-UjnJS8BUXnsR9DB2W-QaR4xBCggywDpjTWUjNosPuGCFdUgUMbsgFC-_sZcxHaHn4LEKsFcGajRZdMStIq7znWwG30tHYPee79WEejWRpaUaJVf7N1wneX2kY4DXjoBeHgEsmPY/s320/url.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377055988547421762" border="0" /></a><br />Ever do anything that you really don't want to do, but do it anyway. I have a fear of heights but not of flying... go figure and I spent the majority of the day 40 feet up in the air on a scissor lift. If you've never been in one, count yourself among the blessed. These<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> dang</span> contraptions are unstable in the best of conditions. A stiff breeze will send it plummeting faster than <span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Vanilla Ice's</span> career or like that poor baby in the lullaby <span style="font-style: italic;">rock-a-bye-baby</span> (this song may also be a contributor to my fear of heights).<br /><br />Anyway, I was working on the lift, trying not to throw up all over the deck every time it swayed, when one of my co-workers thought it would be funny to smack the bottom of my lift with a ten foot stick of pipe. I feel the banging race through my body and the subsequent shakes and sways of the lift and I figure that the lift is malfunctioning, so I brace myself for eminent death. As I watched my life flash before my eyes (wondering whether I should have had a better last meal, of all things) I hear the cackling of my co-worker... the rage that bubbled to the surface would have made the Devil himself quake in fear. I lower my lift, all the while cursing his name, jumped over the railing, and grab him by his shirt collar. Powered by my anger, I lift him about a foot off the ground, with my left arm, and threaten to break off his arms and beat him to death while shaking my fist under his nose. Then I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">unceremoniously</span> drop him to the floor and stomp off before I carry out my threats.<br /><br />Usually, I am a very calm guy and keep in mind this guy is about 60 years old, but I couldn't care less if he saw 61 at the time. I feel that I "<span style="font-style: italic;">may</span>" have acted a little <span style="font-style: italic;">rashly</span>, but my life did indeed flash before my eyes <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">after all</span>. Looking back, I think I may have given him a mild heart attack. What did I learn from all this? I need to live a more interesting life so I can have something good to watch at the end.<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-49188349373722753872009-08-25T22:14:00.000-07:002009-08-25T23:06:06.091-07:00Working with Beyoncé...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVkiPYn1_p4qBl-wsVjnM-huFezX7Y7CmLqhRoRa_NFBlDjneRPu1TRZm2wy2CEnKKNyluBO7_MWbsF2_2De31rMZtUMmDN0sC9NFwH5nXV41jhgLoLKlTNx9iBT2tVFaRCJCs11M8VtYf/s1600-h/20051031beyonce5ld3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVkiPYn1_p4qBl-wsVjnM-huFezX7Y7CmLqhRoRa_NFBlDjneRPu1TRZm2wy2CEnKKNyluBO7_MWbsF2_2De31rMZtUMmDN0sC9NFwH5nXV41jhgLoLKlTNx9iBT2tVFaRCJCs11M8VtYf/s320/20051031beyonce5ld3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374148478343417202" border="0" /></a><br />I know it's been awhile, so I would like to apologize to the two people who look at my blog. Sorry. Now that thing is out of the way, I'd like to tell you about my day...<br /><br />Last week, I purchased a brand new phone. It's nice being able to keep in contact with friends and loved ones. It is an electric blue and has an awesome mp3 player that doesn't need headphones to play songs, but the best part is that it holds like 200 songs. So I went to my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">iTunes</span> and loaded the sucker up with some good stuff to listen to while I stand around at work pretending to be busy. It's really cool because it's like having a soundtrack.<br /><br />As <span style="font-weight: bold;">both</span> of you may know, I work construction. Construction guys are a fairly rough and manly bunch. The guys that I work with are former military men, bar brawlers, and are forbidden to return to various foreign countries (more on that in another blog), so when I say rough, I mean "<span style="font-style: italic;">the kind of people that can make Clint Eastwood cry</span> ," rough. And then there is me.<br /><br />I listen to a wide variety of music and I happened to remember I had a phone and brought it in with me. I'm just minding my own business, listening to a <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Dragonforce</span></span> number called <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Through the Fire and Flames</span>, bobbing my head and pretending to inspect the electrical conduit in the ceiling, when my buddy comes up (one of the ones forbidden to go to certain countries) and starts to groove out with me.<br /><br />So we are both standing there bobbing our heads like stunt doubles in the movie <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Night at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Roxbury</span></span>. He's digging the speed metal and rap just as much as me when our boss shows up. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Johnny Cash</span> is up next with <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">A Boy Named Sue</span>. The Boss digs that so he sticks around to have a listen. So then there are three of us grooving to the tiny speaker on my cell phone. This makes the rest of the crew curious as to what we're doing. In short order, we have eleven guys bobbing their heads in time pretending to inspect pipe in the ceiling. This goes on for about ten minutes and by then three songs have gone by.<br /><br />I put 200 songs on my phone and it was set on random. I had no idea what songs I had on there, let alone what would come up next. So when <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Beyoncé</span></span> showed up with <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Halo</span>, nobody really reacted right away. They were too caught up <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">groovin</span>' to the beat, but then one by one they started to take notice. Within the space of two seconds, I went from being the cool guy with speed metal blasting from his shirt pocket, to the guy who had just sprouted a third eye in the middle of his forehead. That's what you would think by the way they were looking at me. I had never seen so many guys take off so fast since the Olympics. I was shunned the rest of the day... or I may have hidden in shame.<br /><br />I'm not saying <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Beyoncé</span> sucks. She is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">über</span> talented and I still love her music (even though she made me look like a fool in front of my co-workers). I am just saying that there are appropriate times to listen to certain kinds of music. What is the moral of this story? Let's just say... <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">playlists</span> are now my friends.<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session.BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-86207670190513103202009-08-06T00:05:00.000-07:002009-08-06T01:07:54.453-07:00What things sound like on the floor...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogQFV4kV-rRsjGMczmAREUGVnxWG6CnDSmebIPmWXAfXprCGGaks-bswRIElelf0iJWSq_IQ4GRq1rZahyphenhyphenwyzeuSPrJnaiGT_M6vnlVe8gsswx2WtrBjZSP3wVDswMEENh-PeiksKjPqd/s1600-h/foot+massage_medium.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogQFV4kV-rRsjGMczmAREUGVnxWG6CnDSmebIPmWXAfXprCGGaks-bswRIElelf0iJWSq_IQ4GRq1rZahyphenhyphenwyzeuSPrJnaiGT_M6vnlVe8gsswx2WtrBjZSP3wVDswMEENh-PeiksKjPqd/s320/foot+massage_medium.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366754926635662066" border="0" /></a><br />I was lying on the floor of my friends bedroom the other day because it was cooler than the living room, which felt like 100 degrees and a few people decided to join me. While I was on the floor, a buddy of mine was lying on the bed with a girl and they began to singing kids songs. I was content to lie there and dose off when the owner of said bedroom came in and started talking to the other two. They begin to muse about the music they were singing, and the girls, who are dear friends, have began a rather "spirited chat" about which one has done the other more bodily harm over the years. The whole time I am lying on the floor chuckling to myself. Then buddy of mine decides to bust out with the foot massages which are received with great enthusiasm. It was all perfectly innocent stuff, but those moans... sounded SO dirty.<br /><br />The kids songs chick insists that she doesn't want a foot rub and begins a rant about how awkward it would be to have someone touch her feet. Meanwhile, "<span style="font-style: italic;">bedroom owner</span>" is praising the inventor of the foot massage and making a weird kind of meowing sound. Kids songs girl starts to get jealous and requests a rub of her own, but "<span style="font-style: italic;">bedroom owner</span>" isn't having any of it. They argue about fair play and start to list injuries incurred from each other. Alas, their argument goes beyond words and they get into a little physical altercation. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Kids songs</span>" tries to put up a fight, but gets soundly trounced. Being the kindhearted girl she is, "<span style="font-style: italic;">bedroom owner</span>" feels bad and relents. Friends again, "<span style="font-style: italic;">kids songs</span>" happily starts her foot rub. The sounds she makes are dirtier than "<span style="font-style: italic;">bedroom owners</span>". I, feeling forgotten, slightly voyeuristic, and a fifth wheel all rolled into one, pop up from the floor, like a giant daisy, and declare that these foot massages sound like people in mid copulation and that I will write a blog about it.<br /><br />Keep in mind that I don't have the best of memories. Some of what I have written might be imagined or fantasized , but I'm pretty sure that everything I've written is accurate. What's the moral you ask? Heck if I know, I just thought it was an interesting story. If you are craving a moral lesson, maybe this will satisfy: <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />"When doing things that sound dirty, make sure you don't have anyone lying on your bedroom floor who has an active imagination and a blog.</span>"<br /><br />-Bigjun<br /><br />Thanks for the Vent Session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-82893679219938298202009-07-18T16:48:00.000-07:002009-07-18T18:48:53.826-07:00No Phone Blues...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxjLJ3JObSMmiKVh5y0zNIHsa3e2i1wukcqOat5Ptepu9H4MUrEFh0Ef0fpAUJcviosQUdIQKc8hJk-b_uU0CcRwP4HacT-TC3iaMTbZUG_uTWPWLvJg5zGxCp0-L5fRli0f2fnrShNn1A/s1600-h/huge.25.128318.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxjLJ3JObSMmiKVh5y0zNIHsa3e2i1wukcqOat5Ptepu9H4MUrEFh0Ef0fpAUJcviosQUdIQKc8hJk-b_uU0CcRwP4HacT-TC3iaMTbZUG_uTWPWLvJg5zGxCp0-L5fRli0f2fnrShNn1A/s320/huge.25.128318.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359982290877181986" border="0" /></a><br />It's kind of weird to not be in touch with anyone. I've been without a phone for about a week and a half. I lost it some place, but have no idea where it could be. I imagine lots of folks have been trying to contact me (because I'm soooo popular) and are ticked off. I know that I should just break down and get a new one, but I've played this game before. I will call in to the phone place, get the machine, wait for 30 minutes to talk to someone who isn't in India, explain what happened to my phone (by now I've concocted an epic struggle between good and evil, where good triumphs, but my cell phone is the unfortunate casualty) and give my credit card number to an operator who is waiting for her sift to end so she can go to a rave with her eighteen year old co-workers. As soon as I hang up on my brothers phone, I will see my long lost little "celly" sitting on the counter behind the fruit bowl. I swear the bloody contraption has a mind of it's own and hates me.<br /><br />Honestly, it's been nice to be unreachable. I go home from work without any worries and just relax. No calls from bill collectors, survey givers, parents bugging me about getting married, but it also is a downer to have no friends call either. So, I think I will call in to get another infernal machine... how I hate that device. At least you can call me and complain about my blog...<br /><br />Thanks for the vent session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031083817858232660.post-44147371365225385462009-07-13T17:26:00.000-07:002009-07-13T18:09:00.184-07:00Handle with Care<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw6bst97fh4DA_ncViDlU-0wL9Oh6p0g8EdgSfk0gM2juPu-6qrkeqcSdf0RPEhuHr4rlT_XfNVqeoVum7rs1tLRetQ0YplMt3Az0OIFePM1nSqVFnxLjCQRjM1ykl9cGuiKAGq7skeKZ8/s1600-h/ewww.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw6bst97fh4DA_ncViDlU-0wL9Oh6p0g8EdgSfk0gM2juPu-6qrkeqcSdf0RPEhuHr4rlT_XfNVqeoVum7rs1tLRetQ0YplMt3Az0OIFePM1nSqVFnxLjCQRjM1ykl9cGuiKAGq7skeKZ8/s320/ewww.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358116077092711250" border="0" /></a><br />Today I had to go into the company shop because I'm switching job sites tomorrow. I filled out all the usual paperwork but was required to do a drug test. Feeling no urges to relieve myself, I stopped at a nearby petrol station to buy an orange Gatorade before going to the testing facility. These drug testing places are filled with people who are new hires at various jobs and people who do stupid things and need to test to keep their jobs. You can always tell who is who. By the time I turn in my paperwork, the urges was pretty strong. When they call my name, I am dancing in my seat. Needless to say, I enthusiastically finish my test. The whole time, there is a dude standing outside the door. The same guy has to test my sample.<br /><br />Now, I don't know about you, but pee tester was never a job I considered. Does one wake up one day and say to himself, "Yes!!! Pee tester!!! It's all so simple," or is it something you fall into like pro wrestling? The craziest thing is these medical techs went to school to be able to examine pee, but let us not forget the doctors who have to oversee the pee testers. All those years in med school and the money to pay for that fine education to look at pee. What is the protocol if the sample is a weird colour? Do you comment on it, or is it bad form to do so? What if you forget for a second that you handled a sample and scratch your face? Is that a visit to the doctor or is a handy wipe fine? You know how the Bath and Bodyworks folks smell like their job... you get what I'm saying. Hopefully, they don't take their work home with them.<br /><br />Thanks for the vent session...BIGjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16931706583258890794noreply@blogger.com1