A Nerd's Revenge

A not so serious look at life.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Car Wash

I live in a small apartment complex that has about sixteen units, one of which, is probably illegal because it is so small. If you were to drive down a narrow, but sunny alley you would find yourself in the back where a small laundry room, several parking spaces, a clothesline, and a lonely punching bag hangs from a tree. A Dane who lives towards the rear of the building hung the bag one day intending on becoming the next heavy weight champion. Unfortunately, his training regimen included massive quantities of beer and cigarettes. I think he may have punched on the bag a grand total of twice. Training ground or not, it is a relatively quiet place that I sometimes use to wash my car.

The other day I had done just that. Armed with my hose, wash mitt and various cleaning products I attacked my Jeep until it shined. As I sat there admiring my handiwork I began to notice the small forlorn car parked next to mine. It was filthy; covered in dust, tar and bird droppings. Then the idea struck me. I am going to do something nice for a total stranger. I imagined the surprise on their face when they walked outside and found a clean, shiny car waiting for them. In a good mood I started to work, but as I scrubbed my mind began to race. What happens if this person comes outside and finds me doing this? Would there be an akward moment? Would they thank me or call the police? This is Los Angeles. People don't do this kind of thing for each other out here. I resolved to do a thorough, but quick job.

I had just finished toweling off this stranger's car and was putting up my stuff when an attractive girl walked outside and made her way over. "Shit", I thought. I didn't want to be near the scene of the crime. This could be bad. L.A. girls aren't the nicest on the planet., especially towards total strangers. Not that L.A. women are necessarily born mean spirited, but I think they become a product of their environment . This place is definitely full of slimey men . She stopped and looked at her car. I heard a deep but feminine voice ask, "Did you wash my car"? "Uh, yeah", I replied. I nervously laughed. She looked at me and said, "Thanks, man. It needed it". She jumped in her car and drove off. I was relieved. Turns out she is the girlfriend of a guy who lives in the complex.

A few days later we had some construction workers repairing the apartment adjacent to ours. Tejano music drifted up from their truck which was parked so that it temporarily blocked the top of the alley. Suddenly, I heard a car horn blaring. I looked out the window of our apartment. The same girl was driving down the alley from her usual parking space in the back. She had started about 50 yards away and drove straight up to the truck never once letting go of her horn. Abruptly the noise stopped and she leaned out her open window and screamed, "Move your fuck-ing truck now" at the one guy who happened to be close. I don't think he spoke a lick of English, but he obviously wasn't the driver. Then she popped back inside and again jammed down on the horn. The man managed to get the keys from another worker who dropped them from the roof. A minute later he had moved the truck. The girlfriend shouted several more expletives at the guy and then tore off down the street. I watched her leave.

Her car sparkled.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

My Legs

My girlfriend told me that I have nice legs. Then she reconsidered for a second and thoughtfully added "for a woman". Talk about a back handed slap, but I guess I'll take what I can get these days. I have to compete with the internet, her cats, and Lord of the Rings for attention. At least she didn't say, "You have nice legs...for a hobbit".

Monday, August 29, 2005

Of War and Men

Both my grandfathers served in WWII. The first was a nose gunner on a bomber. I want to say a B-17, but I believe it was actually a smaller plane. Airmen would amass mission points according to how many runs they had successfully completed (i.e. survived) and the casualty rates for bombing crews over Europe were extremely high. He was on one of the first planes to come home after the war ended.

The second was a paratrooper that made the fateful D-Day jump on Normandy. He was dropped off course, but survived the initial fighting. Later, he was wounded when the Jeep he was riding in hit a land mine. He still bears a scar that stretches down the side of his head and neck.

I believe every person handles traumatic events in different ways.

The first never speaks of the war and to this day hates to fly on planes. This is probably a direct result of his pilot's bombing tactics. His pilot would attack by diving at targets. Maybe this is what ultimately kept them alive, however, as a nose gunner my Grandfather always had a front row seat to death.

The second frequently speaks of his war time experiences as if it were yesterday. Kind of strange, but I watched a few Band of Brothers episodes with him a couple years ago at Christmas. He actually knew and could relate stories about the main characters in the series. It was very surreal.

My Dad seems to think that the paratrooper saw some very hairy fighting, but ultimately, the airman actually witnessed much more death and destruction. He carries his scar internally.

I saw both of them at my brother's wedding a few monthes ago and it has reminded me of the passage of time. I keep telling myself that I should grab my camera and record their stories before it is too late. I hope I follow through.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Genius Idea

Over the past weekend some neighbors that I grew up next to in Texas came by and visited for a few days. Their youngest daughter was looking at colleges in the Southern California area. After some serious school scoping they decided to do a little sightseeing on the last day they were here. We did the usual touristy stuff...Hollywood, Manns Theater, Kodak Center, Rodeo Drive. In the bask of the Hollywood sign we had lunch and talked about certain L.A.'isms. The conversation turned to the daily car chases that frequent California's highways. After listening for a minute College Dad sat back and offered a solution to the whole high speed chase problem. I thought it was genius. He said that the California Highway Patrol should invest in a giant military helicopter like a Chinook. These things are heavy lift capable and can carry tanks. They could fit it with an electro-magnet. Just think of the possibilities.

Some yo-yo is flying down the highway with a parade of police cars trailing behind. The chase is going to last for hours and screw up traffic all over the place, not to mention jeopardize people's lives. They call in the Heli-mag. The Heli-mag swoops down and acquires the target. Once they are close enough the co-pilot flips a switch, energizing the magnet. The car lifts up off the ground. No more car chase. They could then fly car and driver straight to the penitentiary.

On the side they could make some extra money as a service. You are stuck in traffic and are going to be late. You call Sky Tow. Within minutes Sky Tow arrives, drops a magnet, picks you up and transports you to your destination. You just sit back and relax. You could even take a nap while you fly to work...all in the comfort of your own automobile. That would be awesome! Too bad that world only exists in my head.

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Shuttle Columbia: The Real Story

My girlfriend put a somewhat misleading version of events on her blog the other day. I am referring to the Space Shuttle Columbia performing a fly by of our apartment and my self defense reaction she described. I think I need to correct the misinformation. You should read HER LIES before continuing. Remember, no matter what shes says about me, it is a dirty, bald-faced, lie and she should be ashamed.

...Now that you are back I can really tell you what occurred.

On the balmy morning of August 9th, shortly after 5AM, not one, but two blasts rocked our apartment. It turned out, as I would find out later, that the Shuttle Columbia had been redirected to land at Edward's Air Force base rather than risk the bad weather brewing in Florida. The blasts were sonic booms made as the shuttle slows for landing.

My Account:

Upon hearing the first blast I instinctively opened my eyes. I looked over and saw that my girlfriend was still asleep. She had not even stirred. I could tell because the drool puddle collected in her pillow was like glass. There was not a single ripple on the surface. Glistening stringers of saliva were still rythmically cascading down to the floor, to the delight of the cats, who gleefully swung at them like two kids in a batting cage. Despite the amusing scene I remained focused. The second blast ignited my cat-like reflexes. My first thought: terrorists.

Now, looking back, you could say that I over reacted, but at that moment I was in survival mode. I jumped over my girlfriend to protect her from flying shrapnel. You see, she isn't lying about one thing, our walls are really made out of tissue paper and every time the neighbors start making passionate farm like noises this fact becomes painfully evident. Suddenly, she awoke in a panic and saw me laying over her. She immediately thought I was trying to have sex. When this happens 99% of the time she just complains about some random pain (head ache, stomach ache, hair ache, etc.) but for some reason, that morning she tried to head butt me.(I like to think it must have been the extra adrenaline coursing through her veins!) I threw my hands over my face to protect myself from the potentially lethal blow. Unfortunately, her eye connected with my fist. My life was spared, but all the bones in my left hand were shattered. So with that I leave my dear readers.

Lucky to be alive.

The BF

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

My Fat Buddy

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As modeled by Fat Buddy's friend Rosalyn

Monday, August 08, 2005

The Floss Trick

The other night I found myself on the floor flossing my teeth. I think it had been at least a year since I had done so, and for some reason that night I was feeling especially gung ho about good oral hygeine. As usual, my fat little friend was sitting next to me in the living room purring his ass off. As I was working the floss around my molars I happened to look down. HI's eyes were darting back and forth with each little movement of the floss. He was fascinated. When I was done I decided to let HI have a go with the new toy.

We had a ball together. I would dangle the floss in front of his face. He would bat at it. I would pull the floss zig zag on the floor. He would pounce on it. Eventually, I lost interest in the little game and started watching television, but occassionally I flicked the floss around to keep HI occupied.

A few minutes later I felt some whiskers tickling the ends of my fingers. I looked down and saw HI sitting there next to me. He was purring like a little engine. I guess the cat was especially happy because he had just swallowed about three feet of minty green floss. The only part left was the little end that I was holding in my fingers. I had a problem. My girlfriend had warned me about letting HI swallow things because (1.) he is a little slow and (2.) he does love to eat. She had told me a horror story about her friend's dog who had eaten some kite string. The dog ended up at the vet after the twine became lodged in its intestines. What could I do? I did the only thing I could think of...I started to pull. HI made a weird little noise and smacked his mouth open and closed a bit as the floss emerged from his belly, but once it was out he resumed his purring. In fact, he tried to swallow the minty green goodness again. I couldn't believe it.

Occassionally, we have people over to our apartment for drinks. When everyone is good and drunk sometimes we let HI perform his little floss trick. He is always the hit of the party.