That "One Day" In Your Life.

That was the day I knew it wasn't going to good. The rest of my life is was forever changed in an instant.

Do you remember that day? Good? Bad? One day you may have woke up and realized today was the day your life was going to change. Or maybe an event that day decided it for you? Maybe someone did or said something to you that forever decided your direction? We all have that day/event/encounter. When that day came, what happened? A loss of a family member or friend. Meeting someone you would fall in love with, or maybe as simple as getting that job you had always dreamed of. Destiny is a strange bedfellow. Something great can change your life for the better, only to have it kill you later on in life. My Brother Craig is a perfect example. In 1977 we moved to Hudsonville. The neighbors, who's kids became our friends, had snowmobiles and motorcycles. Craig loved his life, because on that day, he became happy. He loved riding dirt bikes, snowmobiles and cars. We moved again two years later, and Craig would have so much ripped away from him. He still has his love for all of those things, but once again, we had them taken away from us.

We would move again in 1980, again losing the friends we had made, because, well.....we had no choice. My Father only cared about moving up the ladder with Meijer, so when an opportunity came up, he would take it. My brother made new friends who were into muscle cars, and he thrived. But the seed of what would eventually kill him, was sitting dormant. Later in life he would talk about how he got into motorsports while living in Hudsonville to people he would see at my parents grocery store, that my Father bought after he retired in 1987, and he worked at. As he got older, he drank. More and more. To keep this story from getting any longer, I'll cut to the chase. He missed Hudsonville. And everything he did in his life was always hindered by the fact that he would never get 1978 back. It was his demon. He would tell me on many occasions that he resented my parents for making us move away. 

The day I took him to the hospital, he knew he was never coming home. He was so sick. He told me he was scared. I was scared too. But I was sad, and I was pissed off. I didn't know how sick he was from alcoholism. I had only moved back to the area after being gone for nearly six years. My sister knew he was sick. My parents knew he was sick. His friends knew he was sick. They did NOTHING! 

He was dead not even a week later. Alone in an ICU bed. Craig never got back to that day that he loved, or the town that made it possible. He drank himself to death, trying to get back to 1978.

This was the day I knew, things were never going to be ok. That day, my life changed. It took a couple of more years, but it all came out. The hatred and pain I felt that day? I still carry it with me. The anger and betrayal from my parents, my sister and her kids, will always be a scar on my soul. I'd like to think that Karma has a way of getting it's way in the end, but I'll never know. 

I wonder when they had that "One Day" that made them who they are?

Observations from the front.

Watching the rain and wind at my happy place, reading about the horrors taking place around the world, on my phone. Kind of self defeating, I know. It's depressing that in a world that has come so far, we can still act like animals. I started to cry. There is nothing one person can do, I thought. And there isn't. I can only hope that I could be a better person in my little world, and bring a smile to someone's face. As the tears rolled down my face, my local Yacht Rock station (Yeah, my guilty pleasure. You're just as guilty.) played something I literally had not heard in 40 years. You know what Yacht Rock is. Lots of Steely Dan, pina coladas, and assorted others from the 70's and 80's. Well, a little gem came on, and I stopped crying.

Now, followers of mine know I worked in radio for about ten years. Lots of formats and variety of good and bad music. But in all that time, I've never played this song. As a matter of fact, I forget this beautiful thing existed until today.

https://youtu.be/SGKrgJZhpzk?si=8UcIuleY5YkchOl_

I hope the link works. If not, the song is Pilot Of The Airwaves by Charlie Dore. Released in 1979, I remember hearing it on the radio when I lived in Marcellus. The effect of having that come on in the middle of a depression induced cryfest, was like screeching to a halt right before you drive off that cliff.

I'm not saying it's a cure all for what ails the world, but never EVER underestimate the power of a simple song. So when life is kicking you in the head, and it gets to heavy to carry, take the time to turn on whatever device you use, and just listen to some music. Go look for something you haven't heard in a long time. There is so much out there that we have forgotten about. Go listen to Andrew Gold, Al Stewart, even some Bertie Higgins. 

Everyone needs a little "Key Largo". 😁

Look What Came Out Of A Hole!

 A local guy was excavating an old outhouse, and found something unexpected. My old blog! Don't worry, the remnants are no longer smelly, but are actually still here. Well, they may have a little stench left, but nothing I can't handle.

8 years since my last post. So much has changed since then. I don't think I need to tell you, but hopefully you survived. 

I'm going to revive this crappy little word dump over the next few days. Not only has the world changed, but so has the way The Daily Skid Mark is laid out. Fonts? Who needs them! If you have anything you want me to write about, or just have something to say, just comment. As usual, no story or idea is off limits. I mean, my dog just farted, so we can talk about that. Or how about that weird lump on my right butt cheek? Maybe you have an interesting butt cheek you want to discuss? Doesn't have to be yours. Let me know!

In the meantime, here's a short encounter I had last week. In the grocery store, there were two kids messing around in the frozen aisle. I look over to see a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream sitting on a display shelf behind them, outside of the freezer. Now, I've always had a fantasy of catching someone leaving refrigerated or frozen food out in an aisle so I can snack them upside the noggin for being a dick and wasting food, not to mention costing the business money. The closest I got was watching a guy stick a pair of shoes, still in the box, into a display freezer. I actually just laughed because it made no sense.

I walked up to the container, and asked the kid if this was his ice cream. After stumbling over his garbled "words" he proclaimed that, yes, and he sat it down just to look at other ice cream. I smiled and said, "Ok. But if I come back down this aisle in two minutes, and it's still there and you're gone, I'm gonna find you before you make it to the parking lot."

It was gone when I came back. Thinking about it later, I may have actually threatened him with my comment.

Good.

Well, hello there!

Been awhile, I know. Life has taken some pretty wild turns for our family. But we keep on going. Updates? Sure. Nolan has thrived in his school. He has made HUGE strides with his Autism Spectrum Disorder. He is playing baseball now, and a year ago, we would have never thought it was possible. He has friends, he plays and he has not had any meltdowns or episodes since he started in Kingsley Elementary. They are incredible teachers and staff. He still has his struggles, but he's a strong little man!

Erin has had some medical issues. She had surgery last year for sinus and breathing issues. She had an infected gland in her neck previously, and poor drainage. She came through it like a real trooper. She unfortunately has the same allergy issues I have, so the poor girl suffers horribly from pollen and dust. She is doing GREAT in school as well. They both are A students!

Tina has been back to school full time for awhile. She has just made the Dean's List for the third time in a row. By next Spring she will have her degree. I am so proud of her. All of this while having to move twice, and another stay in the hospital for me.

My health has been up and down. Right now I have been fighting some cysts that have formed on my chest wall. I have been through these before, and had them removed, but these are kind of scary. I have had them checked, and been prescribed medication to help reduce the infection and swelling, but this time it hasn't worked. I also have just recovered from muscle damage in my lower back that sent me to the hospital because I was hardly able to walk. Took me out of commission for 3 weeks.

We moved into a new home after our other one became unlivable. Between the meth lab behind our lot, to the police cars arresting a neighbor for making 100+ fake phone calls to 911, and cars driving through our front yard at all time of the day or night, we had enough. My children couldn't even play outside because we feared for their safety.

Without going in to greater detail, we have basically started over. After filing for bankruptcy, we find ourselves struggling to keep our heads above water. Our rent is $700 a month, and more than half of what I get for disability, and gas, food and utilities take everything else. We drive the kids to school 40+ miles a day to keep them in Kingsley because we don't want to have Nolan regress. When we brought up the idea of him going to school closer to home, the resulting meltdown was epic.

 I find myself selling stuff at the end of the month just to feed everyone. We have started a GoFundMe campaign with the hopes of a new start. If we reach our goal, we can get into a new home that we can call OURS. No more renting. And our payment will be HALF of what we pay for rent right now.

Tina has already sent out over a dozen applications trying to find a job for the summer, and hopefully something happens. But if you could, please check out our campaign. The link is below. Even just sharing would be awesome.

gofund.me/u9svx3b7y

Just look for the big smiling face of Nolan. You can't miss it!

Well, it's 4:29 in the morning, and the children will be up soon for school. I better get some sleep. Thanks for reading my ramblings. Have a great day!

-Mark

Lexophiles!

1. A bicycle can't stand alone; it is two tired.

2. A will is a dead giveaway.

3. Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.

4. A backward poet writes inverse.

5. In a democracy it's your vote that counts; in feudalism, it's your Count that votes.

6. A chicken crossing the road: poultry in motion.

7. If you don't pay your exorcist you can get repossessed.

8. With her marriage she got a new name and a dress.

9. Show me a piano falling down a mine shaft and I'll show you A-flat miner.

10. When a clock is hungry it goes back four seconds.

11. The guy who fell onto an upholstery machine was fully recovered.

12. A grenade fell onto a kitchen floor in France resulted in Linoleum Blownapart.

13. You are stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.

14. Local Area Network in Australia : The LAN down under.

15. He broke into song because he couldn't find the key.

16. A calendar's days are numbered.

17. A lot of money is tainted: 'Taint yours, and 'taint mine.

18. A boiled egg is hard to beat.

19. He had a photographic memory which was never developed.

20. A plateau is a high form of flattery.

21. The short fortuneteller who escaped from prison: a small medium at large.

22. Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end.

23. When you've seen one shopping center you've seen a mall.

24. If you jump off a Paris bridge, you are in Seine.

25. When she saw her first strands of gray hair, she thought she'd dye.

26. Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead to know basis.

27. Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.

28. Acupuncture: a jab well done.

29. Marathon runners with bad shoes suffer the agony of de feet.

30. The roundest knight at king Arthur's round table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much pi.

31. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.

32. She was only a whisky maker, but he loved her still.

33. A rubber band pistol was confiscated from algebra class because it was a weapon of math disruption.

34. The butcher backed into the meat grinder and got a little behind in his work.

35. No matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery.

36. A dog gave birth to puppies near the road and was cited for littering.

37. Two silk worms had a race. They ended up in a tie.

38. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall. The police are looking into it.

39. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.

40. Two hats were hanging on a hat rack in the hallway. One hat said to the other, 'You stay here, I'll go on a head.'

41. I wondered why the baseball kept getting bigger. Then it hit me.

42. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center said: 'Keep off the Grass.'

43. A small boy swallowed some coins and was taken to a hospital. When his grandmother telephoned to ask how he was, a nurse said, 'No change yet.'

44. The soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a seasoned veteran.

45. When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion.

46. Don't join dangerous cults: Practice safe sects.

www.bouldertherapist.com

Why taking a dump in a Kohl’s is NEVER a good idea.

 

I went to Kohl’s today to pick up a couple new pairs of pants and just happened to stumble bass akwards into the second funniest thing to ever happen to me in a public dressing room.

The funniest thing, by the way, involved me, a rogue zipper, and two well-placed and well-needed stitches. I’ll just leave it at that.

 

So I walk into the Kohl’s dressing room and start trying on my regularly-priced-$79.99-now-on-sale-for-$23.99 pants and hear that someone is entering the dressing room adjacent to mine. I think nothing of it and continue to try to squeeze my 38-inch waist into a pair of 36-inch Dockers.

But a mere few seconds later I can hear this individual — clearly a large man by the grunting and groaning — taking off his belt. The noise a belt makes is quite distinct and it sounded like this guy had a belt buckle the size of a trash can lid. It sounded like he was taking off a parachute with all the clasps, buckles, and snaps he was undoing.

 

I chuckle to myself and take a deep breath to buckle my own pants when I hear this guy — I’m going to start calling him Dirty Randy from now on — make a couple additional grunting noises.

I’m paying homage to Dirty Randy from “The League.” Great show.

 

It sounds like this guy — I think to myself — is trying to take a shit instead of trying to take a shirt.

This incredibly crazy idea is only made more plausible by the next thing that happens: Dirty Randy absolutely uncoils a five-star, MVP-caliber fart. It was one of those epic sonofabitches that gets a second wind halfway through and grows louder. It sounded like he was trying to start an old tractor.

At the time I had one leg into my own pants and the commotion in the next dressing room sent me tumbling against the wall laughing hysterically. Here I was busting a gut while this guy was busting ass.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Dirty Randy mumbles matter-of-factly. And I don’t know exactly what it was about the way he said it, but it sounded like he was saying “Son of a bitch” not as a result of what happened but as a precursor of what was yet to come.

 

To keep prices low, please don’t shit in the dressing room.

 

And sure enough Dirty Randy lets loose a second fart, this one somehow even more repulsive than the first. The noise was a cross between an old creaky door opening and a Beluga whale. If you don’t know what that sounds like, check out this YouTube video.

 

Seriously, did this guy think he was walking into the men’s room instead of the dressing room? Is he squatting over a pile of discarded clothes that didn’t fit the last guy who was in there? The image playing out in my head was hysterical.

 

But the hysterics turned into hysteria when a visitor entered my dressing room. In the interest of full disclosure, I did lock the door before I went in there. But what came into that dressing room cannot be turned back by a $5 door bolt from Home Depot. It came in through, under, and over the door. It seeped through the cracks in the walls and tumbled down from the ceiling.

I’m here to tell you ladies and gentlemen, it was an actual mist.

 

Like in that Stephen King movie. I half expected a monster to come out of it and eat me.

 

But that would have been the painless way out. Instead, what came out of that mist was a stench so horrific that eight hours later it’s still burned into my nostrils.

 

“My bad, buddy,” Dirty Randy says from the room next door, real casual-like as if he accidentally walked between me and a TV I was watching instead of purposely filling my dressing room full of Agent Orange. I gasped for air, trying to breathe through my mouth instead of my nose. But all that did was give me a big ole’ taste of whatever it was he ate that caused such a travesty in his lower intestine. It was as if he consumed a whole bucket of sea water and bad Thai food.

I texted my wife and told her I loved her.

 

This is probably the end.

 

And then as I began to pass out I hear a voice from afar.

 

“How’s it going in there, Dirty Randy?” It’s his wife, she’s outside the dressing room now. And she didn’t really call him Dirty Randy but it sort of ruins the story if I tell you his real name.

 

“It’s too big.”

 

Too big, I think. Is he talking about whatever he’s trying on or whatever he’s trying to get out?

I laugh at the thought of my own joke. It’s starting to pull me from my own haze.

“Randy, pass it under the door and let me take a look at it.”

 

Now I’m actually laughing out loud. Is this really happening to me? The guy who writes funny blogs just has this fall into his lap.

 

Or, more appropriately, fall out of the lap of the guy next to me.

 

“Jesus, Randy, did you just shit yourself?”

 

Mrs. Dirty Randy echoes my thoughts exactly. Not only do I think he shit himself, but he shit herself and myself and every other self in the Kohl’s men’s section.

 

“No,” he replies timidly, “I think it was the guy in the room next to me.”

 

My mouth drops. But then I can taste a wicked combination of burnt lasagna, sulfur, and Skoal. For some reason, in this moment Dirty Randy and I connect. It’s as if I can tell this guy’s wife is going to spend the rest of the day busting his balls for busting his ass. In the spirit of true brotherhood, I decide to take one for the team.

 

“My bad,” I say.

 

“Gross,” Mrs. Dirty Randy says and then I hear her leave. What follows next could not have been predicted. Dirty Randy doesn’t thank me, he doesn’t say sorry, but instead he lets loose the third and final blow, a low rumbling noise that sounded like he sat on a fog horn.

 

“Thank God she left,” he says, “I was trying to choke that one off.”

 

Needless to say, I didn’t end up buying the pants.

 

If you enjoyed this piece, you can find others like it on his blog at bigfunnyblog.com. I’d appreciate if you stopped by some time.

 

You can also like hisFacebook page at facebook.com/bigfunnyblog. He put lots of funny dump-related posts on there.

The 10 Commandments of The Grocery Store.

1. Thou shall not leave your cart in an empty parking spot. There are two kinds of people in this world: 1) those who return carts to the cart corral and 2) assholes. Leaving a cart to find it’s own way home often results in the cart camping out in a parking spot someone will inevitably pull halfway into before realizing the cart is there and angrily backing out, pissing off people behind them. The carts have a home. Help them find their home.

2. Thou shall not walk down the center aisle of the parking lot. You do not have super-human pedestrian powers that override people in their cars trying to get past or around you. Pick a side—any side—and no one gets hurt.

3. Thou shall travel up and down the aisle like a civilized person. Up one side, down the other. If you’re barreling down the middle or the wrong side like a linebacker and clip my cart, I am not above throwing a shoulder. Also, try to refrain from doing a 180 halfway down a jam-packed aisle only to amble along as if you’re taking in the sights of the Louvre. It’s soup. Not the Sistine Chapel.

4. Thou shall obey the express line rules. The sign says 15 items or less. It does not say, “Everything you can stick in the small-ass cart you chose instead of regular cart.” That does not refer to the number of item types, but the actual item count. For example, those 75 cans of soup that took you 15 minutes to pick out does not count as a single item. You are not a special snowflake. If everybody ignored this rule, it would just be a regular line.

5. Thou shalt not decide against the frozen pizza you picked up in the frozen foods section and then place it on the shelf next to the shampoo. Really? Come on now, people.

6. Thou shall respect the invisible checkout line bubble of personal space. Regardless of how close you creep up or how many items you throw on the belt, you will be next—after me. If you continue to creep up, I will pretend to go through my coupon keeper for an extraordinary amount of time and chit chat with the cashier…unless you would like to pay for my produce. In that case, you have a deal.

7. Thou shall treat the cashier with respect. This means not chatting on your phone while she’s ringing up your groceries or getting ticked when she won’t accept the four expired coupons you thought she’d ignore. If you get caught trying to sneak in an expired coupon, just let it go. It’s 35-cents off of dish soap. You’ll survive.

8. Thou shall not stop at the exit to go over your receipt. Once given your receipt and all 300 extra pieces of paper that get pumped out of the printer with it, do not stop and read the receipt like it’s a treasure map. There is nothing on that paper that is that important that you need to throw on the brakes and cause a backup. Move it along.

9. Thou shall reconsider the self-checkout. Know your limits. Can you find a bar code on a product? Match the picture of bananas on the screen to the bananas in your cart? Flatten paper money to insert into a slot? If you answered “no” to any of those questions, don’t be a hero. Go through the normal checkout.

10. Thou shall not stalk for a parking spot. Finally, do not slowly drive behind me at 5 mph impatiently waiting for my parking spot that is often only two down from another available spot. Unless you’re going to get out and help me unload my groceries into the back, your insistence on sitting there, impatiently revving the engine on your minivan, will force me to do a full vehicle check—interior and exterior—before getting back in and leaving 5 minutes later.

Thank you for shopping with us.

Have a nice day.

Where the HELL have you been?

You.....yeah, you.......

How's it going?

Come back again. A revamp of The Daily Skid Mark is taking place.

I miss you all. :)

Where has the time gone?

So, this is 2014. Meh.....

Look for MUCH more from my blog this year. More stories, more laughs, more crying and more pictures of dirty socks. I promise.

So, let's kick off 2014 by simply saying, thank you for sticking with me.

Even though I have been slacking. :)

-Mark

What would YOU wish for?

After the last 2 weeks I have had, I needed a good laugh. I know I have not wrote my blog for a while now, but I promise I will get back to it ASAP. In the meantime, here is a great joke I read the other day. I hope you enjoy it as well.

A man walks into a bar, and his head is an orange.

He sits down, orders a drink. The bartender eyes him warily, but gets him what he wants. The man sits sipping the drink, idly watching the soccer game on the bar television. After a while, he runs dry and orders another.

"Tell you what," says the bartender, "this next one's on the house -- but you've got to tell me what happened to your head. I don't mean to be rude there, but..."

The man smiles. "No, not at all. I get this all the time.

Well, it started with the Gulf War. I was a young kid fresh out of high school, but I was poor. I needed money for college, and the Army looked like a good way out of the ghetto. But then they shipped me over to Kuwait. My platoon took some heavy fire during Desert Storm, and I was separated from them.

I wandered the desert for days, with only the contents of my pack to sustain me. I ran out of water, I ran out of food. I was desperate, on the edge of death -- when suddenly, I saw a glint of metal in the distance...

I forced myself onward, hoping the shining brightness was a glint of gunmetal from my platoon, or a city on the horizon, or anything. When I finally reached it, it was a piece of metal half-buried in the sand. I dug around it and excavated what appeared to be an old Persian oil lamp.

There was an inscription on the lamp, too covered in dust to read. I rubbed at the embossed lettering -- and then, a swirl of smoke and light surrounded me. Suddenly, before me, stood a ten-foot tall being, dressed in traditional Arabian garb, arms crossed.

'I am the Genie of the lamp,' said the entity. 'For releasing me, I shall grant you three wishes. What is your first wish, my master?'

I was incredulous, of course. I deduced I must be hallucinating, that this was desert madness. I decided to test the mirage. 'Alright,' I tasked it, 'I wish for a wallet with a million dollars in it, that I can never lose, and whenever I take any money out of it the sum is immediately replenished.'

'Your wish is granted!' boomed the Genie. I felt a bulge in one of my uniform pockets. Reaching in, I pulled out a new wallet, stuffed to bursting with crisp, new American bills. I counted them -- sure enough, it was a million dollars. I ripped up the bills, cast them to the four winds, and threw the wallet as hard as I could. The moment it was beyond my sight, it teleported instantaneously back to my pocket, refilled with another million dollars.

'What is your second wish, my master?'

I pondered the notion for a long moment, assessing my needs. 'Genie,' I said, 'for my second wish, I want to be transported to a cool, abandoned palace, into a harem room with a hundred beautiful young virgins who will all fall madly in love with me at first sight, before a buffet table set with a feast fit for a king.'

'Your wish is granted!' Poof! I found myself in a royal harem, escaped from the heat of the desert. All around me, nubile girls eyed me with keen interest. In front of me, every conceivable type of meat was roasted to perfect tenderness, set with all the appetizers, side-dishes, salads, soups, and desserts of the four corners of the globe.

I dined until I was near-bloated. Several hours later, laying upon a bed of feathers, brown and blonde and red haired beauties cuddling with me, the Genie stood before me, looking down in satisfaction at his work so far.

'What is your third wish, my master?'

I thought long and hard. Truly, this last wish tasked the very limits of my imagination, my beliefs, my ethics, my philosophy. Hours passed in silence, save for the gentle snoring of the ladies surrounding me.

At last, I spoke.

'Genie, for my third wish, I want a big orange head.'

It's not me, it's YOU!

Reprinted, but I thought this HAD to be shared.......

I could have taken a picture of you and posted it here to publicly shame you, but I didn't. That's because I am not trying to be vindictive, ma'am. I'd merely like to answer that question you posed. This can be what the politicians call a "teachable moment" for you and everyone like you.

See, I was in line at that particular fast food establishment yesterday. You probably didn't notice me -- I assume you didn't notice any of us from the way you blatantly barged to the front. I was about to tap you on the shoulder and politely explain how lines are supposed to work in a civilized society, but I could tell you were in the throes of an ungodly rage. I figured this must be an emergency. My God, you were practically foaming at the mouth. I thought maybe someone at the counter had killed your dog, or framed you for a murder you didn't commit, or urinated in your oatmeal this morning.

Obviously something serious was going on.

Then you suddenly screamed, "NO ketchup! I said NO ketchup!"

Okay, so maybe this wasn't a dire situation. It was a condiment situation. Not exactly life or death, but close enough, I guess. The girl at the cash register looked confused. I don't blame her, some irate middle aged woman just barreled in the door yelling about ketchup. She asked you for some clarification, which was reasonable, but apparently you didn't think so.

"What's wrong with you people?! I just sat in the drive thru for ten minutes and now I have to come in here because you guys can't understand f*cking English! I ordered this burger with NO ketchup but of course I get it with gobs of ketchup. Unbelievable. This happens every f*cking time!"

Wait, it's unbelievable yet it happens every time? Hmmm. And your ketchup specifications are this important to you yet you continually come to the one place in town that apparently has a ketchup obsession? There are literally six other fast food joints within a two mile radius, but here you are at the one place that screws up your order "every f*cking time." Interesting. Logical thinking isn't exactly your forte, is it?

The poor girl at the counter, who likely had no hand in this ketchup fiasco, offered to give you a new burger, plain and dry, just as you prefer. But that wasn't good enough, was it? Their failure to obey your demands must be punished.

"No, I don't want a new burger. Give me your name and the number to corporate. I'm sick of this sh*t. Give me my money back and the number to your corporate office! Why can't I ever f*cking get good customer service?!"

And the exchange went on from there. You of course handled yourself like a woman of culture and dignity, while the fast food employee and her manager tried everything to find a remedy for the Tragic Ketchup Calamity. It ended with you promising to get them all fired as you stormed out. Then I finally had my turn at the counter. I ordered a burger. With extra ketchup.

Now, I replay this back to you because I realize you probably scream profanities at minimum wage customer service representatives every time you run an errand or grab a bite to eat, so you might not recall the specifics of this one incident. And that brings us to the possible answer to that query you posed in the midst of your ketchup rant. You asked: "Why can't I ever f*cking get good customer service?" Well, ma'am, that might have something to do with you being a vulgar, miserable, malicious person. Maybe you get bad customer service because you're a bad customer. Did you ever consider that possibility?

I get it. "You're the customer so you're always right." They work here so they have to bend over backwards for you "because that's their job." Well, you're partially correct about that. Yes, you are a customer and, yes, they do work here. But it's actually not their job to deal with psychopaths. They aren't hostage negotiators, they're fast food workers. And even if the powers that be at these corporate chains push this "customer is always right" crap because they've decided it's good business to placate horrible jerks, in the real world, outside the land of plastic chairs and soda fountains, adults who throw temper tantrums in public are never right about anything.

I'm sure some people might take your side. They might come to your defense by telling their own horror stories about all the times when customer service has failed to live up to their standards. Those folks are under the same delusion as you. They think their hallowed "customer" status somehow gives them the right to treat everyone with a uniform and a name tag like garbage. They think their past encounters with sub-par service makes it acceptable for them to fly off the handle about ketchup every once in a while. They think the rules of basic decency and respect come second when they are
The Customer. And they're wrong.

Do you ever wonder why we have so many atrocious politicians in Washington? Well, you shouldn't wonder. Just look in the mirror. Bad politicians are generally bad because they can't handle power. It goes right to their head and they become narcissistic, petty, controlling sociopaths. But at least it's a lot of power so the temptation to be corrupted by it is almost understandable. You, on the other hand, become a maniacal tyrant when society hands you temporary and meaningless power over 17-year-old fast food cashiers. I shudder to think what you'd do if you had an army at your disposal.

We all get a little unwanted ketchup every now and again, and we are all expected to handle it like mature and decent adults. Some of us manage to make it through our whole lives without ever feeling the need to berate restaurant or retail employees over some small and fixable mistake. Other folks, such as yourself, seem to get into a customer service Battle Royale every time they step outside their house. Maybe it's because the universe is against you guys. Or maybe -- just maybe -- it's because you behave like selfish obnoxious bullies.

Just something to think about.

Oh, and I'm betting you actually forgot to say "no ketchup" when you placed your original order. Wouldn't that be a totally expected twist to this captivating saga?

This post originally appeared on Matt's blog: themattwalshblog.com

Maybe I should have said something.

I saw you on the Manhattan-bound Brooklyn Q train.

I was wearing a blue-striped t-shirt and a pair of maroon pants. You were wearing a vintage red skirt and a smart white blouse. We both wore glasses. I guess we still do.

You got on at DeKalb and sat across from me and we made eye contact, briefly. I fell in love with you a little bit, in that stupid way where you completely make up a fictional version of the person you're looking at and fall in love with that person. But still I think there was something there.

Several times we looked at each other and then looked away. I tried to think of something to say to you -- maybe pretend I didn't know where I was going and ask you for directions or say something nice about your boot-shaped earrings, or just say, "Hot day." It all seemed so stupid.

At one point, I caught you staring at me and you immediately averted your eyes. You pulled a book out of your bag and started reading it -- a biography of Lyndon Johnson -- but I noticed you never once turned a page.

My stop was Union Square, but at Union Square I decided to stay on, rationalizing that I could just as easily transfer to the 7 at 42nd Street, but then I didn't get off at 42nd Street either. You must have missed your stop as well, because when we got all the way to the end of the line at Ditmars, we both just sat there in the car, waiting.

I cocked my head at you inquisitively. You shrugged and held up your book as if that was the reason.

Still I said nothing.

We took the train all the way back down -- down through Astoria, across the East River, weaving through midtown, from Times Square to Herald Square to Union Square, under SoHo and Chinatown, up across the bridge back into Brooklyn, past Barclays and Prospect Park, past Flatbush and Midwood and Sheepshead Bay, all the way to Coney Island. And when we got to Coney Island, I knew I had to say something.

Still I said nothing.

And so we went back up.

Up and down the Q line, over and over. We caught the rush hour crowds and then saw them thin out again. We watched the sun set over Manhattan as we crossed the East River. I gave myself deadlines: I'll talk to her before Newkirk; I'll talk to her before Canal. Still I remained silent.

For months we sat on the train saying nothing to each other. We survived on bags of skittles sold to us by kids raising money for their basketball teams. We must have heard a million mariachi bands, had our faces nearly kicked in by a hundred thousand break dancers. I gave money to the beggars until I ran out of singles. When the train went above ground I'd get text messages and voicemails ("Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?") until my phone ran out of battery.

I'll talk to her before daybreak; I'll talk to her before Tuesday. The longer I waited, the harder it got. What could I possibly say to you now, now that we've passed this same station for the hundredth time? Maybe if I could go back to the first time the Q switched over to the local R line for the weekend, I could have said, "Well, this is inconvenient," but I couldn't very well say it now, could I? I would kick myself for days after every time you sneezed -- why hadn't I said "Bless You"? That tiny gesture could have been enough to pivot us into a conversation, but here in stupid silence still we sat.

There were nights when we were the only two souls in the car, perhaps even on the whole train, and even then I felt self-conscious about bothering you. She's reading her book, I thought, she doesn't want to talk to me. Still, there were moments when I felt a connection. Someone would shout something crazy about Jesus and we'd immediately look at each other to register our reactions. A couple of teenagers would exit, holding hands, and we'd both think: Young Love.

For sixty years, we sat in that car, just barely pretending not to notice each other. I got to know you so well, if only peripherally. I memorized the folds of your body, the contours of your face, the patterns of your breath. I saw you cry once after you'd glanced at a neighbor's newspaper. I wondered if you were crying about something specific, or just the general passage of time, so unnoticeable until suddenly noticeable. I wanted to comfort you, wrap my arms around you, assure you I knew everything would be fine, but it felt too familiar; I stayed glued to my seat.

One day, in the middle of the afternoon, you stood up as the train pulled into Queensboro Plaza. It was difficult for you, this simple task of standing up, you hadn't done it in sixty years. Holding onto the rails, you managed to get yourself to the door. You hesitated briefly there, perhaps waiting for me to say something, giving me one last chance to stop you, but rather than spit out a lifetime of suppressed almost-conversations I said nothing, and I watched you slip out between the closing sliding doors.

It took me a few more stops before I realized you were really gone. I kept waiting for you to reenter the subway car, sit down next to me, rest your head on my shoulder. Nothing would be said. Nothing would need to be said.

When the train returned to Queensboro Plaza, I craned my neck as we entered the station. Perhaps you were there, on the platform, still waiting. Perhaps I would see you, smiling and bright, your long gray hair waving in the wind from the oncoming train.

But no, you were gone. And I realized most likely I would never see you again. And I thought about how amazing it is that you can know somebody for sixty years and yet still not really know that person at all.

I stayed on the train until it got to Union Square, at which point I got off and transferred to the L.

Since you been gone........

Ok, it's been awhile. TOO much has happned to putit all in this little update. It took us 3 weeks, but  wefinally found a new home to live in. I have a HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE ist of peoplke I have to thank, but that will come later. The good news is.....

I'm back, baby.

We are super busy getting things moved in, so the updates will come slow, but I promise more stories, more laughter and more live cage dancing on mmy part. Too bad accept it!

Stay tuned......and thank you for sticking with me. :)

Fudge.

Fudge.

I want to use stronger words, but why bother.

Fudge.

I have to find some solace in this situation, but there is none that I can see.

Fudge.

I have exhausted all resources that could have helped us out. Friends, local programs, Goodwill and even churches.

Fudge.

Just, fudge.

Goodnight.

I really wanted to finish my countdown. I really wanted to share my love for music with everyone. But right now, I can't. I just.....can't.

I have too many things on my mind right now. Hell, I don't even have the energy to do my nightly Caption Contest. This may be the last time for quite awhile that I post to this blog.

My family and I are facing the reality of becoming homeless. I fought what I thought was a good fight against what I consider to be deplorable living conditions in our rental apartment. I'll know tomorrow if we have a leg to stand on. I don't really know what's going to happen.

So, if we don't ever meet again in this blog, just know that I loved writing it. It was something I always wanted to do. Sadly, nothing interests me at this moment. I have no desire to do anything.

I have a family to worry about. My family needs a roof over their heads. My family needs food on the table.

So, goodnight. Thanks for reading.

By the way, #1 was Foo Fighters - Everlong.

#12 in the countdown of my personal favorite songs of the last 20 years.

Unwritten Law - Save Me

Always followed this band from their start back in the very early nineties. From California, their breakout sone "Seeing Red" was a staple on rock radio for a long time. I love the music, but I LOVE this song.

There are SO many ways to look at this song. Drug addiction, loss of a girlfriend, dying and so forth. All of it caused by the first thing I mentioned. The song to me is basically a goodbye to everything because he has too much fun doing what he does, and he has accepted the fact that one day he will be dead because of it, and there is nothing anyone can do. By the time he regrets his choices, it's too late.

The song, from the 2005 CD "Here's To The Mourning", has one of the coolest videos I have seen. There is an extended, un-cenosred version of it that is available on the greatest Hits DVD. If you look hard enough, you can find it online.

Here is "Save Me" from Unwritten Law.

Psst......do you wanna see the uncensored version? Here you go..... http://vimeo.com/2542385

See ya next time!

#13 in the countdown of my personal favorite songs of the last 20 years.

Matthew Good Band - Hello Time Bomb.

The best band you may never have listened too. Canadian rockers flying under the radar for years. This song was their biggest single released, it was nominated for a Juno Award for best single in 2000. The video and song was a KIND OF departure from their usual songs. I have been a big fan for years.

I remember hearing this song while still recovering from GBS. The CD Beautiful Midnight, from which launched this song as it's first single, was in my Pathfinder when I first started driving on a regular basis after being sick for so long.

If you are interested, check out the other songs floating around out there by MGB.  I highly recommend them.

From the 1999 CD, Beautiful Midnight I present Hello Time Bomb.

And just for good measures, check out another AWESOME song from Matthew Good Band. This one is called Strange Days. We can probably all learn something from this video.

See you next time!

#14 in the countdown of my personal favorite songs of the last 20 years.

Taproot - Mine

Another tune that blasts out of the gate. I came across this band by accident and fell in love with them. This isn't the biggest songs from them, but it's my favorite. "Poem" from the same CD was the 5th most played rock song of 2005. Another band rocking right out of Ann Arbor, Michigan.

To me it seems that this is a love song, and yet a controlling love. You can read it either way I guess. I like to think that it's about a love that he can't see himself without.

From the 2002 release "Welcome", here is Mine.

Oh what the hell, here is Poem as well. Rock on!

See you guys next time as I continue my countdown of my 20 favorite songs from the last 20 years!

#15 in the countdown of my personal favorite songs of the last 20 years.

Alice In Chains - Again.

This song just rips out of the gate, and throws you out the back door before raiding your fridge, and stealing your car. One of the best guitar riffs from them, EVER! This is one of those songs that is not only underrated, but will never get old for me. It may not be the best song from AIC, but it's in the top 5. For me, it's number 15 in my countdown. I had it playing in the car when I was going back to the hospital the day my son, Nolan was born.

Released in 1996, the video is the last one that Layne Staley was part of. Every other video after this that had him in it was just stock footage. He wore long sleeves in the video due to the horrendous bruises that covered his arms. (Supposedly from heroin use.....but not confirmed).

Sadly after the death of Layne Staley's ex-fiancée, Demri Lara Parrott, he was never the same. He was seen, and only recorded a few tracks after that. and went into a downward spiral.

April 19, 2002 he was found in his apartment. He had been dead for 2 weeks. He is still greatly missed to this day.

From the 1995 CD, it was also included in 2 box sets and a greatest hits disc.

Alice In Chains - Again

#16 in the countdown of my personal favorite songs of the last 20 years.

Fenix TX - Threesome.

A pretty underrated song released in 2001. I used to BLAST this in my headphones while playing Soldier Of Fortune 2 on my computer. It really got the blood going. Then again, I usually drank about 8 beers at the same time so Kenny G would probably have the same effect.

The CD was always in my first 10 in the rack on my desk, and I always had it on the computer ready to go. This song was actually playing on the now defunct MTV-X when I found out my divorce to my first wife was final via US mail. I proceeded to crank it up even louder.

The band broke up soon after this CD was released. A damn shame too. The band had a lot of promise. I would have loved to have seen more albums from them.

From the 2001 release Lechuza, here is Threesome.