The World According to JP

Sorry, but I played in a softball tourney yesterday (which we won), but am recouperating. I collided with our right center fielder and limped away with a bruised ribcage. Also, I took a line drive in the palm of my glove hand and it's turned a pretty purple color. It hurts to type. Since I type quite a bit for my job, I don't want to exacerbate the condition any more than I have to.

Hopefully, I'll be on my way to recovering by Wednesday or Thursday.
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The day finally arrived. All the anticipation, all the planning, all the scrimping and saving was all for April 9-17. It's been four years since we've all taken a vacation together like this.

Our flight was at 10:55 a.m. from Portland International Airport. Our first leg was from Portland to Denver. Let me say that Frontier Airlines does a pretty nice job. First of all, you have your own personal TV in the headrest of the seat in front of you. Costs $5 per TV, per leg, but they have Direct TV, so at least you have a choice of 30-some odd channels. You also have your choice of three mainstream movies at $5 each. Better than going to the theater. The only drawback to Frontier is that their planes, although they're new, are extremely small. We're talking 20 rows of seats. What this means is that they bounce around in the air with the slightest bit of turbulence. Everything was going along swimmingly UNTIL we made our descent into Denver. We started bouncing around like stripper with a set of DDs on a trampoline. Garrett was totally freaking out. My stepdad, who was sitting in between both boys, was being real attentive to Garrett to make sure he didn't have a heart attack. The problem was that nobody was paying attention to Reesey (who wasn't freaking out, but wasn't saying anything either). I looked over at Reese just in time to see him hork up all three bags of Fritos he just ate into his lap. Just fucking great. Here we had both boys looking very nice this morning and my little Mozilla is now bespeckled in corn chips. We didn't pack a change of clothes either. We land without further incident. We have a 45 minute layover and our gate turns out to be right next door to the one we landed at. I leave Kim, the boys and my mom at the gate (with Reesey draped in my stepdad's pull-over jacket, sans pants) and go literally running down the corridor in search of pants for him. I'll cut to the chase and say that there were no kids pants anywhere. As a last ditch effort, I ran into a news shop right by our gate. Turns out they have kids clothes, but only up to size 4T. I bought Reese a sweatsuit and when we put it on him, it looked like he was wearing his little brother's clothes. Oh well. What are you gonna do? I mean, so what if my kid now looks like he should be riding the short bus? We take off from Denver (just in the nick of time, I might add - a freak snowstorm hit a couple hours after we left and they shut the airport down for the rest of the day) and land in Orlando without further incident.

After retrieving our luggage and standing in the world's longest rental car line, we load up and head off to the Shades of Green Hotel at Walt Disney World. We arrive at 10:00 p.m., just in time to see the fireworks go off over Cinderella's Castle. Very cool stuff. That's one thing I love about Disney, everyday is magical for the people that are there. Even though it's the same stuff day after day, it's new for those arriving, and it's special. We get checked into our room and are all STARVING. Off to the hotel sports bar for wings and beer at 11:00 p.m. We meet up with my dad, his girlfriend, and my brother. We have a great time. Dad even pays. I love it when they feel obligated. Then it's off to bed.

All in all, our first day was a solid C. Highs and lows all around, but in the end everyone was happy to finally be on vacation.

Monday - "Tired But Happy At Magic Kingdom"
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Hello all. I hope everyone out there in blogland is doing well. I'd say it's great to be back but, you know. On to the list...

10. If you are on a turbulent airplane, Reesey will spew like a can of beer after about 15 minutes of bumping around.
9. There are no clothing stores in the Denver airport.
8. Getting to Disney at 10:00 p.m. is great because the nightly firework show is just starting.
7. If you're on a cruise and the boat is rocking to and 'fro, Reesey wil spew like a can of beer after about 2 hours of swaying back and forth.
6. Coco Cay is absolutely beautiful. See for yourself.

5. Whereas Atlantis is very nice, Nassau sucks.
4. If you put more than three of my family members in the same room, nobody can make a decision.
3. If Reesey would have went on Space Mountain, I bet he would have spewed like a can of beer.
2. The weather in Florida this time of the year is absolutely perfect.
1. You will spend about three times more than you budgeted on a trip like this (which is the ONLY reason I'm back at work and not sipping a Mojito in the Bahamas again this week).

There you have it. I will do a trip recap starting tomorrow. It really was a fun time. Hell, it was even great to see my family.
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Now, there's a shocker. Shocking!! A bun in the oven! Ms. Spears... Mrs. Federline. GREAT! As if having to hear ad nauseum how Michael Jackson fits the profile of a pedophile, now we're going to have to hear forever about Brittany's Growing Bump and how Brittany Got Fit following birth... blah, blah, blah.

I look at how young she is, 23 for cripes sake. That's young peeps. I'm 34 and looking to get with making more babies. I was 25 when my first was born and you know what? I was too young! No one should have a child before the age of 30. It just shouldn't be allowed.

Brittany, Brittany, Brittany, why are you in such a rush to widen your hips and your shoulders? Why are you in such a rush to take on such responsibility. Do peeps like you really have responsibilities? Do you really get up in the middle of the night? Do your babies throw up on you and have food allergies?

What's the rush?

I guess when you've done as much as she has in such a short period of time... maybe a simpler life is what she wants, while the rest of us want fame and fortune. Hmmmm... maybe she has the right idea after all.
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I was wondering why that lazy dawg JP hadn't blogged and then I remembered it was because he's on vacay and I'm supposed to be guest/mystery blogging. Whatever.

Like we all don't have more important things to worry about. Like... who the fuck told Cammy Parker Bowles Windsor I'm Fucking The Future King of England that the headdress she wore for the blessing by the Archbishop of Canterbury was in anyway attractive. She looked like she stuck a big patch of wheat on her head and then got stuck in a stiff wind. Gag.

The other hat, eh, I could have parked a Rolls under it but... for real, not bad. What I really liked is how the Archbishop made them say some sort of sin atonement. They should have turned it into some kind of Clue game. I did it with the Prince in the hunting lodge in doggy style. That would have been worth watching.

Yeah, I was one of those dumbasses who got up at the butt fucking crack of dawn to watch Jug Ears marry Princess Diana. Isn't it nice to know that someone loves you enough to ruin your fucking life??? Or was she just the only virgin left in England who found him somewhat attractive? You have to wonder about these things. I think he's improved with age actually. But... let's be honest, he and Cammy appear to be better matched, not just in looks, but also personality. And explain this shit to me... he didn't marry Cammy to start with because she wasn't a virgin???

But he married her this time!!! What the fuck? See, I learned from this. Marry who you're compatible with, marry who you love, marry that someone you can see yourself fucking in a hunting lodge, doggy style 35 years from now. I think its sad that Princess Diana was hounded the way she was, I think its sad that she had a faithless husband who married her for the wrong reasons (regardless of the hot hunky heir and spare) and I think the world lost a wonderful woman and humanitarian when she died.

However, its just as sad to see two people, Charlie and Cammy, who so obviously love one another, so obviously are well matched or complimentary in their attitudes and personality, waste 35 years of their lives due to some cock and bullshit about virginity, divorce, and atonement.

True love and happiness are so rare peeps. If you got it, don't let anything stand in your way. Reach out and take it.

Rock on royal newlyweds. Rock on.
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Tomorrow around 11 a.m. yours truly is off on a jet plane bound for Orlando and, ultimately, the Bahamas. I will be gone 8 days. Consequently, I will not be blogging. Drinking? You bet your muthafuckin ass. Blogging? Not so much.

There is good news, however. I have invited someone(?) to be a "guest blogger" here on my humble little website all next week. This person will remain anonymous until I return (unless one of you impatient assholes pries it out of whomever it is). I'm absolutely certain of two things: 1. My blog is in good hands; and 2. You will be disappointed when I come back because this person writes way better shit than I do.

So, everyone have a great week. I'll have a couple dozen Red Stripes and Mai Tais for each one of you. Hopefully, I don't fall (or get pushed by my cousin Steve - you call someone a fat, incestuous bastard ONE TIME and you never hear the end of it!) overboard in my drunken state that I plan to stay in for 99.9% of the trip.

Godspeed!
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Way back in high school, I lived a few doors down from this marching band tweedle named Herman. Herman played the clarinet. Rack his stones for being such an honest goddamn fag in those days of mulletized beatdowns if you so much as hummed a bit of the Thompson Twins. Herman was also pretty heavy into radio-controlled planes. Naturally, Herman was a friendless, spineless, post-pubescent pimple on the ass of the world. He always said "Hey" to me, even though the last time we had really exchanged any words was when I drilled him in the head with a rock and knocked him off his older sister's bike. I'm not proud of that now, but, as cool as I was then, well I have a reputation to maintain, which luckily included 'geek radar.' I suppose, looking back on it now, that Herman knew of this technology and the "hey" was his attempt to neutralize my attack.

So, it's fall. Herman gets a new radio-controlled plane. It's fucking HUGE - like a goddamn condor or some shit. More fuel to the fire. So he's taxiing it around the second parking lot of our apartments one day, and a friend who shall remain nameless (okay, Joey) and I decide to get in on the action. Why not? We know we can, and he can't do a damn thing about it. Posing as would-be friend, we hang out with Herman (who seems pretty psyched - he was probably making a mental note to run out and get new "best friends" wristbands), and learn all about his stupid fucking planes. Hell , he even lets us fly his new big one (what a sucker) once he gets it in the air. Fucking thing has a fully-operational bomb chute and about a six feet wingspan.

That Friday, I ask Herman if Joey and I can tool around with his new plane. He's pretty leery about giving up control of his dork crown, and asks why we aren't going to the football game. I tell him that I have to watch my younger bro at home since my Mom is out looking for dick, and since he (big Herm) has to go march at the halftime show, I thought I could practice up on his remote control thingie. Hell, maybe we could hang out over the weekend and fly his stupid fucking planes like...together? This was the cherry on top - the temptation of actually having friends was just too great. Well, this brings a smile to Herm's seeping, zit-addled face. "You betcha, fellas!" So Herm gives us another quick lesson in the parking lot before he heads down to school to put on his band costume.

We get in Joey's Camaro, cruise to the store, and buy some balloons and a two liter bottle of Coke. One at a time, we snap balloons onto the lip of the Coke bottle, and tip it up to fill 'em with Coke before we knot the fuckers. We make about eight little cola bombs, then take the wings off the plane, load the whole shebang into the Camaro, and cruise down to field. Turns out the "bomb chute" is so fucking small that it only holds one cola bomb at a time. At halftime, we load her up and take off from the soccer fields across the street. Our band takes the field and we start walking across the street and up the hill behind the bleachers, flying the stupid fucking plane overhead in big-ass circles. I'm doing the flying, and Joey's carrying a few spare cola bombs (such a good helper, that Joey). Right in the middle of Whitney Houston's version of the Greatest Love of All, I circle the plane over the football field, intending to bring it in low over the clarinet section. Not surprisingly, people start shitting (some literally, some figuratively), what with the plane and the high-pitched wwhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeee. A few teachers notice Joey and I at the top of the hill, and start heading our way through the bleachers. No time to lose. The time is now! I divebomb that fucker right over the woodwinds, heading towards Big Herm, and drop my payload, baby.

But, heartbreakingly, I miss him ... completely. I do, however, nail another clarinetist named Janice with an 8 oz. cola bomb. It explodes right onto her shoulder in a caramel halo of Coke droplets and mist that was truly breathtaking under the lights of the football field. (Janice would forever hate me, but I would fuck her sister the next year, so it made up for the bitch's ill humor.) The band stops butchering an already horrible fucking tune, starts freaking and looking around, and lovely little Janice starts crying. Meanwhile, Mr. Darnell, a PE teacher, is getting dangerously close to exiting the bleachers and reaching Joey. Ever the gallant combatant, Joey lobs a few cola bombs in Mr. Darnell's direction. Unfortunately, they are wide of the mark, exploding instead onto the heads and shoulders of nearby spectators.

At this point, we wisely decide to exit the field. I drop the radio-controller on the ground, and turn to catch up with Joey on our flight to the Camaro. Big Herm's Enola Gay touches down into the side of the Weiner Shed, the portable concession panel truck. We made it to the Camaro, but I ended up with a week's free pass on Monday. Herm got the nerve to ask about his stupid fucking plane the next weekend, and I told him it was an accident.

Ah, the innocence of youth.
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When I started my blog, I set a goal of one year. Looks like my writing resevoir has run dry just short of 11 months.

Fuck.

Ciao.
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