This Absurd World Is A Funny Place: 2008

Labor Day 2001 perhaps the last weekend America would feel untouchable and invincible. I was driving over the road trucks for a small trucking firm based in Minnesota. My then girlfriend caught a flight out to Las Vegas, and I made arrangements with my trucking company to let me layover in Las Vegas for the 3day weekend. My sister and her daughter(my niece) flew in from out of state. Friends of my girlfriend whom live in Las Vegas picked her up at the airport and taxied us around to hook up with everyone. It promised to be a great weekend. The load I was under allowed me to spend up to 4 days gambling and cavorting with my honey, plus see my relatives and friends. The trouble is my schedule allowed 2 days more than my wallet did. Typical for Vegas. The first stop on that particular load delivered in Canton, Ohio, Sept. 11th 2001, the second and final stop delivered in southern N.J. on the 12th. When I was empty I was to head north to Patterson, NJ and reload. Looking across the meadowlands where the Giants play football. I saw 1st hand what those evil bastards had done, but all that was in a future I could not of dreamed of that labor day weekend.I picked up my load in Los Angeles and made my way up I-15 to Las Vegas arriving at the T/A truckstop around 3:00pm Vegas time on Friday Sept 2nd, 2001. My sweetheart would not arrive until 7:00am Sept 3rd. I fueled the truck, found a suitable parking spot, and went inside the truckstop for a meal and a shower. After my shower I stowed my gear back inside my rig and made my way back to a small casino inside the T/A truckstop. I won a little cash about $150 and then went back to sleep in my truck and await the arrival of my sugar-dumpling early next day. What a great life rambling the country seemed like at that moment. The truth of it all is the miles take a toll on your soul and for every enjoyable minute on the road there is an hour of despair. I awoke the next morning eager to see my gal after all it had been 5 weeks since I last kissed her goodbye. Her friends picked her up at the Vegas airport and brought her to me by 9:00am. When she arrived to meet me in the casino. She not only looked like a million but had a couple hundred dollars she could loan me. Is there anything more attractive than a lady with cash? In Las Vegas no less, she was a sight for sore eyes, a drop of dew in the desert.We did the usual couple in love routine, kiss, eat breakfast,drink,& gamble. You know the old routine. By noon my sister had called to report they were safely checked into the Sands and her Daughter(my neice) and her new husband were there also. So we headed the wagons on down the strip to meet up. Where we shared a group hug followed by more drinking,& gambling. By now it was mid-afternoon and we took a group vote on our next move. The majority rule decided N.Y.-N.Y. was our next venue. Some high quality chinese food in their pricey China Town type restaurant. A little walk around gawk at the casino which produced some genuine midwestern gee-whiz's. Followed by drinking and gambling. This in turn led to another group hug and the drinking produced some genuine dedications of affection. To the untrained and sober ear probably sounded alot like "Loves Shoe Man,sho berry haphy yoush cold maksh da rip". Translation-"Love you man, so very happy you could make the trip". To truly understand drunkenese it helps to be drunk. The group vote took us to Paris the casino next. Where we all agreed to drink more gamble less.Paris casino is truly a work of art. They had a wonderful bar where many more gushing dedications of affection were slung at one another. If one had enough drinks and you squinted a little, you could truly believe that Paris lay at the end of our bar. The ceiling is painted like sky, the bottom of the Eifel Tower loomed in front of us, and the staff was rude just like the French. My little buttercup wandered off with a bucket of nickels to gamble. Leaving me to drink with my sister. My sis' whom I've always admired and looked up to. Began to unburden herself of her woes and explain how she had always dreamed of having a sister-in-law just like my little pumpkin. My niece chimed in and stated she always dreamed of having an Aunt-In-Law like my honey bee. To top it off the group consensus was, they were all tired of gambling, but the liqour should continue.The other group consensus was that I would be a fool to let this one get away. As I squinted out over the casino floor. I asked God for a sign. God always one for a little humor, let my squinty eyes fall upon my love muffin. There she was in radiant splendor coming towards me, squinting back at me. Ever so gracefully spilling dainty dallops of beer from her cup in her right hand. Spilling nickels from the bucket tucked under her left arm. Yes my sister was right, my niece was right. Plus who could argue with a chuckling God and the romance that is Paris-kinda. I must make this vision Mrs. Hootnhowell #3. When she approached I was swept up in the rapture of Paris-kinda. I dropped to my knee and begged, if she would have me, and I could have her bucket of nickels, we could wed this very night. She said other than another beer there was nothing that would make her more happy. I gallantly said I would provide both. After all it was past midnight central time and I could get more cash now from yonder ATM. Yes fate had aligned in our favor. More celebatory drinks while we made our wedding plans. To be married on labor day would mean I could easily remember our anniversary. Women like that. I know because this lack of knowledge in my first 2 marriages caused much friction. There was some group discussion on what kind of wedding we should have. I wanted a midget Elvis pastor. While my bride-to-be wanted something a little more traditional. Perhaps a drive through chapel. My sister took charge and stated that she would order another round. Whilst I cashed in the nickels and secured more ATM cash. It was all coming together nicely. My bride to be wondered aloud just when she could expect the beer she had been promised. I rushed off to the cashiers window.Upon my return everything was in motion. My future Mrs. Hootnhowell was happily finishing her long awaited beer. My sister had secured directions to the court house. I was happily counting our nest egg of $417.85 plenty dough for a 1st class Vegas wedding. The rude waitress was happily anticipating our drunken party of 9's departure. We tipped her a couple of nickels and towards the courthouse we went. We caravaned in two vehicles swerved into a Circle K for libations to go, and direction check. We entered the court house and after answering some very personal questions, secured our license of bliss. As we exited the court house. A strategically placed man approached us. Call it fate, call it kismet, call it luck, or gratuitous fortune, say it was simply in the cards. What this man of stategy handed us was a coupon for a wedding chapel complete with directions. I still remember the directions which were as follows: go north on Las Vegas Blvd. the chapel is located on your right just as you pass Gasse. Yes God was surely giving our marriage all the green lights. My future bride was unsure. I promised that we would investigate a drive through chapel enroute. True to my word as all good marriages should be. We stopped at a drive up chapel to compare prices. The driveway was a long winding affair covered by a painted awning. Painted on the underside of the awning was a depiction of a cloud speckled sky. I explained to my soon to be wife that this place was not special enough. My reasoning which she listened intently to. Was that if the sky painted driveway awning were not there. When you looked up you would see a real sky. Besides factoring in the coupon we could save almost $158.00 by traveling on. She cracked another beer and reluctantly agreed. We careened on towards coupon chapel.Heading up Las Vegas Blvd. true to the directions on the right hand side of the road. Just after having passed Gasse was the neon glow welcoming bride and groom. Out front on the sidewalk was parked a Harley motorcycle. We learned later that particular couple had just met earlier in the afternoon. Who's to say how love works? Undaunted but a little nervous and a lot inebriated we entered with our coupon. Twice our merry little party had to be quieted as we were interupting the Harley couples vows. Once when I burst out laughing at the gold lettered sign on the back wall of our waiting room. The wooden cut out letters painted gold read Church Of The Golden Grain. In my drunken state I believed the sign to read Church Of The Golden Groin-my bad. The second bout of laughter bringing retribution. Was when somebody in our party requested the coupon back for a scrap book project. It was explained in no uncertain terms if they gave it back it wouldn't be a coupon. Can't argue with logic like that I guess. Never a group to let naysayers dampen an otherwise festive occasion. The females of the group took my future Mrs. Hootnhowell off for preparations. The coupon included a veil, a bouquet of plastic flowers, and services rendered by a very small Phillipine minister. True it wasn't the midget Elvis I was hoping for. But hey thats what a bucket of nickels and a coupon will get you in Vegas. Besides if you squinted your eyes just right-well you get the idea. I anxiously stood waiting for my little bride at the front of the chapel. She entered holding the wall to steady her drunk stroll. She was a vision blowing upwards on a veil she wore backwards. We were all trying in vain to keep our composure. My sister feigned crying into my brother-in-laws arm. When half way through our ceremony the previous couple reved their Harley-we all lost it. It may not have been the most beautiful wedding, but it was definately the most fun!After the ceremony we shared a group hug and a vote. Decided to try for a nightcap at the Tropicana. My niece and her husband gave us a honeymoon suite there as a wedding gift. After a few more drinks we decided to take my little flower to the room. Upon entering we tossed her on the bed to pass out. The room was gorgeous complete with a jacuzzi, a view of the MGM, and the strip. I watched my little bride sleep. Then I filled the jacuzzi turned on the TV. I watched some old reruns of a 60's era show. I looked out over the strip and admired it's neon beauty. I contemplated having our marriage annuled. To this very day I'm glad I did not. I could not imagine life without her. Whenever people gather and talk of how expensive this wedding or that wedding was. My wife and I laugh out loud. How many couples can brag about using a coupon to get married? I did and it's been my favorite coupon ever. I hope you've enjoyed this rambling blog. Please feel free to visit my new blog pages at http://www.hootnhowell.blogspot.com/ or visit hubpages and search hootnhowell. Good luck to all.

The Value Of Niche Marketing ( Fins To The Left or Geezer Palooza 2008)

About Time We Had A Fireside Chat (God Has Such A Great Sense Of Humor He Gave Us Politicians)

What Mom Didn't Tell You ( or putting the bunk in debunk)

Saturday, August 9, 2008

How To Spot An Internet Guru( or how dishonesty pays in an age of the internet)

Too Quick To Be Dead Has Me Feeling Half-Fast

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Making The Most Out Of Your 5th Grade Education(Drugs Just Say Maybe Later)

I recently watched an episode of "Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader" if you have never seen this show save your self the trouble. I hate being the one to spoil the ending, but rest assured even if you have a PHD from Harvard you are not smarter than these 5th graders. I'm not sure what rock they pulled these twisted little geeks from under, but somebody needs to put em' back. I spent a week in serious depression over the fact that these little kids make Alex Tribec look retarded and me look like someone who just had an elective self induced lobotomy. After 2 weeks and a 1/2 gallon of Sailor Jerry Rum it finally dawned on me like a 1000 watt klieg light. When I was a 5th grader I knew everything too. I am now a solid 50 and would like to impart some wisdom onto the younger generation. Of all the things I have witnessed and learned over the last 50yrs the only lesson worth passing on is "Don't overlook the power of the afternoon nap".Kingdoms may rise and fall, love-money-jobs-wives may come and go, but the power of an afternoon nap is consistant. Lets face it house-cats and Mexico got this one right, the former has 9 lives and the latter is home to a happy bunch of people who gave the world tequila. We as a race tend to look at this upside down. When I was younger I foolishly believed the afternoon nap was needed to recuperate from a wild night of drinking and carousing. At age 50 I realise that at a youthful age we have too much energy and the drinking and carousing were needed to get an afternoon nap. I have practiced plenty and can now enjoy an afternoon siesta with a minimal amount of drinking and almost no carousing. With a little luck and a lot of practice by age 60 I may be able to eliminate drinking and carousing all-together reaching a zen like ability to afternoon nap at will.My wife on the other hand suffers from an inability to enjoy afternoon naps. I tried to get her to seek out a cure for this malady. Sadly an inability to siesta(or for that matter fiesta)is not covered under our insurance policy. Brave trooper that she is will try to cover up her affliction by casting aspersions torwards me. She sometimes in a fit of pure frustration will call me lazy. Poor thing on those rare occasions when I actually wake up to hear her. I pray that God will find it in his heart to cure her, or at least give her the strength to finish mowing the yard. Its not really her fault most people from a tender age are mistakenly taught to work hard, be ambitious, and keep your nose to the grindstone.The greatest inventions in the world are made because someone was lazy. Alexander Grahm Bell got tired of getting up from his desk to tell Watson come here, so he invented the telephone. Later Mr. Push got tired of dialing the phone and added his button. Henry Ford was tired of hitching up a team of horses to the carriage and invented the horseless carriage. People in general got tired of spelling horseless carriage and justed started to spell car. Two bicycle makers from Ohio named Wilbur and Orville because thier mom wasn't Wright were tired of pedaling all the way to the airport, so they invented the airplane. Even America was discovered by Christopher Columbus looking for an easier way to get to India bumped into America by accident. Then rather than go look for the correct way to India figured he would just put New York here, after all who would know the Queen never leaves Spain. If all that is not proof enough of how valuable laziness is just mention "The Clapper" and lazy men everywhere swoon at the pure genius of it.So Mr. smarty pants 5th grader when you finish highschool or college and go out into the working world. During the job interview find out just how much nap time is included with the new job. Sure you may get turned away a time or two, but hang in there and think how happy you will be when some employer somewhere says welcome aboard we nap here from 2-4 go home at 5. I mean thats the real deal isn't it? We pretend to dilligently work hard 8hrs a day, and the Company pretends to pay us a decent wage and act like a $1.00 an hour raise might break the company. Good Luck 2 All!

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Going Down To The River To Play

We had loaded the cars with care for a weekend trip to do some tubing on the Guadalope river, which is a river near New Brunsfel, Tx. The plan was simple caravan to our campsite located west of New Brunsfel, set up camp, get shit faced drunk, have fun. My goals in my youth were simple but usually had a common theme which revolved around getting some brain cells to kill themselves. Hey! I reasoned only the strong survive right? This motly caravan consisted of my 2nd wife who told me her last husband had requested a divorce, but failed to mention her last husband was Satan(seems even he has standards), her 2 children Lucy-fer & Beezle-bob, 3 of her very gay friends-(twinkle, tinkle, and bitchy boy), my youngest daughter, and a few of my macho high school friends from Pekin, Illinois( a town which until 1980 had the misfortune of having thier sports team named the "Pekin Chinks"), and of course myself a fun loving guy who naively believed the world could get along.The trip was going well my recently purchased 1983 CoupDeVille seemed as if it floated on rails, but as we stopped for gas a little north of Austin the train started to jump the track ever so slightly. We filled up the cars paid the barely spoke english attendant and decided to get sodas for the kids to quench thier thirst and possibly shut them the hell up. You know "are we there Yet, how much farther, I gotta pee, quit looking at me" that sorta thing. That is when bitchy boy made a snyde remark about my friend Hanks mismatched ensemble. Now Hank wasn't really sure what an ensemble was, but he was convinced he needed to defend his right to it, and was even more convinced that bitchy boys right to existence was questionable. Oh the humanities, bitchy boy out to improve the world one outfit at a time and considered his matching black shirt, fip-flops, and pressed trunks the envy of all. Hank pointed out that if he ever remarked about his ensemble whatever the hell that was bitchy-boy would be sporting a matching eye. I suppose you know what happened next and with some deft refereeing on my part and some ice from one of the coolers to soothe poor bitchy-boys eye we were on our merry way again.After one more minor incident in Austin proper where I recieved a speeding ticket but dodged a dui bullet(a story in itself). We arrived at our destination and checked into our campsite after paying the caretakers of this little slice of heaven. The caretakers who looked like extras from the Deliverence set, showed us our campsite and where to take our trash which was an impressive looking mountain of garbage located next to the office.(good thinking huh?) We set up camp Mrs. ex-satan the kids and I in the large tent, my friends in another large tent, and of course the 3 gay guys in a pup tent with 1 sleeping bag. Sounds cramped and uncomfortable, but judging by all the giggles coming from thier tent they must really enjoy camping. That evening we all did the usual camping stuff, roast weiners(can't tell you about all the wise cracks from that), drink heavily, get acquainted, and generally commune with nature. I mistakenly thought we had pulled this train back on its rails. The morning told a different tale.Twinkle recieved a phone call from his life partner Diddleme, who proceeded to explain that he had wrecked Twinkles EuroSaab back in Dallas while having an extra life partner affair. Twinkle (and I must applaud his hetero response) decided the answer to this trying experience was to seek solace at the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle. My friends who were sitting around the campfire swilling beer and making the bong bubble. Found the sight of three grown men, sobbing and consoling each other, a roll on the ground funny sight. Hank still proud of himself for putting the finishing touches on Bitchy boys ensemble. Promised to make them all match each other if they didn't stop that infernal wailing. Mrs. Ex-satan was torn between having a pity party with her gay friends, and wanting to have fun. What she decided to have, may be my only view of a genuine canipshun fit in full spectra color. It was my first insight into why Satan would scamper away from her. Like the calm in the middle of a storm. The wailing and tooth nashing dissapated into a resolve to have a good time, and a devil may care attitude took over. We made our plans to stumble to our awaiting tubes and float our cares away. We discussed what we should do with our unattended campsite, and I had an epiphany. The coolers would be coming with us, and all other valuables could be locked into the cavernous confines of my recently purchased Cattlemac. I would then put the car keys into my trunks. The float trip began amidst much alcohol consumption, and bong bali-hooing.Somewhere between the mystical experience of a smoky drunken state of enlightenment on an innertube, and the point of no return. You guessed it the key was lost, but we were blissfully unaware of that then. One hour into our majical river float we stopped near a water fall to relax. By this time Twinkle was in a state of drunken denial, bitchy boy could not feel his cajun eye(blackened), and Hank had all situations under control for the moment. However Bitchy-boy not content with peace & tranquility ever, decided to bare his silly soul. He began to explain he was feeling a tad bit guilty, as he too had extra-life-partner liasons with Diddleme. Twinkle could bear no more and began a series of windmill motions with his fists from atop his wobbly legs. Tinkle wisely dropped to the ground in a fetal position and bawled hystericaly. Mrs. Ex-satan unwisely decided to referee, my friends and I grabbed the bong and watched the show. I don't know what it is about human nature that makes us waver between peace and a good fight. What I witnessed was neither. The children started a slap fight of they're own leaving Beezle-bob with a shiner. Twinkle windmilled Mrs. Ex-satan and Hank decided he would not waste another moment of his quick temper laying idle. I valiantly defended cooler and bongs while Hank clocked Twinkle who fell atop Tinkle bawling in his fetal defense. Somewhere between the 5th of Jack and the chop to the chin Twinkle was immobile. Tinkle sprung to his feet and began running around the shallow water hands over his head screaming "Oh Shit, Oh Shit"! Myself and the 2 other Pekinians were rolling on the bank laughing till tears flowed. Mrs. Ex-satan now also sporting a shiner was less than amused, and I never heard the end of that until a Dallas judge finally pronounced "You Don't". Soon a shaky calm was reached and we proceeded down stream 3 of our party sporting swelled eyes and an unconsious Twinkle in tow. We of course would seek help for Tinkles damaged psyche later.The bus ride back to camp was largely uneventful. Arriving at a camp with locked up valuables which had no key, somewhat eventful. I had previously thought my personality somewhat charming the group consensus was not in agreement. I in a quick thinking moment devised a plan. Luckily the fire log I grabbed was not needed to defend myself. Rex a laid back Pekinian friend had a better plan. I listened intently. He suggested someone take unconsious Twinkles car to town buy food, in the morning call a locksmith. Sounded well thought out to me. In the morning he continued explaining we would call the Cattlemac dealership to get a key cut from the vin#. Morning arrived phone call was made and to our surprise the dealership could match a key to the vin #, if the cattlemac was only 8yrs old. My cadilac was 10 yrs old. I grabbed the fire log hid it behind my back and braced myself. Twinkle had arisen and suggested we call a locksmith. I snuck the log into the fire and agreed. The locksmith who arrived must have been 70yrs old. He explained the complications of rekeying a 3-way tilt wheel and suggested we tube the river again. We could pay him now and he would leave the key at the office with Mr. & Mrs. Deliverence. Sounded good to me, Texas being a place where someones word still means something. The tubing trip began again, and other than a slight tussle with a water moccisin went well. We finished the trip took the bus back to camp. I anxiously went to visit the deliverence couple who surrendered the key, all seemed right in the world again.The next morning we broke camp and started our jouney home. We were all desperately wanting to get home to heal our fresh wounds. Upon reaching the hard black top road. Which was the first place a turn signal was needed. I turned on my turn signal for a left onto the black top towards civilization. Apparently Mr. Old Fart locksmith had miswired my 3-way tilt column. Every time I used my turn signal the horn would blow in unison with the blinker bulb. For those of you unfamiliar with a cadilac horn I assure you it is loud. People who buy Cadilacs purchase right of way. Cadilacs rule thus the tone of the horn is not some cutesy euro-beep, but rather a get out of my damn way honk. Somewhere north of Austin we all stopped to eat and fuel. I lifted the hood and yanked off the horn wires, and went in to meet the rest of the group. As we sat at our large table waiting for our meal I could scarcely believe my ears as everyone was planning next years trip. That trip did not happen as time changes everything, but ain't life GRAND!