Who Do I Think I Am??

This one's about the lost and recover...ing.

30DBC PROMPT: "What have you lost?"

Good afternoon, everyone. I'm back it seems...all the pain in my face is gone (and save it, smartasses, with the "how much it still hurts to look at" jokes...you know who you are ), the headaches have somewhat receded, and I think my eyes have finally reset themselves from anxiety, so I no longer feel like I'm walking stumbling around like I'm five times my age (which is well beyond a natural life expectancy, if you're keeping score at home).

I missed a few "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  prompts. I'm not likely to make them up in the next couple of days. I'm ok with that. I've made it a lot farther along this month than I have in the last year or so...so I'll take it. Does that mean if I say I've lost the last few days I'll have satisfied my entry requirement for...uhhhhh, today?

Sure, but nobody wants to hear that.

I could bore you with recent events of loss, semi-recounts of stuff I've lost over the last few months, or the horrifying tales of losing pretty much everything in the last year. But I won't do that to you either. For today it is I that am well enough to at least be <insert your favorite mood swing here>. I won't even take the prompt at its word by providing an accurate listing of the most important things I've ever lost. I'd write myself clear out of internet space before I finished that.

A wise man, I think it was me I'm not sure who he was, once said, "There's nothing more satisfying than to write a pen clear out of ink." I think the best time to add to that quote is now (as it's as good a time as any): "Yet there is nothing so disturbing as to discover the loss of a favorite pen". I concur. But only if it's socially acceptable to concur with your own statements, because we know nobody likes that guy/girl who likes their own Facebook posts.

The only thing you need to possess in a customer service position in retail (besides a thick skin and, preferably, an open schedule), is a reliable pen. You don't need a car if there's public transportation or it's close enough to walk. You don't need knowledge or a friendly attitude (lookin' right at you, Wal-Mart). You don't even need two arms (but having at least a stump is good...I've seen the guy that owns the diner next door to me serve coffee, and you can't tell me he's not making money hand over...ummmm...wrong time, wrong place for that idiom).

But I'll tell you what...that moment when you're trying to talk a customer down off the proverbial ledge and your pen flat-fuck fails you in the heat of their fire, you're done. Eff-You-Q-T. Forget it. Not only are they upset, but now you just look even dumber. And I don't care how smart you are, or how big your biceps are, or how low beneath the V-neck your tan line goes. When your pen has lost its ink, there's nothing you can do on the spot to make it write. Everyone, I don't care who you are, has done that little dance with their wrist, trying to coerce more juice from the ol' Papermate. You shake it, scribble like you're a four-year-old test driving his crayons on the wall, look at it, mumble, smile awkwardly, repeat the process, and hope one of your co-worker buddies throws you a lifeline new pen. Or if it's one of those clicky pens (my favorite), you click it so fast hoping to squeeze whatever's left out of it, praying you can somehow turn air pressure from clickage into ink. Which unfortunately never happens. Ever. Until ten minutes later, after the customer's gone to the parking lot to call corporate on you (because, ya know, who can wait 'til they get home to do that anymore?), does someone come walking by with eight pens just chillin' in their pocket, waiting to dish out a phone number, recipe or hate-mail. All. The. Time.

So, ya know, since I spent the earlier part of the month dishing out parenting advice, take it from the out-of-work semi-cripple: Never leave home without warming up your pen and having a capable back-up. I would hate to see any of you come up short in a time of, uhhh, essential time. You're welcome, and you can thank me later.

BCF PROMPT: "Tell us about something you would attempt if you were guaranteed not to fail (and tell us why you haven’t tried it yet)."

If there's anything more you need to know about me (and trust me, y'all know enough as it is), it's that I'm two different people (at least...but that's the confirmed count for now): The guy who takes chances, and the guy who plays it safe. Allow me to explain this concept to you, in terms neither of us will likely make sense of.

Take breakfast for example. I typically order one of two things, every friggin' time. Two eggs over easy, bacon, wheat toast, and French fries with gravy on the side (and just recently have I gone back to home fries, but only if they're extra crispy); or an English muffin with bacon, egg and cheese. Rarely do I vary. It's the continuity of the little things in life that ensure us the terrorists won't win. Plus, I know what I'm getting every time. No let downs. No screw-ups. Nothing fancy...the more ingredients, the more you take your chances with it sucking.

But then there are times when I'm feeling a little dangerous. I don't think outside the box. In fact, sometimes I like to break the box and turn it into a cylinder. Or a cone even. Gotta switch things up once in awhile, or else it gets boring. And we all know what happens when I get bored. My mind starts wandering, gears start crashing, and I'm waking up handcuffed to a prison cell covered in pizza sauce and missing a pocket on my shorts.

And all that is ok, minus the prison part. But that's for another day. What would I do if I were guaranteed not to fail? That's a good question. When I was younger I used to use the fear of failure as a motivator. The only problem with that is when you fail too often that you know better when not to try. It's a bit of a catch-22 (anyone know what that "catch-22" phrase means, anyway? There might be somethin' in it for whomever I determine has the best answer )...nothing ventured, nothing gained...until the losses overcome the positives.

Anyway, I'm getting away from myself...so yeah, here's a complete, honest, 100% no bullshit answer. I'd get all my notebooks together, drop some serious kay-shola, and publish several successful collections of written words. Not the entire vault, but enough to live well off of. Then I'd get ahold of my brothaman DMFM and finally write his autobiography, much in the manner we've discussed many times. Just sittin' in a room and letting the tape recorders roll as we rehash all the good time, bad times, and everything in the middle.

After optioning the film rights to the right director (and right doesn't always mean "highest bidder"), I'd publish a few more books of my own...and then disappear. Take some time off and drop out of the world, only to resurface on college lecture circuits, and maybe teach a little (using only my name as my qualifications). And then, publish a deathbed memoir to end all deathbed memoirs. Spill it all!, 'Cuz I can't fail, right?

Only, at the end, I don't die. Why? 'Cuz just like Parker Lewis, I can't lose http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcJwmddvSPc. I don't lose, and I don't fail. I wind up living forever, without even aging. Because I don't fail at that either. For real. If I'm clean-shaven, I basically look the same as I did when I was 18, with longer locks. So if I do some sort of exponential math, I probably stopped aging at, let's say 25 for the sake of having a number. I'll be 38 soon. Barring catastrophic injury (and let's face it, even though I had one six months ago, and if I average one every 12.375 years, it still won't be enough to stop me), I'll live to be at least 147 years young. That gives me plenty of time to not fail. And to find all the awesome pens I've had and lost over the years.

And I know what you're thinking. Why haven't I tried this yet? The night of my life is still young, sweethearts. All things in due time.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

I can't say I haven't lived a lot of this song before.

An Atmosphere song with a nice message and no cursing? Unheard of!

VITAL STATS:

Sincerest apologies to blainecindy for not having my editor's picks in on time for "Invalid Item" ...all month I kept telling myself not to wait until the last minute, and of course I did, and then I become non-functioning on a holiday weekend and I miss my deadline. But it's another great edition, and let's all wish Cindy the best on a well-deserved vacation! ( And pssst...hey- you...yeah, you, over there...yes, now stop pointing back and go check out this month's newsletter.)

My exponential math involves some of this in the equation:

I saw the most amazing thing today. An older woman was cruising down the sidewalk on a scooter. I know that's not really amazing in itself, but as she was going toward her vehicle, I realized she was kneeling on it. Her bent leg was bandaged at the foot, and her good leg was propelling her. This instantly made we wish my ankle was still in a gross state of disrepair actually. I would've loved to be chillin' in the parking lot, trying to do tricks on a busted limb, jumpin' curbs and all that. It would've made being broken a hell of a lot more fun!

Speaking of which, I saw the ankle doctor today. I told him how I was swelling up after PT. Told him where all the pain is (although I forgot to tell him how I wake myself up sometimes in the middle of the night by kicking myself while I dream...maybe my shrink needs to know that). I told him how my foot burns after about three blocks, and how when I bend it up and down it feels like trying to pull apart steak. His words? "Clearly, we're not dealing with the ankle that God gave you anymore." Uhhh, ya think?? But apparently, this is "normal". And some things are never going to be "normal". No, that hasn't quite sunk in yet. He said that things were so broken down and worn away that I may not have some functions again, and some won't be the same as before. He also said I should think about getting a job. I told him that's kinda hard to do when all I'm trained at is stuff requiring physical use of my appendages.

I'm not going to get all mushy and sappy, but I saw my mother for the first time in a long time. Between 15 and 20 years. I had a nice time. She drove down some of my belongings, we had dinner and then breakfast before doing some light shopping. I felt bad that we couldn't do more (there's not much to do here during the week and I was still having anxiety issues), but we at least go to spend time together and talk, which went well. I'm glad she made the drive down, and was appreciative of my stuff. Mostly clothes, and most of the things on my personal bookshelf from Western NY. A lot of my writing, which I'll probably be working on posting throughout the next month or so...and that includes "Cabin Fever" . I also came across this article of clothing, one of my absolute favorites...my Tragically Hip http://www.thehip.com/ hockey jersey from their World Container tour. I don't have any recent pictures from any of my family, for lots of reasons, but this is probably the most recent I have of a half-brother and a half-sister I haven't seen in a long time. (And it's my most recent Hip jersey pic ...)

** Image ID #1935510 Unavailable **

And now that I've sufficiently killed off another chunk of your day, I'm gonna see if it stopped raining so I can try to go to the video store and see if they have seasons two and three of Arrested Development on "Free Movie Tuesday, Wednesday And Thursdays" so I can catch up before I figure out a way to watch the new episodes (if they haven't already been bootlegged onto Youtube by now). Peace, pencils down and papers over, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!