Color Run, NASCAR, and Domestic Violence

Cincinnati was host to the 2015 MLB All-Star game, and one of the festivities was the Color Run.  15,000 people signed up to run or walk, and along the way, have people throw powdered paint at you.

Each station was a different color, and the first color we encountered was blue.  The paint handlers tossed the blue paint with great enthusiasm, and in their frenzy, I saw a stream of paint leave a canister, and landed directly in my eye.   It was blinding! I staggered around while they heaved more paint.  I could feel it getting in my hair, clothes, and shoes, as I stumble around awkwardly fearing a stumble and breaking my ankle.  

After several stations, and a rainbow of Technicolor assaults, we finished!  In the finish chute, I was busy trying to dig a giant chuck of blue paint that had settled in the bottom of my eye lid, and would randomly move up into my vision.  It would cover my whole field of vision in one eye, and then quickly dart back down as I attempted to remove it.  Like trying to catch an earthworm after a hard rain. As we crossed the finish line to get our medals, we were given more paint.  We each got a couple of bags of different colors, such as gold, silver, and purple.  The field at the finish line was a mess!  The band was getting people were tossing their paint bags in the air all at the same time.  It was quite a site from afar.  Everyone was a complete mess!

We had tickets that evening for the Kentucky Speedway Quaker State 400, so we quickly hit the showers to ready to head to the race.  Shannon came out of the shower with blue still under her arms, and all over her chest and neck.  It was difficult to get off, possibly because it was the first color thrown, and was on us the longest.  Whatever the reason, we could not fully remove the color.  Based on the placement, it looked like Shannon was a victim of some serious domestic abuse (see picture).

I joked about the fact she looked like the star of a TV drama on the Oxygen channel (of course played by Judith Light -she is always in those series), and thought she would fit right in with the rest of the NASCAR fans.

Not knowing the parking situation or lay of the land, we pulled into the first driveway, and the first spot we found.

If you are familiar with your math studies, and remember Pythagorean Theory, our parking to the speedway is the length of the hypotenuse, or in simple terms, the furthest f**king point from the damn track!  It was a giant hike to get to the entrance, but to shorten the distance, we dipped over a guardrail and attempted to travel down, and up the other side of steep ravine.

Due to a recent horrible ankle sprain, I inched my way down this steep hill, while my friend Dave helped Shannon ease down the hill.  Several other people followed us through this treacherous shortcut, and seemed to be going just as cautiously.

Near the bottom of the hill, nearing the trickling creek bed, Shannon slips and falls on her ass.  Dave, being the gentleman he is, is helping her up, when a girl in the trailing groups says, “doesn’t look like the first time you have taken a hit and fallen down.”

I remember looking down, and seeing a dumbfounded look on both Shannon’s and Dave’s face, followed by Shannon yelling, “I ran the color run this morning.”  But her words fell on deaf ears and the girl shook her head as if to say, “yeah, right.”

Guess you should never judge a woman by her bruises….

The Dimmer Switch

My home project for today is to change out a dimmer switch for newly installed lighting.  Unfortunately, I rested drywall against the current switch and broke it within 5 days of it being installed.

My visit to Home Depot was a little overwhelming.  I had no idea there were so many dimmer switches that ranged in price from $15 to $60.  How bad to you need to kill the lights that you need a $60 dimmer?  It didn’t even come with a remote!

This is where my color blindness, or lack of electrical experience became a slight hindrance. The switch came out of the box with one black wire, one green wire, and two red wires. Logic told me that the two red wires needed to be attached to the “hot” electrical circuit, while the black wire goes to the ground wire

The wires were attached the way I thought they should be, and I flipped the breaker to give it some power. I tuned on the switch, staring up at the lights, waiting for the brightness to fill the room, when….POP!  A giant arcing spark flew out the switch, smoke rose from the wires, and I heard the break trip. Son of a bitch! I just ruined a $40 switch!  What the hell went wrong?

I finally broke down and read the instructions. This parchment revealed that one of the red wires was the ground wire. WHAT!? Is this some new international wiring change I was not aware of? Who would use a red wire for a ground? Obviously the same guy that has never jumped a stalled car. What was the rational for this anyway? If we get people to blow up a $40 dimmer switch, they will have to buy another one? Where is the logic behind the coding? What if everyone just randomly changed historically created given truths?

Like changing the pattern on a traffic light, and indicating green really means stop, but only a handful of people know that. Do you know how much chaos that would cause? This would be one way automotive manufactures and insurance companies could make some extra cash.  Or maybe this is how China expects to take over the world. One dimmer switch at a time.

Dumpster Bear

It was the day after Valentine's Day, and I was taking the dogs outside to do their business.  I walked them back by our condo dumpsters, because that is where we have the most open space, and it is where the dogs like to run ahead, and eat anything the raccoons pull from the dumpster.  As I approached the dumpster, I noticed there was something on the ground.  My initial instinct was that it was a bag of trash that was discarded by dirty men after being serviced by the working girls of our ghetto community.

As I got closer, it was revealed that it was a stuffed teddy bear that was in pristine condition.  As I picked it up, I noticed it still had the original tag.  A red tag, attached to his ear, indicating it was $5.99 with the purchase of 3 Hallmark cards.  The other half of the tag indicated this was Hallmark's Kiss Kiss Cupid Bear, and the instructions read "Press bears together, hear them kiss, and watch his wings flutter!"  I love the exclamation on the end.  It signifies some magically display of action will be shown if two of these bears are touching.

But I could not help wonder the journey of this little bear.  I don't think it is a coincidence that this item of affection was found on the ground, in front of a dumpster, the day after Valentine's Day.  Possibly put there as a result of a poor heave by a scorned lover?  Maybe the receiving girlfriend saw the price of $5.99 with the notice of 3 Hallmark cards, and wondered, "who are the other skanks that might be receiving cards?"  Perhaps she thought the bear gesture was not enough to win her love.

And where is the other bear?  This bear is clearly not something you buy just one of, and leave the store.  You have to buy two, otherwise, what is the point?  You cannot give this cute bear to someone, and have them be disappointed there is not two of them to hear the kiss and see the wings move!  This bear was an only child, I know because I looked in the dumpster.  If I would have found the other one, I thought, only for a fleeting moment, that I could pass this off as my own purchase and give it to Shannon.  But I am sure she would have been suspicious when one of the bears smelled like spoiled meat.

These bears are clearly for the first time love birds.  Those individuals that clearly have a difficult time showing emotion.  Once you give one of these bears, you have to leave them both with your significant other.  How weird would it be to bring your bear every time to go over to your girlfriend house, just to put them together and watch their wings move.  Afterwards, you take it home?  Seems creepy!

I wish I knew the answer to the mystery bear at dumpster's doorstep, but I am just going to have to speculate. A small token of affection discarded like Taco Bell wrappers at 3:00 AM.  But I was happy it was left there.  Now my dog has a new chew toy, one from which he can tear the innards out and leave quilt batting all over the house.  So for that, I say....

Thank you douchey boyfriend!

Leave your thoughts on how that bear found its way to the dumpster in the comments below......and thanks for reading!

Ohio State Shoes - WTF!

I work until I cannot stand the hunger anymore.  I never really plan on lunch, but lunch plans on me. It plans on me getting out of the office, and venturing around and spending money. Today, it was a Jersy Mike’s day.  As I was eating, I could see the running shoe store. This is the store where I purchased my previous running shoes, and thought, I probably should get a new pair. I knew it was probably close to a year since I purchased a new pair, and I felt good about myself today. 

A couple of fleeting moments of enthusiasm, and excitement filled my mind as the thought of me running a marathon again filled my head.  My excitement got the best of me, and on impulse, I hurriedly finished my sandwich and Cheetos, attempted to get that pesky yellow residue from my fingertips, and walked quickly to the store.

Without haste, I walked swiftly to the counter and, “I would like to purchase the same things as the last time.”  No trying on the shoes, no looking at the colors, just wanted her to grab my size, and let me walk out the door.  It was a safe action.  I was in a hurry, and I have worn the same size shoe for years without incidence, and my previous shoes felt awesome!   She looked up my name in their computer, walked to the back, and presented me with a shoe box.  After paying I grabbed the box, and tossed them in the back of my Hummer.

When I got home, I realized, I had just bought a pair of running shoes that displayed, out of all the color combinations in the world, those of Ohio State University. I am hoping my color blindness is causing me to see these shoes wrong, but I am pretty sure these are scarlet and grey.

As an alumni of the University of Michigan, I was devastated!  How could I wear these hideous things out in public?  My thoughts turned to; how I can hide the fact I am wearing these things?  Running at night?  Wear some oversized sweatpants?  Spray paint them?  Put an old sock over them?

Then I thought, if I think of these as Ohio State shoes, I won’t feel bad about cheating on my future workouts.

The Comedy Condo

It has been a while since I was on the road being a comic. To have a week of comedy where you have to travel to a location more than 3 hours away, and have to stay in the “comedy condo” is what most comics strive for, if not just for the stories to tell at a later date. This week, I am in the Cleveland area working with one of my favorite “Road Dogs” Thaddeus Challis.

We traveled to the club to get the condo key, and then headed over to see what our dwelling conditions will be for the next five days. The door was on the side of a small strip mall, and was made of steel. Only three address numbers from the dollar section of the hardware story revealed this secret passage. No window, no signage, just simple numbers. As we took the stairs up the darkly lit stairs, the steel door closed behind us with a distinctive bang. Air whistled around the gaps in the door jam, the little lit the open door provided, cause instant darkness. The dark stairwell, and creaky steps provided a heightened level of anticipation and possible disappointment.
The room was clean, and I was surprised the stench of stale beer, and pot was not left from the last comics staying here. Thad and I chose our bedrooms, and began to settle into the surroundings. This must be an old building because the wiring for each of the outlets is noticeably traveling around the baseboards and up the walls. Almost as if a building inspector told the owner he needs to upgrade the wiring, and running conduit up the side of the walls was the simplest solution.

Being above a small dental office, behind a steel door, with only one side of the condo having windows, it almost feels like I am in the witness protection program and this is the safe-house.
We were sitting around the kitchen table, and I grabbed the stack of magazines that were nested in a small alcove. I didn’t read the title of the first magazine I picked up, and was very surprised and the first picture I saw. It was a naked man, on a beach posing for a picture with a naked girl, while several other naked people were casually standing around. I quickly closed the cover and read the title---Naturally Magazine? Apparently, this is the magazine for nudists! And there were two copies of this magazine at $9.95 per edition! (Click here to see their Facebook page). Who would pay that much for old man balls and 1970’s un-kept pubic regions?
Immediately I tried to think of the past comics that were in this condo, and thought about who might be a nudist. No one came to mind, but maybe it was a comic that was just too embarrassed to buy a Hustler, or didn’t have a computer for the internet. Both copies of the magazine looked like they had been left in the rain. All of the pages were wavy, and stiff, and the sound of paper being peeled from itself was present while thumbing through it! After realizing what this magazine might have been used for, I immediately threw it toward the back of the recessed space only to let another unsuspecting comic soil his hand through the pages.

Another creepy surprise came when I pulled back the curtain of the one window in the bedroom. Behind the glass, was a storage room that was totally dark, but in several of the panes of glass were small, bloody handprints and blood splatter. A little unsettling, but based on the small size of the hand prints, I am guessing it was Brad Williams.
The bathroom is crazy small! The sink is strategically place directly in front of the toilet. If you sit on the toilet, you need to position yourself at a 45 degree angle, and put one leg in the tub.
But to be doing something I enjoy, with Thad, a guy I love like a brother is so worth it all!
#WouldNotChangeAThing

Valentine’s Day Flowers

Valentine’s Day is quickly approaching, and I know many woman are expecting flowers from the their significant other.  My wife, the lovely Shannon, reminds me all the time that she would love flowers at work.  She mentions this every time I send pictures of flowers via text message, and asking if these flowers brighten her day.
So instead of waiting until February 14, I ordered flowers to be delivered on Monday, at her work place.  When they arrived, she called to remind me that Valentine’s Day is on Friday, not Monday, and her co-worker thought I was an idiot for sending them early.

But here is the method to the madness.  Girls want to get flowers no matter what day of the week, year, or holiday. And they want to show off their flowers, in their office, to the their co-workers, and clientele. So why would I wait until Friday to send flowers when I can maximize their effectiveness by getting them delivered on Monday?

By getting them delivered early, they can sit in her office all week, everyone gets to see them, and make their comments, and I look like a hero.  Versus sending them on Friday, and they either sit unnoticed all weekend, get neglected and wilt, or she brings them home, and I get to watch my expensive gesture rot on a coffee table.
In my mind, Monday was definitely the best choice!

Late Night Lake Staring

It is 4:10 in the morning and between my stomach issues and Shannon slowly inching her way diagonally across the bed, I am awake. My sleeping area at the head of the bed has shrunken to half of my pillow due to Shannon's tossing and turning. She has positioning herself to maximize the amount of  sleeping area by utilizing the Pythagorean formula to become the long side of a right triangle.  Now that I am unable to roll over without crushing her face, I slowly slide out between the covers and find myself sipping my baking soda water on our deck overlooking Twin Lake in Michigan.
 

There is no moon, but the sky is providing a lightning show that gives up a quick glimpse of the surroundings in sporadic intervals. No rain yet,  but you can feel a storm on the way.  The wind is picking up and the distant sound of thunder is getting louder. The wind and air have that certain smell that reminds me of my childhood when I would watch a thunderstorm roll across Lake Michigan.

I love it here. On a peaceful lake in my home state with the smell of the surf, and the sound of an incoming storm. I feel at home and my environment is filling my head with distant memories.

A lightning bolt just hit near by and I am on a second floor deck.  Time to head inside and push my C-squared woman to the bed's edge and enjoy the passing rain.