“PeterHole” Makes Me Giggle.
When random opportunities to meet a \"internet friends\" present themselves, I've always felt that I should seize them (yeah, seize both the opportunity AND the \"friend\"). This is especially true when said friend says things like, \"You make the drive up here, and I'll buy the food and beer.\"
Shit man, free beer AND you'll feed me? I'm there. Hell, if you wanted to marry me, I'd fly all the way to Australia...
Saturday night I made the trek up into the peaceful mountain town of Estes Park to meet mi amigo Pedro in person and, true to his word, he fed me, beered me, but only half-heartedly tried to molest me. My disappointment in the latter was tempered by the good beer and company. I even got to chat with my girl, Jenna and tell her what a fine hunk of beer-buying man she has.
The strange parallels involving our respective situations made me think that Pete and Jenna need to not only get hitched, but to have septuplets straight away, if they want to try and top the story of LoveHole. The timeline and our situations are eerily similar, so I was about to accuse them of being copycats, but the celebratory high-five across the table last night left me believing that blogger love stories are cute and all, but Love is some seriously good shit.
The Best.
Go Us.
Even though Pete did his best to seduce me with the finest Scottish Ale served in Estes, I had a long drive ahead of me so I declined.
I KNOW. I couldn't believe it either. I don't know of a surer sign of my wife's long-distance influence on my \"normal\" habits than for me to decline many beers in a vain attempt to be \"responsible.\"
And by \"responsible\" I mean \"Mr. Hole, are you aware of the speed limit on this road, as well as the fact that you performed an unsignalled lane change in the middle of an intersection?\"
For as much as cops intimidate the shit out of me (could be that time that I got my nuts grabbed and then hit upside the head... not sure) I'm not lacking in objectivity. I know it's a Saturday night and there are multiple festivals in the neighboring mountain towns, ensuring that some drunken revelry will work it's way into the flatlands eventually. They're on the lookout for drunks, and I was cool, I knew this.
This is why I confidently replied that I was well aware of the traffic laws that I'd broken, but I not only had a long drive ahead of me, I had also spent a half hour winding my way down a canyon behind a ancient woman in a Cadillac that should have zero fear of dying in a fiery crash, as her age would suggest that she is already banging on Death's Door with her frail fists. I did my best to brownnose by slipping in the fact that I play hockey with quite a few cops and they constantly remind me of my driving shortcomings.
I also admitted, with the same confidence, that I had indeed imbibed that evening, but had limited myself. I wasn't worried about the implications of this except for the fact that he kept asking, moving his head in and out of the street light that was brightly shining in my face.
He was adamant that he could smell something stronger than just beer at dinner 2 hours previous, and asked politely if I would concede to a street-side sobriety test as well as spit out the gum I had in my mouth.
I told him, \"You bet, no problem,\" as I explained that I was drinking Scottish Ale and that it probably added some potency.
He shook his head that it wasn't that, he couldn't quite place it though. I shrugged and went to stick my gum in the first receptacle I had laying on the floor of my truck.
I don't want you to think that the fact that I'm a complete fucking idiot sometimes is lost on me. I know. I am fully aware. And I usually find it freakin' hilarious.
This is why the cop almost laughed out loud when he saw that I was sticking my gum into an empty beer bottle.
He smiled and said, \"THAT might explain it, you think?\"
Then I DID laugh, and sheepishly held up the bottle for his inspection. Multiple cigarette butts as well as a dirt stain down the side suggested that it had been empty for quite a while, but it still smelled like beer. Go figure.
He took my ID, told me he was going to run it to make sure that I don't dismember nuns in my spare time, and asked if I'd be happier just blowing into his portable breathalyzer instead of wasting more time.
I ignored the sexual suggestiveness of this and told him that I'd certainly be willing to expedite the situation if it meant that I wouldn't get in trouble and he could go back to catching real drunks and nun-dismemberers.
My relief at the fact that the \"breathalyzer\" really WAS a piece of plastic alcohol-detecting equipment was equaled by the fact that I was well below the legal limit.
He handed me a business card instead of a ticket, and told me to drive safer. I glanced at the card in surprise, smiled happily and said, \"You too Jim!\" Apparently him giving me his card and letting me go meant we were on a first name basis.
As I was discarding Sister Theresa's body parts in a gas-station dumpster later, my wife called, and I spent the rest of the drive, and my evening, wonderfully wallowing in that which is Us. Even though it sometimes leads to a carnal hungering that is inadequately sated across phone lines (though we give a damn fine effort), we really are our own favorite subject, and these days the hours are passing with less depression and more escalating excitement.
If you missed it last entry, September 3rd I'll officially be home. Right now, I don't have words for what that means.
I am going home.
Provided I don't get arrested first.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Just a bit of news… I Rock.
I walked into work this morning, still brooding over the fact that I couldn't lay in bed all morning and talk to my wife on the phone, and was welcomed by eager and excited glances on my way through CubeWorld.
\"Christ, I've finally been axed. I knew it was coming, even before I dropped my pants and smacked my ass on the 18th hole of the Company Golf Tournament,\" I thought.
A fellow developer, Cocky, greeted me with, \"Congrats, dickface,\" and I couldn't have felt more heartfelt warmth from such a greeting than if he'd smacked me in the junk with my hackysack.
He laughed at my puzzled look and told me to check my office email.
I sat down, logged in, and saw this:
Subject: MyCompany Employee of the Quarter - Q2 2005
Although a bit late, I would like to announce, on behalf of MyCompany, the recipient of the Employee of the Quarter award for 2nd Quarter - 2005 -- JuddHole! Judd was nominated for this award by a majority of the other 110 MyCompany employees, whose comments about him were:
\"Very dedicated worker.\"
\"Hard worker and a good golfer too. Even though that foursome he mooned wasn't with MyCompany...\"
\"Judd provides insight to our consumer static page strategy that is invaluable to generating more revenue on our consumer site. He is a dedicated team player that goes the extra mile to provide a quality product to our consumers and our company.\"
\"For his consummate programming skill and dedication to getting the NMM project up and running. For his significant contributions towards making MyCompany a wonderful, enjoyable working environment. For his faith in making large leaps with his life, such as getting married while on vacation in Australia.... \"
\"I'm not just voting for him because he's got a nerfgun aimed at my temple. It seems like he may screw around alot, but Judd gets his work done efficiently and with high levels of quality, doubling our sales at one point. He sucks for leaving us and moving down under, but he deserves this award and happiness.\"
The voting is anonymous so I don't really know who those folks are, and I don't remember threatening anybody with my dart gun though I probably did, but them's some real nice words from my co-workers and I wanted to brag to the online world.
I got me a swanky reserved parking spot at the front of the building, a whopping 17 feet closer than where I normally park, and a shiny Gift Certificate for 300 bucks. I haven't seen the bronze sculpture of my butt and golf clubs yet.
I've requested that they make out the Gift Certificate to \"The Liquor Barn\" but I've been told that ain't gonna fly.
I'm kidding, I'm planning on buying my wife a bunch of underwear that says, \"Judd's Hole\" on it... and beer... and nunchucks.
So, it's all set. The Visa Shit is on it's way, we'll find out soon where we stand with it, and I've booked another FuckingHellShitPiss expensive ticket to Perth.
September 3rd.
I turn 31 on the 7th, and I'm going to get everything I could ever have hoped or wished for that birthday.
Right. Fucking. On.
I'm not looking forward to the next month... I mean This Shit Sucks... but, for now, it's Strawberry Spring in Oz.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Next I'm Going To Shave My Asshead
5:51 AM - It begins...
*blurpblurp* *blurpblurp*
\"Zzkgeyaaah honnney?\"
\"I'm calling about the ad for the dog. What can you tell me about him?\"
\"Uh? Mmmmmm... oh, SHE is a basenji-mix, spayed, 9-years ol...\"
\"Are you nuts?!?! You can't get rid of a dog that old! Yer gonna KILL that dog!\" *CLICK*
(To Asshead, sleeping peacefully across my legs) \"That wasn't my wife.\"
\"Callin' 'bout that dog... Why you gettin' rid of it?\"
(mouthful of Chinese food) \"Moofin' outta da country.\"
\"Whyn't ya take 'er with ya?\"
\"DAMN. Great plan. Kicking myself for not thinking of that! I WILL!\" *click*
\"I've got a yard and would love to meet her!\"
\"Super. You got kids?\"
\"...whhyyyyy?\"
\"Cos she EATS 'em.\"
*CLICK*
\"Mean? How mean?\"
\"Watched her kick the shit out of a Pit Bull and a German Shepard simultaneously... while she was tethered on a 6-foot leash and they were loose.\"
\"And she's 35 pounds? You're not putting the sale on very well here...\"
\"Yeah, well I figure she's perfect for a single somebody, living alone, who hates anything small and innocent... and is constantly beseiged by Ninja Assassins wearing Postal uniforms and carrying vacuum cleaners.\"
\"Whu? BWAHAHAHAAAA....hahaaa...ha...\" *CLICK*
\"I'd love to take her, but I've got cats.\"
\"Oh, that's cool, she LOVES cats!\"
\"Really? She's good with them?\"
\"Yep, they're her second favorite snack.\"
\"...\"
\"Right after those beef-basted strips of rawhide... those don't cut up her nose as much when she eats 'em.\"
*CLICK*
\"Man, I'd love to take her. I'm just never home.\"
\"Shit, if you got a yard with a fence under 6 feet, she won't be either.\"
This Shit Sucks.
The perfect Asshead-owner is out there somewhere... I've just gotta find 'em.
Seriously. Deadly, but Adorable. You'd LOVE her.
I thought I might be able to talk The Montanan, my new roommate, into keeping her, but he's too busy doing shit like this to himself...
He's getting seriously sick of me sitting depressingly on his back patio all goddam night on the phone with my wife, so he took it upon himself to attempt to cheer \"my StupidDrunkAss up.\"
It worked. Briefly, but still. The Wife LOVED it though, especially when I told her we were gonna dye it orange.
Teensie, The Montanan's woman, found it less than amusing, especially in lieu of spending the weekend with The Montanan and her entire family up at their cabin in the Rockies. They're apparently not quite familiar enough with him to understand a simple random act such as giving oneself an orange mohawk, or riding his Harley to work in the rain because he wanted to show off his Star Wars Lunchbox while it was strapped to the taillight.
I overheard Teensie's brother, Nerval, say that he, and the rest of the family, had assumed that since he and The Montanan were both in Software QA they'd be of similar personality types. He said this after we'd all been speaking Geek for a few minutes, and I was almost tempted to agree with him. As I walked past Nerval towards the fridge for yet another beer, I noticed he was wearing a purple polo shirt, khaki shorts, white socks, and white sneakers, and I started to rethink his stance.
I looked at myself, in a stained, sleeveless, shirt with a picture of the Dali Llama and the word \"ASSHOLE,\" my hockey/warmup pants, and Aussie flag bandana.
Then, I looked at the Montanan wearing ripped, oil-stained jeans, Harley bandana, and a stained, sleeveless, baby blue, shirt that says in bold print, \"I'M A WINNER!\" and in smaller print, \"Montana Special Olympics.\"
The Montanan climbed out from underneath the Jeep we were working on, finished his beer, proudly proved to the neighborhood his belching abilities, looked at Nerval and then shook his head and said, \"Yeah... I'm thinking they're not gonna be too cool with the mohawk.\"
Nerval looked at me... well, nervously I guess, as I belched not-quite-as-loudly, lit up a cigarette and told him that it'd all be cool, because I'd also get an orange mohawk and come with The Montanan to meet The Fam.
The color didn't quite return to his face until I assured him that I couldn't go, because if I happened to catch MYSELF riding Bitch on the Montanan's Harley, I'd have to kick both of our asses.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Life in The Hole.
Thanks to all of you wonderful souls, you know who you are, for your many comments and emails about The Mom. She's fine, so to speak, and things are back to as normal as they're likely to get.
For my logical, pragmatic, analytical mind, I'd planned out my eventual departure from this Life-in-the-States in steps. I'd sell the house, find a good home for Asshead, get my visa filed, and be off to live with my wife and kids... happily ever after.
Sure, I'd planned for the depression that wraps itself around my psyche, the aching in my middle that is a physical manifestation of being away from my other half, but I kept forgetting that Life itself changes along with us. Usually regardless of what we planned and almost always in direct proportion to the changes we had already prepared for.
Life has presented some real doozies lately and I find myself asking, as Wife is prone to do as well, \"Am I done yet? Am I done with the Shit and on with the Good yet?\"
Whining into the void does no good, and Wife and I whining to each other only solidifies that which we've known for a very long while, that we are always mirroring each other's state of being. We're both fond of reminding each other that this manner of sublime compatibility doesn't help either of us sleep at night, alone, nor does it inspire us to eat or attempt to socialize with others.
I guess this is me admitting that I'm choosing to whine HERE. So there you go. Thanks for listening.
I always find it interesting how a change in venue can affect an overall attitude towards one's life, or at least one's present situation.
I'm living in Parker, Colorado now, in a spare room that The Montanan has graciously shared in his grand abode. He had the space, owed me some money for some stuff I gave him, and I needed a place to stay, contract-free and indefinitely, where Asshead could still be an Asshead and I could still drink and smoke too much and spend hours every night on the phone with my wife. It's a pretty sweet deal.
My worldly possessions have been pared down to my clothing, my dog, and my truck, with assorted other items thrown in, like my coffee-making-fire-extinguishing-alien-mind-control-waves-blocking-combat helmet and my 5-foot-diameter Mexican Sombrero. I'm living pretty simply, as I always have, only with less shit to trip over when I'm drunkenly searching for my webcam at my wife's requests.
The neighborhood is nice, for the absolute middle of Yuppieville, and no one has complained about my nocturnal urinations... yet.
I've also got the added bonus of driving a mere mile away to InternetStalkerly cruise El Puerco's old house from his childhood. The current tenants were only mildly upset that I whipped out my pocketknife and appended a fresh item to the worn message on one of their many trees.
Sorry Dusty, but on that big pine out back, \"D.S. (hearts) J.H.\" is now followed by \"and Big Black Cock Too!\" I didn't mean to let your secret out but, because of the impending court order and such, I didn't figure I'd ever get that kind of opportunity again.
The short *cough-FUCKSTICKS-cough*, 38-mile, hour-long, commute to my office in Golden is what I'm choosing to blame on my truck, The Football Helmet, completely falling it's ass apart. As an added bonus, The Montanan and I \"bonded\" roommatey-style while cleaning the leaked oil and transmission fluid from his pristine driveway too.
The Football Helmet's loved me for a very long time and in deference to it's emotions, I'm no longer mentioning its upcoming sale in it's presence. Despite it's knocking and rattling, it seems to enjoy the dirt-road-shortcut to the Interstate though as much as I enjoy the smell of horseshit and prairie grassland on our way to the fallacy known as \"work.\"
Work has firmly settled into the short-timer's mindset, someone has stolen every last Nerf Dart that existed, and they fucking took my Nerf Basketball for good measure. My honesty and candidness about my departure has been rewarded with constant reminders that I'm needed in no more capacity than to teach somebody new everything I know about my PreciousBaby Software that, incidentally, is now responsible for just under half of our daily sales.
The most memorable bit that I can pull from recent weeks is a co-worker's conversation in which I stopped staring at the ceiling long enough to interject, \"Yeah, but I bet James Dean never drank his own spit either.\" I don't remember the exact context, if indeed that statement had any, which only serves to make it funnier in my mind.
Good Fucking Times.
Personal hygiene has never been very high on my list, as I've only too proudly written about before, but I've completely lost any motivation to even make the smallest of social gestures such as deoderant, minimum grooming, or laundering my clothing. I'm a fucking mess.
I spend my weeknights/weekend days on a tiny, 8 x 10 foot deck, with my hands-free jammed in my ear, a cold beer, a pack of smokes, and Asshead at my feet, whiling away the hours with my beautiful, amazing, wife who is going through her day 10,000 miles away. This is fucking hard.
It's only made more heart-wrenching by my 4-year old, after being asked if he wanted to talk to me on the phone, saying contemplatively, \"No.\" When asked why he didn't, he replied, \"I don't want to just talk to him on the phone, I want to talk to him here.\" Uffda.
The visa application is almost complete and the bureaucratic bullshit that says, \"If two people are in love, married, and want to spend the rest of their lives together they have to wait 3-6 months, spend thousands of dollars, and one of 'em has to be able to say 'Drizabone' in a perfect accent\" is hopefully going to finish smoothly and quickly.
I find it hard to remain ever-optimistic but, now that I look at it, my Aussie accent is benchmarked by retarded sayings that I can bust out to many peals of laughter, both here and abroad. (Go on, say it, \"Drizabone\")
My family, my friends, my co-workers, and my entire life here all seem to have gained an acceptance of my departure. The house sold, I've got a line on a home for Asshead through one of the \"Libyans\" (female hockey players that The Montanan and I both know, most of whom are oriented towards the same sex), and the visa looks good. Almost everything about where I'm at seems well and prepared for me to go, except for one thing...
I'm still here.
I'm still fucking here and I don't know for how long.
I'm still here and a huge piece of my soul isn't. The urge to shout and cry and kick something very hard is pretty much constant.
The Montanan hurling carelessly left dog turds at our neighbor doesn't seem to help either.
Bless him though, he's trying.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.What's next?
Please don't ask. Please don't judge. Please don't think you know jack shit about this, you weren't there. Please let me write this and just get it out.
Thanks.
A Moving Sale on Saturday, people watching, collecting cash, experiencing an eerie sort of detached loss each time a once-valued item is carted away by someone I'll never see again. All in all though, it's just stuff, and not the actual memories associated with it. I'll always have those. What's ahead of me is worth lightyears more than any one inanimate thing I could ever have.My wife means everything to me.
My mother does as well. She is not well though. No one knew. How could we know?
Monday started a string of hours and days that I'm still in the midst of and only partially aware of. I am burnt.The questions, the unknowns... they remain.
\"What did she do and why?\"
\"What did she ingest? Pills?\"
\"What was her intention?\"
Propylene glycol. Hyponatremia. Two phrases that I'd never heard before this week and I'll die happily never hearing again.
I am sick of doctors and sick of long, smelly, hospital corridors, but the ICU's waiting room has high-speed intraweb, saltwater aquariums, and FREE coffee that is quite good. Comfortable couches as well. I ate a $2.80 meal at the cafeteria that was worth exactly that, but made me Not Hungry. The nurses, JB and Shawn, have been awesome. I apparently don't really need sleep. It's a real pity that Marlboro Lights offer no nutritional value.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
FUCK.
Last night, my friend Robert paid a visit. I hadn't seen him in many months, but he dropped by to check on me and let me know he's still around when I need him. He loves The Mom very much. Always has.I spent this morning getting my balls fondled by a woman who is not my wife just so the Dept. of Immigration can tell the Aussies that I'm not going over there just to get sick and die on their dollar.
I'm spending this afternoon at work, back for the first time this week and pretending to be productive though the charade is more for myself rather than my co-workers, as they know I'm not doing shit for a while and are leaving me well-enough alone.
I'll spend this evening helping to get The Mom settled back into her and LifePartner's house. An attempt may be made to piece at least a bit of this horribly complex puzzle together, but I can't say for certain.
This Shit Sucks.
Wish me luck.