I leave too early, I know I'll hit traffic
but San Diego beckons like the last piece
of chocolate cake left in the refrigerator.
The freeway is a buzz of cars driving too fast
weaving in and out-
until all brake lights are on,
and we sit.
The open road has become a parking lot
and my bladder aches so bad
I want to puke:
there's no way anyone will let me over.
Maybe I should pull over and pee in the median?
After an hour of crawling,
we all break free once again
and I know my usual stop isn't too far ahead.
Fuel, chocolate milk and an antacid
get me back on the road
as all the radio stations play the same stupid song.
A certain calm comes over me as I hit the 805:
I know every reflective marker,
every sign, every tree on the side of the highway,
and the precise moment when the lady in front of me
will brake hard, thinking she must get over
or miss her exit.
I see IKEA and Qualcomm (Jack Murphy) Stadium,
SDSU (Go Aztecs!) and my exit (finally!).
The gravel crunches as I pull in the driveway,
and the city is quiet and calm.
Home.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Winter Storm
Most of you are aware that I'm not a big fan of snow. We've had a couple storm cells pass over us and dump snow on us only for it to melt two days later. There's also been a few more storm cells in the forecast. I should've ran yesterday when I had the chance.
I didn't sleep well last night (no news there) so I kept looking out my window for signs of this so called storm that was predicted. It wasn't until about 4am that is started soming down. It's at least 6 inches in only a few hours. And still coming down like a banshee. Thankfully I have plenty of things to do indoors today.
And now that you mention it, yes, that is my snow shovel leaning up against the shed way the heck out there. All of you southern Californians may wonder why that's an important observation. I'll tell you why: because now when I do decide to dig myself out of my house when the snow finally quits, I'll have to wade through 3 feet of snow to get my shovel.
I can't wait until summer.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Writing Exercise #1: Write about your secret talent.
My secret talent? I’m not sure how many secret talents I have. I do have an uncanny knack for falling down stairs. It started at a very early age and has continued well into adulthood. I probably can’t remember the first few times I fell down the stairs, but I’m sure my family can tell you about it. I do recall a very special flight of stairs that I spent a lot of time falling down. We lived in mid-city San Diego in a two story duplex. Downstairs was the laundry room and storage shed and the apartment was on the second floor. The stairs themselves were made of concrete… and not rounded at the edges. I don’t really remember any specific times falling down those stairs, but I know it happened on several occasions. But hey, I was young. That may be where I was awarded this mystery scar on my chin.
When I was a teenager living in Michigan, the stairs were indoors and thankfully carpeted. The house was a two story A-Frame. The stairs were unique in that the slant of the roof coincided with the top landing of the staircase. Stairs in Michigan are narrow and apparently not held to any sort of uniform building code. If one were to attempt to run down the stairs without first ducking beneath the ceiling, it would knock the poor sap on his or her (her in this case) butt. Fortunately due to the layout of the top landing, one wouldn’t go very far before being mercifully stopped by a wall to prevent rolling to her doom at the bottom of the staircase. Regarding the narrowness of the stairs themselves: if I didn’t step carefully, the weight of my foot would land on the edge of the stair instead of square on the center (as would be the safe option). When that would happen, it would initiate a full on slide down the stairs, hitting my tail bone on the edge of each step until I came to rest at the bottom. This happened countless times. Apparently it never got old.
The same “stair slide” experience happened at Grandma’s house early one morning. This is where I come up with my theory about the lack of building code in Michigan. Also in Michigan, these stairs were smaller than the average foot and carpeted. At the bottom of the stairway is a door, much like the door at the bottom of the stairway in my old house (I’m noticing a pattern here—maybe it’s there to stop the fall?). This particular morning I was wearing pajamas and socks (adds to the slickness of the thinly carpeted stairs I guess) and proceeded to plant my foot on the edge of the stair. Thus the infamous “stair slide” was initiated. After thudding to a stop at the bottom, the door flew open with Grandpa on the other side wondering if I was okay. I was. Except my pride.
This reminds me. Moving staircases (aka escalators): a source of terror throughout my entire lifetime. Did you know those things can catch your heel or pant leg and pull you under? Or if you don’t step squarely on a stair (for example, if you step on the crack in between) you can fall to your death or be otherwise humiliated by the amused onlookers? I still, to this day, have trouble getting on and off escalators.
When I moved into my current house, I knew my days of falling down the stairs were far from over. Apparently this house was built without the California Building Code in mind, as the stairs are as narrow as the ones in Michigan. The difference is, these are not carpeted and there’s a magnificent furnace at the bottom to catch my fall. I may be the only adult I know that has to actually watch my feet as I go up and down stairs, which makes carrying objects up and down stairs a pain in the butt. I knew it was only a matter of time before I fell down these stairs. One morning I was carrying my blanket down the stairs to use in the living room. I had almost made it all the way down when I stepped on the edge of the blanket and lurched headfirst into the wall and furnace at the bottom of the staircase. I ended up with a toenail split down the middle and bruised fingers, but otherwise okay.
My most recent run-in with a staircase almost resulted in my death or me becoming a quadriplegic. You would think with my well known problems with stairs that I would be extra careful when I encountered them. Not so. After leaving the orthodontist the other day, I walked down the hall towards the elevator (much safer) only to find the elevator under construction. Being as I was on the second floor, I didn’t see how going down a flight of stairs could hurt. I also was reading a text message on my phone from a friend of mine… while walking down the stairs. Cement stairs. We’re talking emergency exit quality concrete stairs. I neared the landing at the bottom of the first half of the staircase. I don’t know if it was my lack of peripheral vision or what, but I completely missed the last two stairs and pitched headfirst toward the concrete wall. I twisted my ankle and slammed my shoulder into the wall before tumbling to the ground. Miraculously I did not drop my phone. Reeling in pain, I looked around to make sure no one saw, and then did another scan for a security camera before hobbling out to my car to recover.
Strangely enough, I do believe stairs may be the death of me someday, and you can read this at my funeral. It may not be as humorous as it is now (or maybe it will be?) but it’ll kindly explain my untimely death. What an embarrassing way to go…
I’m making a small half-hearted attempt to brush up on my writing skills. Maybe someday I’ll become a famous writer. Until then you get B class blogs from me, inspired by a few writing books I just picked up at Borders. Stay tuned for more exercises.
When I was a teenager living in Michigan, the stairs were indoors and thankfully carpeted. The house was a two story A-Frame. The stairs were unique in that the slant of the roof coincided with the top landing of the staircase. Stairs in Michigan are narrow and apparently not held to any sort of uniform building code. If one were to attempt to run down the stairs without first ducking beneath the ceiling, it would knock the poor sap on his or her (her in this case) butt. Fortunately due to the layout of the top landing, one wouldn’t go very far before being mercifully stopped by a wall to prevent rolling to her doom at the bottom of the staircase. Regarding the narrowness of the stairs themselves: if I didn’t step carefully, the weight of my foot would land on the edge of the stair instead of square on the center (as would be the safe option). When that would happen, it would initiate a full on slide down the stairs, hitting my tail bone on the edge of each step until I came to rest at the bottom. This happened countless times. Apparently it never got old.
The same “stair slide” experience happened at Grandma’s house early one morning. This is where I come up with my theory about the lack of building code in Michigan. Also in Michigan, these stairs were smaller than the average foot and carpeted. At the bottom of the stairway is a door, much like the door at the bottom of the stairway in my old house (I’m noticing a pattern here—maybe it’s there to stop the fall?). This particular morning I was wearing pajamas and socks (adds to the slickness of the thinly carpeted stairs I guess) and proceeded to plant my foot on the edge of the stair. Thus the infamous “stair slide” was initiated. After thudding to a stop at the bottom, the door flew open with Grandpa on the other side wondering if I was okay. I was. Except my pride.
This reminds me. Moving staircases (aka escalators): a source of terror throughout my entire lifetime. Did you know those things can catch your heel or pant leg and pull you under? Or if you don’t step squarely on a stair (for example, if you step on the crack in between) you can fall to your death or be otherwise humiliated by the amused onlookers? I still, to this day, have trouble getting on and off escalators.
When I moved into my current house, I knew my days of falling down the stairs were far from over. Apparently this house was built without the California Building Code in mind, as the stairs are as narrow as the ones in Michigan. The difference is, these are not carpeted and there’s a magnificent furnace at the bottom to catch my fall. I may be the only adult I know that has to actually watch my feet as I go up and down stairs, which makes carrying objects up and down stairs a pain in the butt. I knew it was only a matter of time before I fell down these stairs. One morning I was carrying my blanket down the stairs to use in the living room. I had almost made it all the way down when I stepped on the edge of the blanket and lurched headfirst into the wall and furnace at the bottom of the staircase. I ended up with a toenail split down the middle and bruised fingers, but otherwise okay.
My most recent run-in with a staircase almost resulted in my death or me becoming a quadriplegic. You would think with my well known problems with stairs that I would be extra careful when I encountered them. Not so. After leaving the orthodontist the other day, I walked down the hall towards the elevator (much safer) only to find the elevator under construction. Being as I was on the second floor, I didn’t see how going down a flight of stairs could hurt. I also was reading a text message on my phone from a friend of mine… while walking down the stairs. Cement stairs. We’re talking emergency exit quality concrete stairs. I neared the landing at the bottom of the first half of the staircase. I don’t know if it was my lack of peripheral vision or what, but I completely missed the last two stairs and pitched headfirst toward the concrete wall. I twisted my ankle and slammed my shoulder into the wall before tumbling to the ground. Miraculously I did not drop my phone. Reeling in pain, I looked around to make sure no one saw, and then did another scan for a security camera before hobbling out to my car to recover.
Strangely enough, I do believe stairs may be the death of me someday, and you can read this at my funeral. It may not be as humorous as it is now (or maybe it will be?) but it’ll kindly explain my untimely death. What an embarrassing way to go…
I’m making a small half-hearted attempt to brush up on my writing skills. Maybe someday I’ll become a famous writer. Until then you get B class blogs from me, inspired by a few writing books I just picked up at Borders. Stay tuned for more exercises.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Last night at the Academy
So it's the last night at the academy. We've got a test in the morning, mostly for the sake of getting us all rounded up and sober for the graduation. It's been a very trying month, and today finally accumulated into an outright disaster. It's high school all over again.
Last night some one came in drunk and decided to play a prank. They've been trying to crack down on bad behavior around here. I mean really, this is an ADULT Firefighter academy. You would think people could behave for one month, but not so.
So some people got into trouble, and decided to lay the blame on me for getting them into trouble. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. They woke the crew boss and academy coordinator at a quarter till one. I stayed in bed listening to the drama in the hallway. At our field day I became the token punching bag. Not literally, but it felt like it. I had absolutely nothing to do with it, and I took hits from all sides from my crew that I've been working with for a month. Not the greatest feeling in the world. They figured since I spoke up a few weeks ago when there was a discussion about noise at 3am, that I turned some one in. Again, not so.
Everyone's going out tonight and will probably not get in until 3am. I'm personally heading out with some people from my district to hit up Joe's Crab Shack and share a crab leg bucket with Corey (my girl), have a banana sundae thingy for dessert, and an extra large margarita. Then I'm coming home and locking myself in my room. I can only imagine the drama that is going to unfold over the next 24 hours. Talk about a responsible group of adults.
After graduation tomorrow, I'll be set free around 4ish in the afternoon. I think after that, myself and some friends from my district are going to take pictures in front of the Firefighter Memorial downtown. Then I start my long (at least 4 hours) drive home, stay the night at home, and continue my long (almost 4 hours) drive to San Diego. What a relief!!
Last night some one came in drunk and decided to play a prank. They've been trying to crack down on bad behavior around here. I mean really, this is an ADULT Firefighter academy. You would think people could behave for one month, but not so.
So some people got into trouble, and decided to lay the blame on me for getting them into trouble. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. They woke the crew boss and academy coordinator at a quarter till one. I stayed in bed listening to the drama in the hallway. At our field day I became the token punching bag. Not literally, but it felt like it. I had absolutely nothing to do with it, and I took hits from all sides from my crew that I've been working with for a month. Not the greatest feeling in the world. They figured since I spoke up a few weeks ago when there was a discussion about noise at 3am, that I turned some one in. Again, not so.
Everyone's going out tonight and will probably not get in until 3am. I'm personally heading out with some people from my district to hit up Joe's Crab Shack and share a crab leg bucket with Corey (my girl), have a banana sundae thingy for dessert, and an extra large margarita. Then I'm coming home and locking myself in my room. I can only imagine the drama that is going to unfold over the next 24 hours. Talk about a responsible group of adults.
After graduation tomorrow, I'll be set free around 4ish in the afternoon. I think after that, myself and some friends from my district are going to take pictures in front of the Firefighter Memorial downtown. Then I start my long (at least 4 hours) drive home, stay the night at home, and continue my long (almost 4 hours) drive to San Diego. What a relief!!
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