The Time I Had A Thanksgiving Weekend

It's not often in the world of manual labor (that makes you feel like a 1920's Italian immigrant) that you get days off. In my job, it could be a Sunday afternoon, but someone wants to schedule a conference or a meeting to showcase how much money they are losing (and they spend thousands of dollars in the process of this). Luckily, for me, my sanity and the spines of prospective meeting holders, there were NO scheduled meetings from Tuesday - Sunday. I had a 4 day weekend (and if you are counting, I know that's 6 days but I worked Tuesday and Wednesday for a combined 5 hours, just so that my paycheck wouldn't look Kate Bosworth anorexic, and would stick to Lindsay Lohan anorexic, circa 2005).

The weekend was going to be glorious, free food on Thanksgiving, a Bobcats-Celtics game with RJ, and loads of copius gambling strewn about. A running account of my weekend as follows:

Wednesday:

I got off work at 10 am, proceeded to come home and sleep. And sleep and sleep. I slept till 3:30, then went to my new (old) job as a pizza delivery boy (yes, it's back). Apparently the day before Thanksgiving is the biggest pizza night of the year, because no one wants to cook the day before they are going to cook a huge meal. I got to the pizza place, sat around for about an hour before the deliveries started coming in heavy. I got 5 in 30 minutes, all in opposite directions, but thanks to my new iPhone (holy shit, I need to write an iPhone post...then proclaim my love for the most amazing invention ever), I was able to find directions quickly and efficiently.

Long story short I had 14 deliveries in the next 2 hours (I normally take about 10 in 4 hours) so it was busy. Then at 8:30 it was dead. I got to go home, counted up my money - $70 - and

returned home to see if there was any late basketball games to gamble on (because $70 in cash just seems tacky, I had to spend it right away). I bet on the Miami Heat (because Dwayne Wade is awesome) and they lost by about 50 points. Good times.

Thursday:

I got up early so that I could make the 4 hour trek down to the beach house in time for the the 12:30 football game. I loaded about 85% of all the clothes, sheets and towels I own into my car at 7:30 AM and was on the road by 8:30. (In case you are wondering, it had been a cool 6 weeks since I've done laundry and 2 weeks ago, when I was desperate I figured it would be easier and cheaper to do it for free at my parents house, rather than spend all day in a dirty laundromat where there is a better than 50% chance that glass would get broken over my head from a shooting).

I got there in time for the game to start and to witness my parents go into a panic cleaning mode because my grandparents were coming. I, being the good son I am, decided to not help at all and sit on the couch and rejoice in the fact that I was winning my bet. (This brings up another point, ignoring everything going on around you, just to gamble, seems like a problem of an addict, let's see how this plays out in the future.) An hour of vacuuming dog hair later (even though the floor was probably still 25% covered) there was finally peace. Appiteasers were served, the grandparents showed up and then we proceeded to wait on dinner, which didn't come out until 7 pm. (Let's just say I was hungry at 12:30 and a 6:30 wait was tough for a borderline husky, like myself).

Note: I stopped at Bojangles at 8:30 in the morning, which was a mistake because apparently people have Bojangles cook their turkey for them. Can you ever imagine having fast food turkey for Thankgiving? Would that be the pinnacle of your family's laziness/obesity? Also, if I worked at Bojangles I'd be so pissed I had to work on Thanksgiving that I'd probably lace each turkey with some form of diuretic. Needless to say, I waited a solid 20 minutes to get my goddamn chicken biscuit. Apparently $40 is not too much to pay for a small fucking turkey with 8 lbs of seasoning on it.

Thursday concluded with me showing my grandparents how my iPhone works, them being simply amazed that I had a program that could figure out which music they liked just based on one song and then me sleeping on a couch with a pillow that apparently had a potato sack for a pillow case.

Friday

Friday I woke up a mere 6 hours after falling asleep due entirely to hearing a dog yelp for what seemed like a minute. My mother, not wanting to cause a disturbance, quickly ushered the dogs out of the house and would not return for 1 hour and 30 minutes (we would also discover she neglected to take a coat and was walking around in 40 degree weather at 5:30 in the morning). If it were me (and of course it will never be me, because I am done owning unruly pets) I would let them bark, you can only do so much to make guests feel at home before you fly off the handle and intentionally try to contract frostbite.

We then had breakfast, I asked for hash browns and bacon, but the bacon was microwaved (gross) and the hash browns had peppers and onions in them which are right up there with eating human hair on my lists of things I like to eat. I then decided it was time to leave and I collected my leftovers (which will literally last me every meal for a week), but not before my grandma tried to keep some (apparently she isn't use to the new family rule that states: Kelson shall receive all Thanksgiving leftovers because he is poor and starving and this will literally feed him for a week). So essentially, my grandma was trying to starve me so she could make a turkey sandwich later that day.

I drove back home, got back at 2 PM and went to take a nap. I didn't set an alarm, because why should I? So I slept til 10 pm. Of course I wasn't even remotely tired so I was up till 5 am, watching movies and playing video games. I fell asleep for an hour and then continued on with my laborious day of masturbation, movies and eating leftovers. I took off for Charlotte at 3 PM, met up with RJ, went out to eat at Friendly's and I got this:

That's right, I got a happy ending (with full release) at Friendly's. I feel like a family restaurant, may want to be more careful in naming their desserts. So after both RJ and I got our happy ending, we headed over to the Bobcats game.

Normally, Bobcats games are less than half of capacity. However, the recent phenomenon in the sports world is that Boston fans creep out of the woodwork whenever a Boston team comes into a city (this is completely due to the fact that the city has won 6 championships in the last 5 years.) So, essentially, you have a bunch of bandwagon fans that know the stars and like to be drunk and obnoxious, because that's the only thing they know how to do.

It was easy to spot the Boston fans (Red Sox hat - preferably green, Patriots Jersey or green shirt) and some, the REAL poseurs thought this was a fashion show, wore either P-Coats with skinny jeans and some sort of dress shoes or WORE FLANNEL. I can't tell you how many of them wore flannel to a basketball game. Apparently they got ready for this game by watching Celtic Pride (starring Damon Wayans) on repeat for a week.

They were pretty annoying, but were kept under control because Boston was losing for a significant part of the game and only won by 4 against one of the worst teams in the league, nothing to be proud of.

On the way home, I decided to stop at Wal Mart because I had seen that both Madden and NBA Live 09 were on sale for $30 instead of of $60. I went in (at 11 pm, to enhance my geekiness) and saw $30 "Select games on sale" signs next to Madden and Live and went to purchase them. The total rang up as $117. I noted that I think they were $30, even though there was no clear sign that said Madden = $30, it was just sort of in the vicinity. But the lady was tired, saw the sign and gave it to me for $30, I later saw the circular and said Madden 09 - $30 FRIDAY 5 AM - 11 AM ONLY. But when you don't take down your signs, you get hosed. BOOM.

I came home went to bed.

Sunday

Today is Sunday, I am catching up on chores (I still haven't put my 8 loads of laundry away) and gambling my brains out.

It's been a good weekend (Italian Immigrant good).

The Time I Was Accosted at Sheetz (The Gas Station), Part 1

Part 1 in the continuing series of me being accosted at gas stations across North Carolina continues....NOW.

So the first time I was accosted at a Sheetz was about two months ago. I was on my way to Chapel Hill again, to play rock music, and saw cheap gas, so I stopped at the same Sheetz. Now this was way back when gas prices were starting to drop, and we, being a desperate public, never knew when it was going to level off. So there were lines at each pump 2 and 3 cars deep.

This Sheetz had approximately 12 pumps, so there were a ton of people waiting in line. Lets make that clear. (While we are making things clear, we should also point out that I'm about as patient as a British TV personality making fun of retarded Americans on FOX.) So, I really wanted to just move on, but I was low on gas and someone had already pulled in behind me.

I found a pump where the guy was just getting out of his car. I thought, "OK, at most this will take 3 minutes." Wrong. First, the man was pushing 75 and walked like two canes were taped to the back of his knees and tucked neatly into his shoes. After a good 30 seconds he made his way over to the pump and fidgeted with the pump. (When you are anxious like I am, the things that tick you off build easily and are normally very small). So Cane Legs took another minute figuring out how to get this darned contraption to operate. 2 minutes later, the pump pops and luckily he is still standing there to speed the process along.

He packs it up, starts to waddle back to his car, opens the door (I'm thinking, YES YES YES). Then sticks his bengay in the car and starts walking towards the inside of the Sheetz. (Now, a sane thought would be that he was going to pay for it, BUT I saw him use a credit card, and even if he was paying cash, you should have prepaid, read the signs Ebenezer). He starts towards the Sheetz, gets 10 steps, before walking back. Thank god, I silently proclaim.

He then opens his drivers side door and starts talking to someone, they chat for a good minute, before he heads back towards the store. At this point I'm sitting here for a good 6 minutes and the cars who pulled up at the same time as me are now leaving and there is nothing in this world that gives me a greater sense of panic that staying motionless while everyone is able to move. As he creeps away, I yell out the window "Excuse me sir." Nothing. "EXCUSE ME." Nothing.

A good 5 seconds later when the sound passes through his hearing aid, he turns around but at this point hes too far to have a good talking to. So he goes inside. I wait for a minute and then decide to turn off my car, get out and sit on my hood. (Mostly to prove a point when he gets back). Another minute passes and I decide to go see if the person he was talking to in the car could possibly move it. I walk up to it, look in the front see nothing. I then look in the back and see a women completely bundled in plaid blankets up to her neck with sunglasses on. I immediately wondered if they were secretly filming Weekend at Bernie's 4.

I decided it would be inappropriate to knock on the window and try to wake a sleeping corpse so I start to head back to my car, when out of nowhere a dog jumps up against the window (from the inside). It was a little yippy thing, so I wasn't scared, but could this get weirder?

Yes. After another minute, (total up to about 12 at this point). I walk into the store to find this man. As soon as I walk in, I see him standing at the register. Perfect, he's almost done. I walk back to my car get in, turn it back on and wait.

Another 3 minutes go bye. A guy pulls up next to me and says "Man you've been here forever." I'm pretty sure he is about the 8th car to get gas in the line closest to me. Pump 8 total = 1. Pump 9 total = 8. Fantastic.

Feeling an oncoming panic attack I find a pump a few places down that I am quickly able to back into (with no line). I fill up, drive off and check to see if Old Man River has left yet. Nope. So if you were scoring at home, thats a solid 20 minutes this man wasted at a gas pump during a high traffic time. The best part? He will never realize it because he thought he was paying a nickel to go to see Charlie Chaplin's new flick!

The Time I Was Accosted at Sheetz (The Gas Station), Twice

This is a two part story about Sheetz. I'm going to tell you the second part first, as it is the more amazing part of the story and literally made me speed out of the Sheetz parking lot faster than Miley Cyrus gives away her virginity to the first 20 something with a cock and a fistful of condoms that knocks on her door.

Part 2: Today, I was at Sheetz. Sheetz is a gas station that is kind of like Wawa for you northerners. It is so cozy and friendly, that they let your order ready made sandwiches from your gas pump (unfortunately for the truly obese, they do NOT bring it out to you). I decided to stop at Sheetz on the way to Chapel Hill because they always have the cheapst gas ($1.73). As I pull in, I see only one spot open, all the way on the opposite end, so I pull and take it. No problems here.

I get out of the car only to find a black man with an odd look on his face. He looks and me and sort of grunts and I sort of grunt back and continue on my gas pumping ways. I then notice him staring at my license plate, peeking around the corner of the pump and talking out loud. I assumed he was on a bluetooth (because who isnt nowadays?) and continued on my business. Then as soon as I pull my credit card out, he approaches me. I will re-enact this scene in the form of a movie script.

Kelson: PULLS OUT CREDIT CARD. GOES TO SWIPE. ODD LOOKING BLACK MAN COMES OUT FROM BEHIND THE GAS PUMP.

OLBM: Yo, some peoples been hassing me on the highway.

Kelson: Huh?

OLBM: Peoples with the license plate WX sumthin, been harassing me on the highway recently. WXT or WXL. Always WX.

Kelson: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

OLDBM: LOOKS INTO KELSON'S CAR, PEERING IN AT THE PERSONAL EFFECTS TO SEE IF KELSON HAS BROUGHT SOME HARASSING TOOLS.

Kelson: Oh, Do I have WX something plates? I don't even know. LOOKS AT PLATES.

OLBM: Yeah, you people been coming up to me all over the place the last few weeks, keeping an eye on me, thats why you pulled up next to me right here. You one of them.

Kelson: SCARED SHITLESS. Sir, I'm not in any sort of group that's been harassing you, I've never met you before in my life nor would I be in any sort of group that would want to harass you. KELSON PREPARES TO MAKE IT KNOWN THAT HE VOTED FOR OBAMA.

OLBM: Well, you keeping an eye on me, but we got eyes on you all the time too. Trust that. You won't see em but they're there.

Kelson: DRYING URINE ON PANTS. Sir, I didn't chose my license plates, the state gave them to me, it's unfortunate that you are getting harassed by anyone, let alone people with the same license plates, but I'm not even from around here, so I dont have anything to do with that.

OLBM: Alright. EXTENDS HAND FOR FIST BUMP. Peace and love then.

Kelson: FISTS BUMPS. Gets back in car and drives away, even though he wanted to check to see if Sheetz has Jolt.

SCENE.

Part 1 tomorrow.

The Time I Became A Gambling Addict

Let's be honest here. I am not a wealthy man and my future has already given me a big thumbs down on being able to afford health insurance in the next..oh, 4 years. So with that in mind, I turn to a more lucrative form of income (apart from the hundreds I make per month at my real job!). I've decided to become a professional gambler (it makes the ladies swoon and the MOB bosses pay a lot of attention to you at the same time. It kills two birds with one stone, Money woes? GONE. Need for constant attention? GONE! Daily fear of waking up with only one kneecap? HERE TO STAY!)

The urge started one Sunday morning when a friend told be about an online betting website. The mention was enough to get me (if thats not a sign of a compulsive gambler in training, I don't know what is) and I dropped $20 into the account and promised I would not add anymore, I would just play until it ran out. But I funny thing happened. I won, 5 times in a row.

Before I knew it i was up to a whopping $65 in tainted off-shore money. Ah the sweet smell of victory, I completely tossed the notion of beginners luck to the side and started betting on basketball (I was previously betting on football). Betting on basketball was not a great idea. With football, betting on the game makes it more interesting to watch, with basketball, I was betting on games played 3000 miles from my shanty in Greensboro, NC and I would estimate I refreshed NBA.com somewhere between 400 and 457 times in the span of the 2 and a half hour game. Needless to say, my computer hated me and the Houston Rockets by the close of the night. But I won again. Up to $70!

By this time I was drunk with power, I started to look for bets that paid off the biggest, but still had a legitimate chance of winning. Enter the 6-0 Atlanta Hawks vs the Boston Celtics. I bet the Hawks to win, I put up $5, I win $35 if the Hawks win. Fast forward to another night spent with the computer monitor acting as my best friend (more nights like this will surely result in a bout of epilepsy for me) and 7 seconds left in the game. The Hawks up 1. The Celtics get the ball, make the shot with .5 seconds left. I would've been over $100, I would've taken $80 out and gone back to $20 and played from there, but no, my demise started right then and there. I soon lost 4 in a row and I was down to $30 (I can't even buy luxury items that I need (like Loufas and soap) for $30).

I am currently taking it easy as this whole entire series of events has taken place in less than 2 weeks. I feel like an addict that has gone through all the emotions of my 12 step program but I seem to end up back at the beginning, praying to the god of gambling (Pete Rose). Last night I stayed up till 12, knowing I had to wake up at 5, just to see if I won $5 (I did! The system works!). I know I have a problem, albeit a manageable one (I'm not ever going into more than a $20 debt, and yes, I know, I'm saying that NOW. But I won't). I am stable, I am a good gambler. I can do this. And yes, I DID just convince myself I'm ok. I am the Amy Winehouse of gambling (except without all the hair, and with more teeth. But same amount of black tar heroin).

The Time I Got Rid Of My Cat

As I've told you in blog posts, I got a new cat, to replace an old cat that I liked. The new cat is sweet but apparently decides to call upon Satan himself, when he is not met with the right amount of love on a daily basis. The last time he caused me significant brain hemorrhaging was when he shit and pissed (two separate occasions, two sets of sheets, one day) on the bed because we were not touching him in the right places at the right times.

It's been a few months since that enormous event. But since then he has managed to somehow jump into my ottoman, and then claw his way out of it, leaving a tear reminiscent of an eclipse (Van Gogh Kitty). He also shreds plastic bags on a daily basis meaning that when I take the garbage out, I get to tap dance around dripping garbage extracts as they fall to the ground. Recently, I left chicken out to defrost, perhaps in the hopes of being able to eat a meal that didn't consist of food like Whoppers, Ho-Ho's or any sort of fast food product that has been putting me on the fast track to Adult Onset Diabetes. When I got home the chicken was on the side of the refrigerator and was so badly mangled that I mistook it for some sort of refrigerator mold growth.

To top it off my recent bout of 10 hour work days has left the cat alone from dawn till dusk and thus once again, he shit the bed. The night before he shit the bed, he dropped a warning sign, he shit right in FRONT of the bed. Luckily I found it with my foot and smeared it in the carpet. Unsurprisingly it ranks up there with shoving spiders down my throat or being stuck in an elevator with Mariah Carey for 12 hours on the list of things I do not need to do before I die.

So now I'm trying to get rid of him. I asked Amelia if she would want him, and realizing that he is a handful, she politely declined. I emailed his old owners who always claimed they would want him if I didn't, I explained his neediness and that I think going back to a home with 8 other cats would help. They offered to give me another cat. This is similar to giving a Sudanese refugee a jar of flies (they already have enough on their face).

I've posted things on Craigslist and got 3 responses, which I followed up with and none of them have called me back (kind of like what my dating life will be for the forseeable future!). But as much as I can't stand the cat right now, I still have to determine what would be a good home for him, because I'm not yet at the point where the answer to that question is "any home but this one." I dont want to give him to a family with some child that will skin him or put a dress on him, I don't want a family that doesnt have another cat or a small child. It would be helpful if the family had lots of wood that need sanding since his tongue is on external objects more often than not.

So, in closing, if you would like a cat that is so abnormally sweet that he will be on/in you at all times and gets ticked off enough when he is not on/in you he destroys things for attention, then boy do I have a cat for you.