Archive for January, 2009

Assburger

Several years ago, it was brought to my attention – by way of one of my dad’s friends, a guy I considered a shallow dickhole – that I might have Asperger’s Syndrome. My first reaction was the reaction many have when first encountering the name.

I am not an ASSBURGER!

Once my mind reemerged from the toilet, I was told what that was. High-developmental autism. In Lay-speak, anyone who functions on a near-social level, demonstrates high intelligence, but often acts inappropriate due to a lack of understanding for social cues. Case in point, laughing at a funeral…or commenting on a “bodacious rack” when the woman in question is right there.

The basis for this third party opinion was the guy’s own personal experience with the condition; his son labored through it. Of course, when I first heard the accusation (and indeed, I considered it such), I refuted it. But…

Being the ever-neurotic sort that I am, I took a mind’s eye gaze at ghost’s of social life’s past.

…5th grade, I was laying down on a set of bleachers. The friend of my first crush – well, first “acknowledged” crush – came up to me. She asked if I liked the girl. Most would freeze and give a reluctant reply. Mine was a clear and emphatic, “NO!”

Rest is history.

…Junior year of high school, prior to a dance, I noticed a girl sitting. She was wearing a very lovely dress. I thought I would work my supposed magic and compliment her. It didn’t come out right.

“Strangely enough, you look elegant today,” I said with a proud smile.

I was lucky I didn’t get slapped.

…Senior year, a friend of mine and I were walking down the locker-lacquered hallway. A couple of girls were sitting on the floor next to one such locker. One piped up.

“Hi! My name’s Jenny!” she said, arm raised.

I reached into my pocket and pulled something out.

“You are worthy enough to shake my comb.”

She recoiled the hand in horror.

Hey, I thought it was funny at the time.

…Working the usher’s podium at a movie theater some years later, a man came in – dressed to the nines – with two aging “angels”. He also sported a blond Miami Vice-like mullet. He leaned in as if to give me his ticket, then quickly withdrew it, did some type of douche-y pirouette, followed by a “tada!” stance.

My exact words: “Enough with the pimp thing, just gimme the damn ticket.”

Needless to say, he complained.

…Flashforward a five more years, a few of us went to fetch a friend at the mall. We were talking up a storm. The conversation segued from farming to the unauthorized intrusion of male sheep.

We were in the kids section.

…Present Day.

A man called to make a reservation. He asked how I’m doing. My exact reply was “Hello.” For some reason, I always felt stumped whenever that question was asked, not sure why. He, then, thought he had a bad connection. After that confusion subsided, I saw about dealing with him quickly.

He called back to rant that I was the rudest person he’d ever dealt with, and that he’d complained about my curtness to my managers before.

My exact reply was, “Okay.”

He said he called ’em like he saw ’em, then hung up.

The common traits ascribed to people with Asperger’s Syndrome are monotone voices, wild hand gestures, obsessive hobbies and pursuits, and many tend to lean towards sci-fi as a method of escape. Many are also described as frighteningly smart.

I was never diagnosed with this form of autism. The category didn’t exist when I was a kid. While I can be pegged with some of the traits, there are some glaring differences. I inflect quite a bit, I consider myself fairly sociable, I’m a bit of a tard, and my hand gestures…well…I’m working on ’em.

Point being…

Can I really claim this as an excuse? Or am I just an “assburger”?

I’ll ask the next girl I like as I flip her off in gym class.

Yes, that really happened too.

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Wednesday, January 28th, 2009 Musings No Comments

Notes from the Road

I recently took a week-long (and well-deserved) vacation, and made an eighteen hour jaunt from Oregon to Southern California. Rather than write an extensive travelogue about my trip, I jotted a few quick notes whenever I had time. Most of them don’t make any sorta of coherent sense. This is the result:

January 12, 2009

-Traveling the Siskiyous late at night is scary as shit. Visibility due to fog is travailing at best.

-A pick-up did a u-turn in front of me then flipped and cap-sized into a ditch. I would’ve called 911 for the poor feller, but I was too busy shitting my pants.

-A car passed me going 90, then sped off. Said car had a Christian dove on the back. Something tells me that is not what Jesus would do.

-I was originally going to stay in Santa Nella. I already traveled fourteen hours at this point, but the usual Holiday Inn Express backdrop plan was $94. Eff that! I called a Marriott. Too bad it was in Merced.

-The road to Merced was like encountering every redneck stereotype on a conveyor belt. I even encountered a “Gun Club Rd.”

…If this is the Heartland of ‘merica. Then Lady Liberty needs a quadruple bypass and a pacemaker.

-I thought of a new story. The night prior to my departure, my brother and I were discussing a Harry Potteresque/steampunish teahouse. He was thinking of a real place with a Ragdoll cat and a St. Bernard on a carpet…something straight out of Hobbiton. I was thinking of a teahouse run by a Ragdoll, and the St. Bernard (as a sammich maker).

The title? The Tearoom of Tally Furrowbrow. A collection of wholesome fantasy short stories with the tearoom as the reflective backdrop.

I need a life.

*End of Line*

January 13th, 2009

-Sometimes working for a hotel is awesome. NOT often. But sometimes. King bedroom…to myself…$39.

…Now if only it came with a prostitute.

(Wait, nevermind. This is Merced.)

-This is one weird town. Hickville is to the left of me. New Jack City is straight ahead of me. Barrio is to the back. The cosmopolitan nature of this gives me tears and candy dreams.

Shut up, I voted Obama.

-The only place within walking distance to eat was a friggin’ Carrows. Uh…no. So, I looked up microbreweries. FOUND ONE!

-The brewery. Oh lord. It’s called “Big Bubba’s”, it’s a steakhouse, and all the beertaps have ornaments. The IPA had a howling wolf. The Irish stout had a bear. At least I think it was a bear. There were cowboys and and a pistol thrown in there somewhere.

-The brewery sampler. Six HALF-PINTS of beer – served in a wooden thingy shaped like a gun revolver. I only finished three.

Verdicts? The IPA and the red ale were excellent. The Irish stout was good but not thick enough. The rest were ass…blame it on the Belgian yeast.

-Just got done drinking my Prostate Tea, while watching Blades of Glory…in green tennis shoes.

I’m livin’ the dream.

*End of Line*

January 14th, 2009

-California drivers have this little habit. They will ride your ass for twenty miles before they pass you. The behavior is akin to canines mating. I wonder if there’s a correlation.

-Driving in Pasadena sucks the testicles of a polar bear.

-Visited the Girl from Boat Trip. She bum-rushed/tackled me with a hug. Awesome.

-Saw this house on the outskirts of L.A. County that looked like a British cottage on a patch of green. I think a wormhole sent it here.

-Angeles Forest has, maybe, ONE tree. L.A. must be really proud of that tree.

-I really do wish they all could be California girls.

*End of Line*

January 20th, 2009

-I learned a new term for “vagina”.

…Ready for it?

“Apostle’s Grove”.

Soooo using that for a book title someday.

-While driving up I-5 North, I noticed a woman jogging on a bridge. She was wearing a sparkly halter top. *sigh* Only in SoCal.

-You know you’re karaoke-ing with a bunch of geeks when they start yelling “FOOT-FOOT-FOOT!” during the base drum hits to a song…as if they were playing Rock Band.

-Orange County states a very strong case for moving southward.

-California has more geek girls per capita than the whole of the Northwest. Yes, that includes Idaho.

-Everything begins and ends with Del Taco.

-Everything I need to know in life can be summed up by Flight of the Conchords.

-XXX Vitamin Water rocks my arse, and not just for the porno name.

-I knew I was back in Oregon when someone pumped my gas…and the gas station bathroom smelled like patchouli.

*End of Line*

*End of Trip*

(Best Vacation…Ever…)

January 21st, 2009

I’m finally home, and I’m sick.

“Welcome to Oregon, here’s your influenza.”

*FIN!*

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Wednesday, January 21st, 2009 Musings No Comments

I work for tea money.

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