The nerve of you...

So as I sit at the bar I begin to reflect about events that have occurred over the last few days. The amount of work I have been taking on is comparible to that of a crazy person. I bring it on myself really. I make it no secret that I use work as an excuse to escape my real world problems. And this week I have been soaking up the overtime like how a middle aged jersey shore mother of 3 soaks up the Belmar sun. I'm counting down the days until the dollars are raining on me like a South Hackensack stripper. 

I also recently saw the movie "her". Not to bother everyone with another boring movie review, but I can't help but say how great of a film it was. Sadly, the film was a bit too real. To me it was a forshadowing of our societies downward spiral. Those who were burned and are afraid to love can find comfort in falling for an operating system. I mean in all honesty it doesn't sound like that bad of an idea. It's like being in a relationship but as soon as she starts bitching and moaning, you give it the old blackberry battery pull and she goes night night. Can't think of a easier way out of arguments. 

I was forced to cut ties this week as well. I must say it is a rough thing to go through, but it's a necessary part of life. And for those who didn't know I have the worst luck in the world. I am a victim of Murphy's law. If it wasn't for bad luck if have no luck at all. So since I have cut ties all I see are things that remind me of that person. It's safe to say that I feel like Lane Meyer. 

It's a temporary feeling that will disappear once I win a local ski race allowing me to also win the love of the French foreign exchange student. Yeah that'll show everyone. 

As I write this I am enjoying a delicious Guinness, and can't help but overhear the bartender speaking with a patron as try compare their bikini waxing stories. I'm amazed that the class that this place possesses is that of a truck stop bathroom.

As the night progresses the locals all quickly become "Jon Taffers" and all begin drawing improvements for the establishments on bar napkins. I must say NASA really passed up on some real talent. Who knew it was all hidden right in lyndhurst nj. So until they find this diamond in the rough I'm going to enjoy this train wreck of a bar.

I can only pray my kid will be this cool. 

Beer is proof that god loves us.

So over the weekend I took part in the great beer expo. This has become an annual tradition for me. A joyful exposition of many different beer companies coming together to offer samples of beers for the masses. Of course this year I went after working close to 18 hours straight. With this being said, I started drinking while fighting fatigue. A move which is about safe as taking a bath with your radio. 

The concept is simple, you are given a small glass and are given 2 ounce pours of the many beers being sampled. Very simple concept, where could things go wrong? It's only 2 ounces, I'll be fine! Right? Wrong. While we all play amateur cicerone, we all fail to compute that simple math that for every 6 beers you try, it's another beer. You quickly get into your comfort zone and the good times quickly flow. 

You make your way down one side of the expo center picking and choosing as if you are a Rockefeller to the beer game. Looking at companies, asking questions when everyone knows you are a steady coors light drinker and the thought of an IPA makes you vomit a bit in your mouth. 

There are various vendors as well. Some selling alcohol related products, such as pint glasses and bottle openers. This year I have to hand it to the guys selling replace my storm windows and vinyl siding. Why you may ask? Because these guys are sharks. The last thing someone wants to think about when they go to a beer tasting and they cannot control their thoughts on the way out, is to hear an estimate to fix their broken home. They escaped their wife for the afternoon with empty promises that he isn't going to get wasted, when he sees his chance to make it right and replace those damn drafty windows. Boom! The trap is set,and drunk Larry walks over and signs himself up for months of calls and estimates. Furthermore he has to justify to his wife that he worries about home improvements when his drunk, since we all know that this move isn't going to get him any tonight. 

As the afternoon goes on the crowd continues to poison themselves. Everyone becomes friendly and there is never a reason to fight. Which is a nice change from most nights that a meathead cannot control himself with less that 3 drinks in him. I'm glad that god and my ancestors blessed me with a gift of alcohol tolerance. However I was not blessed with the quick recovery of hangovers. 

One thing that has accidentally become a tradition is that I run into many old friends. We are all able to share a few 2 ounce beers and have a few laughs. This gives us our fill and we are able to move on from there. Which all joking aside, I must thank the group if readers who encouraged me to keep writing. I wasn't sure if people actually kept reading. 

As the afternoon continued, the creative juices were flowing. It wasn't long before Big Rob convinced me that I needed an air brush face tattoo. His argument was quick and strategic: "c'mon, it'll be funny. Do it!" In my older and more wiser years along with my drunken state of mind at the time I found it hard to come up with a rebuttal. 

Looks good right? I look like every parents worst night mare. Not for their child, but for fear their kid may come home with a man with a face tattoo. As the day progressed, accessories were gained. I soon had a red bandana and was quickly earning street cred among the other drinkers. I even caught myself exclaiming phrases such as: "I didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose me", and "don't quote me boy, I ain't said shit". 

 

Soon after this was completed I returned to my safe house where my quick 5 minute nap turned into an 8 hour sleep this ended my trip to beer fest. Atta boy joe, atta boy. Till next years beer fest, I'm gonna go on the hunt for that beer that tasted kinda like that other one, but I can't remember any of their names. Prolly shoulda wrote that down. 

I can't believe it snowed in the north east!

Since when does the north east get such bad weather? And more importantly why don't I enjoy it as much as I used to as a child. While I could not care less about snow and all the bullshit that is associated with it, I feel bad for the children of today. Granted I don't give a damn about these technological dependent little shits, however the experiences that they will never enjoy due to constant fear of the dangers of the world really screwed these kids over. (On a quick side note: Your kid isn't all that good looking. To a predator it's prolly not worth serving time for stealing your pudgy and ugly over dependent leech of an offspring.)

So if I could take a stroll down memory lane to reminisce on how sacred the almighty snow day was for a kid in Southern Bergen County. As a child there was no greater joy in life than that of a snow day. And growing up in a shitty little apartment on Hoboken road, the greatest this was having a hill in the backyard. Who needs more in a childhood than a back yard with a hill! The speeds achieved didn't compare to the agility need to not decapitate yourself of the rusty guillotine of a swing set of the back yard. On the approach you knew if you didn't suck it in and get low enough you were guaranteed stiches and assured a side of tetanus. 

My fondest memories are certainly of my father. He had these fur boots that were all the rage in the late 80s and early 90s. In fact images of slores attending raves makes me think of my dad. 

Come to think of it, my dad wore outfits like this a lot. Regardless. Those damn boots were a staple of any snowstorm. 

The blizzard of '96, which was proof that there was a god and boy was he pussed at us, was probably when I realized that my old man was more insane with me. I witnessed my father perform a cannonball almost comparable to a flubbed dive performed by the Chinese women's swim team. But this lift such a crater in the front yard. A joy for any 7 year old. 

There was also the sleigh rides that went from our backyard's hill, across the driveway, through the lot next door, dodging the trees and whatever was hidden there, and into the lot of the chiropractor next door. 

(A brief fun side story of the people next door was that we never knew their names but we knew one person very distinctly, Remmie. Remmie the dog was a very small fella but boy did he have a set of wheels and he loved to run, everyday, from his owners. There was no greater wake up call than hearing a shrieking north jersey accent blast the name "REMMIE" throughout a busy intersection of Carlstadt and East Rutherford. Remmie was the man. Remmie didn't care about his owner or anyone else. When Remmie wanted a jog, Remmie got it. Then they moved and I would assume Remmie is in doggie heaven since this has to be atleast 17 years ago.) 

Shortly after that we escaped the busy area of Hoboken road and into the quiet area of first street. This is where the paraplegic man across the corner from us would call the police for playing outside after school.  However the best part of this was now living around the corner from my best friend. What could be better than moving around the block from your best friend? I can't think of anything. This opened a world of possibility. A new neighborhood that wasn't living on a major street and kids my own age. Don't get me wrong I did enjoy watching my great uncle (I think that's who he was) take a spill down the large hill outside the old house in an attempt to cut the grass. (Hence the large Astor-turf hill when looking west on te corner of Hoboken road and Hackensack street. Now you all know). But now I had Bryan and his brother Mikey. This brought on RJ, as well as the brothers Luke and Billy. Over the years more would come and go which I'm sure will be mentioned in future stories. 

This crew would assemble with mission that can only be described as assholes looking to have dangerous fun and not get caught by our parents. Snow days were the best though. The snow day would begin by shoveling out the neighbors, but only the ones you know would pay. The others we couldn't give a shit about because they were cheap bastards. Shortly after we finished half assing shoveling jobs and taking trips to Bella's for pizza to spend all the money, we decide to take the arctic trek to Lindbergh field. 

The frozen tundra that was Lindbergh field. A place that kids will never understand because the town graciously built a new school on what was the hill. The hill here was a solid 125-150ft run right off of a 3 foot wall (Pre-renovation). This was always enhanced by a small jump built of packed snow or whatever us local savages could steal from another local residents yard or garage(they were at work and wouldn't know. Plus we were gonna put it back. Key words "were and gonna"). 

So you grab your shitty plastic sled that you "borrowed" from a kid that left his unattended. What a silly goose. This was then usually followed with a "borrowing" of the neighborhood bully and his brother's brand new Christmas gifts, that they may or may not see again. (But they were assholes and had it coming to them). 

Once at the field you quickly got a feel for the events of the day similar to a creep entering a night club, that we all know he doesn't belong but attendance was low so they needed the cash. Our intellect  and open hearts quickly allowed the young and more gullible kids to catch break neck speed off the wall. This was because you needed to test the ramps and jumps, but you don't dare do it yourself. These kids needed to pay their dues and earn their stripes in hopes that you would maybe let them play on your team during a game of town-wide manhunt(and we did use the whole town) 1 round of town wide manhunt would be a weekend long event. But that's a story for another time. Back to the hill. Many a tailbone were bruised on that hill. Our personal best may be the day we saw a local was throwing away a mattress. This was then fashioned into a large group sled by simply placing te mattress ontop of 6 sleds strategically places under the used mattress being disposed of by a random party. Again this would flyoff the wall with all 8 or 9 of us, not at speed but with momentum and force. A true feat of physics if you ask me. This swift and quick trip would quickly lead to a pile of kids at the base of the wall screaming in laughter. 

I spoke earlier of the renovation which was the beginning of the end. Soon the borough renovated the field, changing the wall from tailbone bruising 3 feet to a coxxyx shattering 4 feet 6 inches. The town also installed a fence on the edge of the wall. Although installed for safety, this served as a colander for kids in poorly fitting down jackets. This was all until one of the local logistical engineers aquired a set of bolt cutters, thus ending the fence.

This is not to speak of the other hills in town. Big broad was a steep road that had a large snow mound at the base of the hill placed there by the DPW. This was also fashioned into a ramp. My crew avoided this hill along with all the hills on this side of town. We are convinced that the kids on this side of town may have been inbred. Just got a bad vibe from them over there. 

Now a days snow is more of an annoyance. The occasional snow ball is thrown at my dad, or him and I decide to play sun-miser and purchase a roofing torch to melt everything in our path. Hoo hoo!

Oh the things you can buy at Lowes...

Don't get me wrong, I have a delightful little lab mix who loves nothing more than to spend a day in the snow...and attempt to eat every square inch of it. Atta boy!

 

And maybe someday if I find the right girl to settle down with I may have my own snow days to make craters in the front yard and go sleigh riding with. Maybe. 

The routine...

You wake up feeling great. Birds chirping, sun shining, kids playing. Life is seems so simple and grand. You roll out of bed onto your feet and slowly begin that stagger to the bathroom. The stagger similar to a man attempting to leave the local vfw after putting in a hard days work on the stool. And as you come to your senses that you have slept the entire day completely away. Bills didn't get paid. Errands that needed to be completed weren't. Opportunities were missed, and mistakes were made. You begin to accept defeat and stagger back to the safe place where nothing bad can get you. The safe haven that you can seek some relief. You notice that those few minutes of vacancy has turned your once warm and cozy oasis into a frozen tundra. The prospect of returning to sleep quickly comes to reality in that it simply will not happen. 

You glance over onto the nightstand to find a fully charged phone. Quickly before you swipe to see what the world was doing while you in a state of peace, you contemplate if you really want to know what is waiting for you. Maybe instead you will go back and try to watch that dvr'd show from last night that you passed out while watching. Maybe you will stare at the ceiling in hopes that you will find the meaning of life resting in your drop ceiling tiles. You begin to ponder, maybe that new job called? Maybe I got a raise and things will get a little easier? The antipation only increases as you think today might be the day. 

You take a quick glance at your watch and realize this has been a pretty nerve racking 5 minutes and you've just woke up. Why can't this be like those breakfast commercials you see as you walk in the door every morning. Is there not a market for those who work nights and have to wake up at 4 or 5 pm in order to start the day again. I guess it's safe to say that the marketing department for foldgers has come to the realization that these types of people are a lost cause. But it shouldn't be this way. Because today is a great day. Now what makes this day great? This is your day off for the week. This is your day to take on those weekend projects all in 2 hours before everywhere you need to go closes if they haven't already. 

Reality sets in further, now you have accepted defeat. You can no longer continue to ignore the two-tone alerts emitting from the small 3x5.5 device that all but controls society. Man was it a nice little 7 hour disconnect from the world. So you pick it up and just first glance you know it's going to be trouble. You see several text messages from friends asking questions and getting frustrated for a lack of response. You see the invitation for lunch that is 4 hours old. The missed call from the unknown number. So with no options you swipe in. 

You see red alerts over icons. 3 missed calls, 25 missed texts, 37 emails. It draws you back to a simple time. The time where you weren't bombarded. 

You have now manage to play catch up. Followed up with your phone calls, sent you apology texts, and deleted all of your spam emails for discount funeral insurance and singles looking to meet in your local area. The day is shot but the night still has a chance right? Why not? 

So you throw a few feelers out there. See if anyone is going out tonight. You are off so the world must be right? Wrong! The only people that are around are those you worked with last night. Contrary to popular opinion Mondays aren't a very big drinking night. It's moments like this you think what if I had a normal lifestyle where I worked normal hours and did normal people things. 

This idea crosses your mind and quickly leaves. You realize that you are a zombie and you live for the night. The time where all the people who are up to no good are out. The time where danger hides under the cover of darkness. You are the person who has no issue staying awake till the sun slowly starts to creep up. It takes a strong person to go against your bodies natural instict. When the sun goes up you start your day. When in return you spend several days, especially in the winter, where you never see the sun. But who needs it anyway. It's just a reason to scramble for your sunglasses while driving. 

On a day when you are working, it's simple, just repeat the routine and go back to work. But it's nights like tonight where there are no plans that you start to scramble. We as humans are all creatures of habit. Some will preach that they go where the wind takes them. Those people are some of the biggest bullshitters you may ever meet. Nobody enjoys uncertainty. We have evolved past that. We know where to find our food and shelter and no longer need to fend of predators on a constant basis. Humans are naturally used to a routine. If we weren't creatures of habit a Monday would never be an issue, because bouncing back into a routine is 2nd nature. Wrong again. 

So you ponder. You sit in your bed and think of what to do. Clearly the habits you have don't match up with the rest of the world. Sure you can hit the bar or restaurant and realize that those you meet there are nobody you want to socialize with ever again. Leaves you to wander back to your glacier of a mattress  by an odd hour of the night. You put the phone back on the charger, back on the nightstand, back under the blankets, and back to staring at the drop ceiling tiles. But you keep an ounce of hope that maybe tomorrow will be different. And that there will be a change in the routine. Maybe. 

so how did we get to this point?

Lets start from the beginning by looking back as to where the hell did I go wrong? How did I get to this point? Was it because I listened to what Joe and Marlene taught me? Is it because I had various coaches that whipped my ass into shape? Now granted, I am known to be quick witted and sometimes I can be what some may call a "smart ass", But I believe that makes me staple in society. I am that person that everyone knows, that person who will say whatever is on his mind and is not afraid who I may piss off. Why do I do this? Why not? It may be the reason that It got me to this point. For those who already know me, they are aware of how I feel about most issues. For those who stumble upon this and aren't aware of my tact and demeanor, I urge you to hold onto your hat.

So now here we are, I have taken the advice of several people and have decided to begin writing my rants and bitch sessions down on paper on in this case on a blog and see where it goes. If nothing else it would help me get some of the stress off my plate. So here it goes.

"I'm here if you ever want to talk",

A quote that I hear all too often. To catch everyone up to speed, I am a professional and sadly still a volunteer EMT for several municipalities in North East NJ. I recently turned 25 and I am well aware that this is a really crappy time. I never in my life imagined that my mid 20's were going to be a time of luxury. Granted, I did always hope that I would be a prodigy who would be making money hand over fist, and bills would be no issue. Here I would sit atop my thrown and light cuban cigars with $100 benjamins. Man was that a false sense of reality. During college I faced a period of unemployment where I felt like such an imcompetent and useless zilch that I vowed, come hell or high water, I would never rely on the government to bank roll me. Man was that a fun time, going out on a nightly basis and drinking on the government dime, until I woke up and said you need to get a hold of yourself and your life. Suddenly the idea of the thrown and cigars deminished. So we accepted defeat and into the world of Urban EMS.

So me being the open minded 21 year old, I apply to the job and somehow land it. A fear that I wasn't qualified for the position, quickly faded and I was introduced into a world of sink or swim. Although my first year there was a great deal of treading water, I am still here. I like to consider the place I work very similar to Shawshank. You realize that it is a terrible place with many ups and downs. Until you aren't there and you are no longer accustomed to the life that you had on the inside. They say the life expectancy rate of the EMT or Paramedic here is approximately 2-3 years. I'm on year three. Holy shit, I am on year three! Im going to either make parole or be on a life sentence. A life sentence of stress and things that you don't dare talk about with other people. 

You do your best to cover up the shitty nights where you go in with a positive attitude, hoping that you may change the world, but no, you don't. Instead you spend your evening playing taxi driver/attendant to a front row seat of the greatest show on earth. It not the blood and guts that upset us. Its the injustices and the innocent victims. 

Now when I say innocent victims in an urban environment I do not mean the innocent man who was going home from choir practice that happened to be in the wrong place at 430 am. I am speaking of the children who are raised in this environment who believe its okay. The lack of education that came to their parents who fell through the cracks or that weren't offered the same opportunities as everyone. However I find that there is not a bigger kick in the balls than seeing that a 6 month old is wearing better clothing that you and you work 4 jobs. Designer shoes that will be outgrown before a child will understand what they even are. Yet I live in a life of uniforms because I cant ever find the time to get out of one. The clothing is all the same and I must admit, I can really rock an Elbeco uniform shirt rather well. 

The real kicker is when people come up to you and say, "Damn, I could imagine all the things you must see" or "Yeah, I thought about doing the ambulance thing, How much do you make?" Let me assure you pal, the pay isn't there. For job that we do, you quickly accept that you are out here for some other reason, whatever that may be. 

Perhaps you are going to Med school, or becoming a nurse. Maybe you are like most waiting for the call to become a cop or firefighter. Maybe you just have a false sensation of society and think that people actually give a damn about you or the job you do. I'm going to give you all a small hint... They don't, until they need you and its time to wait on their every need. This notion always brings me back to a memorable part of the movie Clerks.

But sadly, they are the reason we are here. So as I continue to count down the rest of this miserable dispatching shift, I anxiously pray that the phone will stop ringing. Imagine that a day without the phone ringing. Wouldn't that be something? I imagine my back not killing me from this chair that is beyond overused from the years of other people pressing their ass-grooves into the seats. As i sit in my cubicle here, I cant help but feel this is the closest that I will come to one of those cushy office gigs where its always 72 degrees with not a cloud in the office. Here comes the phone again, that damn phone that takes you out of your tropical paradise to hear that someone is having the worst toothache of their life and that you have to act. 

But then it comes back to that line you hear all the time, "I'm here if you want to talk." Sure, Lets talk it up! Lets have a chat, but lets try to have one of those chats where you wont look at me like I am a monster after I have finished speaking. Lets have a chat that wont leave you standing there in tears, which in turn makes me feel like a lost cause. Lets look back on things and think, so how did we get to this point? Well...we're waiting......