Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

This has been a shitty day, and I apologize for the swear word there. But shitty is what it is and I would be dishonest to call it anything else. How was it in this state of shittiness? Let me count the ways...

--Got up this morning EXTRA early on a SATURDAY that I DIDN'T have any marching band stuff to do because my KIDS (love my kids, love my kids, love my kids--must keep loving my kids) are on a different biological clock than their big lug of a dad. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...up I was at 0715hrs today fixing oatmeal, getting on line and chatting with one of my best buds in the whole world (Hi Sheldon!!), and uhhhh...yeah...just kind of chilling. The Warden wakes up, waddles out to the kitchen, sort of grumpy, and takes over child care. I feel that having a Rockstar in the morning is a good way to keep from slipping into a coma, however, it also made me feel like I should repave the driveway, install a new engine in my car, write 108 different drill design ideas for the first 30 seconds of Capital Sound's show, and scratch incessantly at that itchy spot on the side of my left knee. I channeled that energy effectively and proceeded to do my annual post-marching band office cleaning so I can get set up for Drum Corps Hell. This story is WAY TOO FREAKING LONG TURNER!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sorry.

Must still be dealing with Rockstar poisoning. My day. That's right. Shitty.

Start cleaning office, than The Warden wants to go to our church so she could practice some Christmas dealybobs on the organ. Brought the kids as well, and let them ride bikes around the church parking lot. Begins to RAIN. A LOT!!! That wasn't fun. Get a phone call while my kids are dodging rain drops from a hereunto unidentified friend from another state that wanted to compare notes with me on a similar concern in the drum corps world (not Drum Corps World the news paper) and wanted to plan "some strategy" (which I cannot divulge at this time but the words "fraud", "killing the dreams of kids", and "deceit" were used in this phone call...A LOT...and I, with a nod towards my idol Lee Rudnicki, will CERTAINLY be turning the southern California drum corps scene on its ASS if what I think is happening IS happening...and I will HANDLE with great swiftness and prejudice...that's all for now on THAT). Drive The Warden to Kinko's for last minute copying. Drive around the unbelievably crowded parking lot looking for a spot to wait for her, only to find there WERE NONE, and those of us driving LOOKING for a spot were all (with the exception of me) crazed lunatics ready to kill for a spot. I picked The Warden up a little bit later, drove to the nearest El Pollo Loco because I had a freakin' JONES for a Chicken Verde Quesadilla--HOLY COW those are good--and drove home. I eat the food--actually had a nice lunch with the family around the table in our quaint little dining room. I become very tired...and decide to go to bed. Sleep like a man without sleep for weeks for 2 1/2 hours...God knows I needed it.

Nyleen's stomach, while I'm asleep, decides to make sure she pays dearly for the El Pollo Loco lunch and begins to cramp badly. Don't know what THAT was all about. But in between bouts of wanting to barf, she came up with the idea that we should go to the Mission Inn in Riverside and see all the pretty lights. Pretty lights? Mission Inn? How would you know about that? Ohhhhhhhhhhhh...I see. AOL told her it was one of the Top 10 places in America to see Christmas lights as they had over TWO MILLION strung up. TWO FREAKIN MILLION!?!?!?! Dang. THIS IS GOING TO BE GREAT.

We go pick up sister in law who is recovering from a horrible traffic accident several weeks ago (constant back pain thing), and hit the 91. Allow me to rant for a second. It's freaking Saturday night. It's about 7pm. And the traffic is JUST horrid. It is TIME for something to be done about that freeway. It's just STUPID. Anyway...it's raining and I'm cramped up in the back of my Sequoia because I wanted my SIL to be in the front seat so she could be comfortable and Nyleen gets car sick if she's not in the front--so she drove.

I KNOW THE STORY IS TOO LONG BUT YOU WANTED TO READ THIS DAMN BLOG SO SIT DOWN AND KEEP READING!!!! THERE'S A POINT TO THIS!!!!

As I'm driving out...my boss calls. One of our veteran dispatchers was rushed to the hospital and she's NOT doing well. She's had some significant health issues these past couple of years, and I just fear she's not going to get too far now. I hope this isn't the case, and it was sad news to hear. We show up at Mission Inn, park, walk a freakin' block and half in the rain, walk around, notice about 40,000 of the 2 MILLION lights were actually on (lots of strands were out), and generally...just thought the whole trip sucked. Nyleen started crying because she was frustrated, Michael Ryan wanted to run into the street multiple times in what I can only assume was either misdirected 3 year old abilities to behave, or perhaps, he too was very frustrated and wanted to end his life by getting plowed over by a horse and carriage. Yes. I said horse and carriage. For 20 bucks...you could ride around in one. Uncovered. In the rain. Yeah....REAL fun.

Anyway...we get back ON THE ROAD, head back to the Orange Curtain, and we're hungry. Pull into the Don Jose's on Imperial Highway just off the 91 and get into our seats and order. All by about 8:15. Being 20+ year customers of Don Jose's, we are pretty used to getting our food, even on ULTRA busy nights, within about 10 minutes. IT'S MEXICAN FOOD FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!! 25 minutes later...and 7 buckets of chips later...still no food. I start getting irritated. I look around and see my waiter kabittzing with another table. I make mental note. Next time I see him come out, he goes to another table. Talks to them. Strike 2. Third time I see him, he's hold fried ice cream and a troupe of crooning Mexican waiters is following him to a table to sing whatever the hell they sing in Spanish for a birthday. Strike 3.

I go, quietly might I add, to the front desk, ask for the manager, who happened to be right behind me. Big oaf. Scared the crap out of me. Anyway, I said, "Look, I'm sorry to complain but I'm hungry enough to snap your head off and use your brain as an appetizer. I've been waiting for 30 minutes for our food. Isn't that just a tad long?"

The dude actually looked at me...I SWEAR THIS IS TRUE...looks at me right in the eye and says, "You the party of 20?" First...unless I was struck blind, there was no party of 20 anywhere in the restaurant. Second, where I was sitting, in the very back, was where a party of 20 would be. DEFINITELY no party of 20 back there. And thirdly...I don't care if I was a party of freakin 200, GET ME MY DAMNED FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh...for those that know me and can hear my voice, I VERY irritatedly answered him, "Noooooooooooooooooooo...I'm a party of five. This is outlandish." Now, why I chose the word outlandish I know not. I WAS hungry. Perhaps my speech center in my brain was not up to snuff. Not sure. OUTLANDISH. That's a pretty gay word. Wait. Not gay. More...European. No. More sort of uppity. AND I LIVE IN A MOBILE HOME FOR GOD'S SAKES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway...with 23.5 seconds of registering my complaint, magically, my food appeared. And no, I'm not too far off with those seconds. I saw the manager go in the kitchen, and next thing I know, not one but TWO waiters are running to my table with food trays with piping hot food.

Anyway...it was just a day of lots of other little things that would make this entry in the Observations of the H go on WAY too long.

Perhaps tomorrow will be better.

Oh...but no. I had to end the day on a downer note. Just before I started this entry, I found out Yamato is folding for the season. FOR GOD'S SAKES!!!!!!!!!!!!