So now I'm crying at work...

From a recent Reddit AMA of a guy who played Goofy for 20 years at Disney World:

I have one moment that stands out above all the rest. I was waiting for someone to ask me this question. It's the reason I left a good job as a VIP Tourguide and moved to the Character Department.
I was working City Hall one day when two guests came in with two little girls. One was in a wheel chair and the other one looked like she had just seen death. Both were cut and bruised and the one in the wheelchair had her arm in a cast. The two women were actually nurses from a hospital and were asking for a refund on the girl's tickets, something we avoided doing at all costs. When I asked why they told me the story. The two girls were with their mom and dad at Epcot and on the way home they got into a horrible car accident. The mother was beheaded right in front of them. The father eventually died too but the two girls didn't know that yet. They were from overseas and had no money and no contact information for anyone they knew. They were bringing the tickets back to get the girls some much needed money to help get them back home. My heart absolutely sunk. If you had seen these girls you'd know why. They were truly traumatized. I refunded their tickets and got permission to be their private tour guide for the rest of the day (which they were not expecting). I walked them to the VIP viewing area for the parade which was as far as I could walk them in the costume we used to wear at City Hall. I had to leave them there while I put on my VIP costume. On the way down I pulled out every kid joke I could think of. I was a REALLY good tour guide (I helped write part of it) and I knew how to make kids smile. Nothing worked. These girls were too far gone for that. I left them at the bridge to go change, walked backstage and bawled my eyes out. I just had never seen something so horrible. I was truly affected and it was a terrible feeling of powerlessness not being able to fix the situation. When I came back I brought them to get ice-cream, take them on rides and stuff but they never smiled, not once. The nurses were loving it and were trying to get them into it but it just wasn't working. We went back to the bridge to watch the parade. It was there that I honestly saw true magic. Real magic, not bullshit. I had called the parade department to let them know what was going on and set up a private meet and greet after the parade. As the parade was coming around Liberty Square I told the girls that I had called Mickey and told them all about them.

I told them that Mickey asked to meet them after the parade.
The little girl in the wheelchair smiled.
"Really?" she asked. My heart skipped. "Yes, really! He told me to tell you to look out for him in the parade and to follow the float back to City Hall."
The other girl smiled.
"You mean right now?" she asked.

It had worked. They were talking. Not laughing, but talking. It was the first time I had heard them speak. Every single parade performer came up to them on the bridge and told them to look out for Mickey. Every one of them told them that. When Mickey's float came up Mickey (who was attached to a pole at the top of the float) managed to turn her body sideways, look down at the girls and point towards Main Street. That was all it took. The girls were excited now. They had forgotten about death. They were lost in a magical world and I couldn't believe I was watching it unfold in front of my eyes. We followed that float all the way back to City Hall, singing "Mickey Mania" the whole way. Back then, City Hall used to have a VIP lounge behind the desk that was for privacy during difficult situations or to host celebrities. I took them in and showed them the book where all of the autographs were. They were eating it up.

The girl who was Mickey that day (K.T., I will always love you for this) got down off her float and without even taking her head off walked up to me backstage and said "Let's go." I walked in with Mickey behind me so I got to see the exact moment the girls met their new friend. They got shy but Mikey was in control now. Those girls met the REAL Mickey Mouse that day. Every single parade character stayed dressed to meet those girls. One by one they'd come in and play a bit then leave. We were in that lounge for over an hour. Mickey stayed in costume the entire time (which is hard to do after a parade). When Mickey finally said goodbye I had two excited girls on my hands that couldn't stop smiling. They talked and talked and talked. We had a wonderful day after that but what I remember most is when we walked by the rose garden, the older one said "Oh, my mommy loves roses! I mean..." and she stopped. I held out my hand and walked her to the gate, picked her up and put her on the other side and said "Pick one!" She looked happy as she picked out her favorite rose. She didn't say anything more and she didn't need to. I said goodbye to the wonderful nurses and the wonderful girls then walked backstage behind the train station. This time I didn't cry. It felt so good to be a part of that. I realized that as much as I liked helping guests at City Hall, the true magic of Disney was in the character department. I auditioned, transferred and never looked back. Thanks for letting me relive this. It was a special day for me.

Don't call me baby.

If I haven’t told you that I love you then call me by my name. It’s been 2 years since my last relationship ended. I haven’t called anyone anything other than their name since then. It’s actually uncomfortable to hear someone else call me baby, hun, sweetheart, babe, etc. I still have some voicemails from her. I haven’t listen to them in over a year. I’d bet $1000 that each one begins with a nickname.

Nicknames should come naturally. They should make you smile. Your heart should jump a little bit. It’s better when they are unique. Bumbee and Bumblina when together were a Bumble. Why? I don’t know. It just worked out that way and we both loved it. No one tops Panthea in the nickname department. I had so many nicknames for Panthea that I probably can’t remember them all. She didn't like all of them, but they all meant the same thing to me when I said them. She had a few for me and I loved hearing her say each one. I'd go double or nothing that if I listened to the voicemails I still have from her most of them begin with, "Hi, baby." I will never let anyone call me that again. It will never sound right hearing that name from another voice. Although, thinking about it now, near the end of the relationship she used my nicknames less. Maybe that was a sign I never noticed until now. Hmm.

To be clear, it’s not the nicknames I miss. Although snooks and the snugglah were pretty fantastic nicknames, it’s not about the words. Those words are amusing, but the feeling behind them was the same as mon chaton and mon coeur. The closeness and bond between the hearts of two people. I miss feeling that connected. I don’t think it’s possible to have that connection with someone except in a romantic way. A nickname is for a specific person and only that person. You can’t call another person by that same name because they will never fit in your heart that way. There are times that I miss the friendships I had with the 3 women I’ve loved, but being friends with them while they love another person would basically be impossible for me. I’m not that emotionally healthy hah

So what brings this whole thing up? Well, I was on a date this weekend and having a good time. I’ve being seeing this person for around 2 months. We had dinner and then drove on the beach around midnight. We drank coffee, talked, and listened to music. When we got back to my house I went to say her name and I called her Pon. She was around the other side of the truck and probably didn't hear me clearly. My stomach did some flip flops and it put a cold wet towel on the rest of my night. This woman is great, but I’m not in love. The relief is that I don’t believe she is either. She’s been married before and doesn’t want to be married again. With that said, she has started to call me babe on occasion. Meh. She called me baby once and I think the look on my face has kept her from doing that again. 

I call her by her name. I abbreviate it, but it’s still her name. All her friends use the same abbreviation. If she wanted someone else I wouldn’t be devastated. I don’t want to share our lives until the day I die. Does this make me an asshole on some level? Probably. The reality is that if I don't see myself ever asking her to move in with me then I should end it. It would be best for both of us. I’ve become a bit more direct since the break-up. Someone close to me said that I’ve become colder. Maybe I was different during my last relationship and now I’m back to who I was before that on some levels. I haven’t really looked at it enough to say for sure. I think it's pretty normal that you don't present all sides of yourself to each person in your life. I think when the right person comes along, my heart will open back up. Anyway, that’s not the point of this post. I want to go home so lets wrap this up: Keep it simple. Use my name and we’ll get along just fine.

It gets better?

Last night my friend Mike tried to harm himself by swallowing a bottle of Lamictal in my bathroom. At some point he was outside smoking a cigarette and collapsed while he was crying on the phone with his sister. I got him into my truck and drove him to the emergency room. Long story short, he's physically okay now and will transferred to a psychiatric hospital tomorrow.

WTF, man!

It's an obvious cry for help. He could have done this at home and just died. Instead he took a cab to my house an hour or so before he collapsed. He collapsed on the lawn in the backyard instead of on the patio where he could have hurt himself. He helped me get himself(?) into the car rather than wait for an ambulance... which potentially would have allowed him to metabolize more of the meds and cause real harm. This was staged. By calling his sister at the time of his collapse his whole family would know he was trying to hurt himself and come to the hospital. On the way to the hospital he asked me to let his ex-girlfriend know that he's sorry and that she is the love of his life. The more I think about this the weirder and more obvious it gets.

I've done things for attention, but this takes the cake. I have paid his rent, his phone bill, bought him groceries, cigarettes, etc. I care about this guy. I thought he was going to die. He played me like a fiddle and now I feel like an extra in an elaborate play.

I'm glad he isn't dead. I'm glad I have tried to be a good friend to him. For my own sake, I've got to separate myself from this insanity. I've had enough. God has given me so many blessings. I thought helping Mike was God's will for me. A way to spread his light. More often than not, I am the person God wants me to be. This reminds me that my life's bullshit is a drop in the bucket compared to the the pain some people have running around in their heads and their hearts. I'm grateful that Mike's life is not my life. Part of Mike's life is due to his choices. Terribly poor choices.

It's not all Mike's fault. The system has failed him. He has no education. He was expelled in 8th or 9th grade and spent the rest of his teens in therapeutic communities and institutions like that. As an adult if he works on the books enough to sustain himself then he loses his health benefits. If he were born with a physical impairment then there would be assistance for him. Partially blind or missing a hand? There are programs for that. Mentally ill? You're shit out of luck. Hopefully I'm wrong. I'm sure there are administrators at the psych hospital who know the system. Hopefully they can get him into programs. I hope someday he's stable enough to find peace.

It's 7PM. I'm going home. For now I'm going to have to love him from a distance.

How do you spell that?

My friends' son was born this morning. He's a bit early so he's only 6 pounds. He's pink with a decent head of hair and a perfect nose. As far as newborns go this is a good looking lil guy... and he has no name. This baffles me.

Fetal development is approximately 40 weeks. Lets assume that no one knows / is sure for the first 4-5 weeks. The woman takes a test and now it's confirmed. You're pregnant. Maybe everyone is thrilled. Maybe there is a discussion to keep this baby so let's say another 4 weeks pass. Finally it becomes OMG. OMG OMG! We're having a baby. Oh, I hope it's a girl. Oh, I hope it's a boy. Oh, I just hope it's healthy. 8 more weeks go by and now, at week 16, you find out the sex of the child.

As I stated above, this lil guy was early (by 2 weeks). Lets do some math: 40 weeks in total minus 2 weeks early is 38 weeks. Parents can choose to find out the sex of the child at 16 weeks. Therefore that left them with 22 weeks to pick this little boys name.

Now don't get me wrong there are names in the mix. The front runner is apparently Emreise. There aren't enough emojis in the world to describe how I feel about that.Really? Seriously?! Over 5 months of discussion and that's the result? Tragic.

Don't try this at home

Scratch that.

Don't try this anywhere haha

Eli Manning

188 games

298 touchdowns

202 interceptions

101 fumbles

1.585 touchdowns per game

1.611 turnovers per game

Elite? I think not.

It's been awhile

I haven't listened to this for over a year. It's good stuff. Check it out as time allows.

 

I'm what I am and I'm what I'm not... 

Give country a chance. You may just find yourself smiling more ;)

God Only Knows

My cousin is in trouble. Her child is in trouble. I have no relationship with her. Those that do will not tell her the truth for fear of being pushed out of her life. I’ve spoken to all of them about this. This is beyond my control. 

I’m damaged. Through work on myself I’ve gotten better, but the wounds can be tender if the right spots are hit. My cousin didn’t know much love growing up. I'm sure there are parts of her young self that looked for love in other places: friends and their families as well as my mother. Considering her home life, I think it's safe to say that somewhere inside her she wondered if she was lovable. In her late 20s she found someone who swept her off her feet. The type of person we all dream about. Who accepted her and gave her what she needed at the time. I'm sure it helped that he was good looking and intelligent. He is also damaged. He is an active addict. Yesterday he threatened her. He also threatened to “take away what she loves the most.” Rightfully so she took that as threatening the life of their child. She called the police. He flushed his drugs down the toilet. The police came and removed her and the child. She would not press charges. Somewhere inside her she must hope to reconcile.

Before they were married, her husband had dental work done with our family dentist. After looking at her future husband’s teeth the dentist called my cousin to tell her that he believed the guy was a drug addict. The dentist said that he had never seen teeth like that… he’d only read about such cases. Red flag ignored. Years of longing for someone to love and be loved by someone… It’s powerful what fear will drive us to do. Her insecurities have clouded her judgement since she met him. She forgot that she’d had a successful professional career. She forgot that she was attractive. She forgot everything and listened to the little voices in her head that told her being with him was much better than being alone.

Fast forward about 10 years. They have a child. He cheats on her. He openly uses drugs with her knowledge. They fight in secrecy. There are rumors, but nothing blatant in front of family. No one wants to betray her trust. No one wants to say something that will keep her from confiding in them… so no one fuckin helps her! No one tells her the truth! The truth is that whatever she loved about him isn't there anymore (unless it's his handsome penis). He’s not able to love her either. He’s an active drug addict and therefore the most self centered individual on the planet.

What about their child. He’s 6 years old. What has he seen? What has he heard? How many tears has he shed in fear? Does he know what it is to be terrified of his own Dad? Has he seen Daddy hit Mommy? How many times has he seen Daddy screaming in Mommy’s face? What names has he heard Daddy call Mommy? Her own self centered nature prevents her from seeing the bigger picture. Her fear of being alone puts her and the child in harms way. Verbal abuse is harm. Don’t forget that.

I type this because it's unlikely that I'll have the opportunity to say this to her directly. I don’t have a relationship with her. I hope my conversations with others inspire them to say these words to her. As the serenity prayer states, I am accepting the thing I can not change. ::sniffle::

Are we having a conversation?

A conversation is an exchange of "information." Usually, questions are asked and answers are given. An example would be, "How do you define a good conversation?" There will be 2 opinions. They may be similar, but there will be differences. How big the differences are will determine if we can agree. We may not agree. It's okay. It's a conversation (see above: an exchange of information). Identifying something such as "what makes a good conversation" isn't the same as identifying who will be the guardian of our children if we simultaneously died in a fluke slip and slide accident. There is a difference...

So here's an idea for you all to consider - Stop trying to convert other people to your way of thinking.

Just don't do it.

Converse. Exchange ideas. Poke fun. Maybe even talk a little trash, but -

1. Do not enter a conversation with the expectation that you are going to convert me to your opinion. Why would that be your goal? Are you a Jehovah's Witness? You don't need to save me from my point of view. I'm an adult. I may change my mind after our exchange, but it's unlikely.

2.  Do not become defensive when I ask questions. My questions are not a judgement. They are for clarification.*

*small point of interest... I ask questions only if I care enough about you to find out how you came to your stance. If I didn't care then I'd just change topics and leave you to your misinformed opinion hah By asking questions I'm trying to convince myself that you mean well despite being wrong ;)

Seriously, if you're saying something and I don't ask questions then you can absolutely assume that I don't give a shit what you have to say. So there you have it. Do whatever you wish with that information. Good day, sir.

Me... with everything

Lighthouse Homestyle Ranch is life!

Now that's something you don't see everyday

My house has a swing-set in the backyard. It gets used infrequently. At most, a handful of times this past year. My friends have children that are still babies and I have none myself. My neighbor has a few grandchildren and she asked me if I'd be interested in selling my swing-set. It's a nice set and it probably cost the previous owners a couple of mortgage payments to buy and install. I've seen sets in Costco and other big box stores for less money and encouraged my neighbor to take a look herself before making an offer on mine. Apparently they really like my set because she texted me today asking for pictures. I sent her what I had and decided to spend a few minutes looking online so I could send her some links... that's when I stumbled across the picture above. The different items this company has on their website are amazing. Plus they're on sale! This is truly the wonderland for little kids. It's swing-set pornography. I don't know who has the bank to buy something like this other than a celebrity of some sort or a trumpish capitalist pig. The pinterest for children under 10 would be full of these things (and candy!) if this company was widely known. If you're a kid and you grow up with one of these in the backyard then your next stop is going to be RKOI with a lion in the passenger seat of your 'Rarri. God bless you, little ones and the free market society as well!

As a side note, disposal of these units is a snap once the kids get older and angsty because they'll burn the thing in place during an ace of spades fueled rampage :) Grrrrrrr, I hate you mom and dad!! You ruined my life by not installing flat screens in my play-house like Blue Ivy had...

 

RIP Gene. Your movies were dope.