Seatbelts and Under the Deck

Well, here's an update on operation "get my mom to wear a seatbelt." Thus far, it has been a disaster of epic proportions. My dad, mom, aunt, and I went out to eat tonight, and neither my mother or aunt wore their seatbelt. Both were sitting in the backseat. I pointed this out a few times and was completely ignored throughout the trip there. Steadfast and determined, I became a complete annoyance and nuisance on the ride home, clearing my throat to interrupt my mother every time she tried to speak, pointing out our seatbelts and their many uses to her more than 5 times. I again, was tragically ignored. Such a pity. See, it's her choice to wear it or not, and if she had a good reason not to wear it (there is none), then I would let her slide; but so far, she has not responded to my increasing insistence nor given any reason as to why she will not put the seatbelt on. Is she too good for the seatbelt? You're not riding a limo, nor are we chauffeurs. Your not some rich socialite who is just too cool for the seatbelt, or is above said seatbelt. So what is it mom? If you actually read this, go ahead and leave a comment for everyone as to why you're not wearing your seatbelt. I'd love to hear the reason. MOVING ON. (That topic really annoys me now, I'm getting mad.)

Friday night, I got home from a friend's house around midnight or shortly after. I went downstairs to my "apartment" in the basement, and started playing some video games. I could stay up late that night because I didn't have to get up early on Saturday, so I was going to enjoy my late night. Around 12:45 in the morning, while playing a game, I heard the sound of water. Let me explain. When you live in the basement, and you hear the sound of water in the basement after it has rained over 12 freaking inches in the past 8 solid days of rain, it is never, repeat, never a good thing. So, being the good son I am, I pause the game, and decide to check this out. Had it been a scary noise, I would have been a sissy and turned up the volume, cause it would have ended up being a ghost and I'd be dead or possessed somehow. But I digress. The first thing I see is the small window on the other side of the large basement, and the bottom of the window, is leaking. It's not drip drip leaking, it's water pouring in leaking. The water was running right under the window casement, down the cement wall, onto my dad's model desk, and onto the floor. I quickly cleared off the model desk to save whatever I could, and started moving everything nearby up to higher ground. When I say that, I mean I grabbed several chairs and put everything on the chairs. With water pouring in fast and hard, I had to think quick. It was nearing 1 am at this point.

"Let's go wake up my parents."

That was the best I could do. So I run upstairs and wake them up. I let them know that it's not horrible, but it's not good either and they should come down quickly. So, my father gets downstairs first, let's out a few curses and then starts trying to figure out what to do. My mom comes down as well and then soon disappears to somewhere upstairs. I think she went to pray, because as we've learned from the ever intelligent news anchors, any flood is an act of God. (yeah, lots of sarcasm. I have it all here at The D) Shortly after assessing the situation, my dad sees that the half circly of metal outside the window is completely filled up with water and that's why it's leaking. We could pump it out (which we did) but the water under the deck was flowing right to the window because the grade was done improperly by the incompetent builders. If you don't know what that means, go ask someone who does. So the only solution now is to somehow divert the water from the window area. The other thing I should mention that is somewhat important, is that this window is conveniently underneath a rather large deck in the back of the house, making it nearly impossible to access. Awesome.

Someone has to get under the deck and clear it out. Someone brave, courageous, handsome, charming, talented, fearless, and utterly retarded, must save us all. That someone was.... The D. Oh yeah. I put on a pair of crappy pants, a tight as crap shirt from like 6 years ago, and these sneakers I never wear. (I wasn't wearing underwear either. I can't ruin a pair of my fabulous Christmas boxers. Ask me if you really want to know.) I marched up the stairs, opened the back door to a downpour of rain and hellacious winds, trying to steer me of my course of destiny. Walking around the deck, I reach the entry point. Dear Lord, it's about 18" of space between the ground and the bottom of the deck. I drop to my stomach, and start to crawl under the deck to reach my destination, a mere 10 feet from the edge.

The water and thick mud under the deck my friends, was very cold, smelly, and icky. Very icky. I trudged through it on my stomach, crawling and inching my way to the flooded area. There's only about 2 feet between the ground and the bottom of the deck under there by the way, so you can't move too much. With water constantly dripping down on my head and into my freaking eyes (and I can't wipe my eyes cause my hands are covered in mud), I moved dirt with a little spade for the next 30 minutes, slopping around in dirty, smelly water while half into a floor of mud containing who knows what kind of living organisms.

When flood waters knock at your door, The D shall answer. When rain beats at your windows, The D shall be there. When there is water and mud to be slopped around in a two foot high cavern of terror, The D puts on his shoes and slops. Oh yeah. So, um, I maneuvered enough mud and dirt around to divert the water away from the window and build up a little levy around the window. The water drained out and the problem was gone. Happy ending.

Except for fact that my mother still doesn't friggin wear her seatbelt.

The Seatbelt

Long ago, in the distant world of childhood, when I was but a wee lad, my mother would always remind me to put on my seatbelt whenever I got into the car. As a wonderful child (I'm using some poetic license here) I would immediately obey her and "buckle up", even singing the buckle up song. Yes, there is a buckle up song.

Buckle up for safety buckle up!
Buckle up for safety always buckle up!
Whether rain or snow,
wherever you go,
buckle up for safety buckle up!

I know, I'm getting ready to throw up as well. But alas, my mother was quick to remind me of the need for safety and to always put it first. Dear mother, thank you for your kindness and concern for my safety.

Fast forward several years to the present, where I, at a stout 23, have ridden in a car with my mother several times thus far in my stay here. My dear mother, once worried with safety and no doubt obeying the law, now goes sans seatbelt. For those of you who aren't smart (I know, I'm a jerk) that means "without" seatbelt. Kind of like sans serif, without the feet on the type. This is a serif type, see the feet. Anyway. I have gently reminded her of her non-usage of the seatbelt, and have encouraged, asked and pressured her into wearing her seatbelt when she is not driving now. I have received dirty looks, a few sighs, and been ignored the rest of the times. My heart has been broken dear readers, broken like a windshield in a head on crash.

I've even made a game of it, asking things like:

"Who won't get a ticket for not wearing their seatbelt if we get pulled over?!" My father and I quickly raise our hands with my mother shooting me a look.

"Who won't go through the windshield if we get in a crash?!" My father and I again are in on this one with my mother looking on. Another dirty look.

I know I'll probably get yelled at for writing this because as far as I know, my mother reads my blog. If she doesn't, I'm home free, but I hope she does, because even though I try and make it into a semi-joke when I remind her of the seatbelt, I really would like her to wear it. I like having a mom.

The D is back

Yes, yes, I know, it has been so very long that you all thought I had left you to suffer without your proper Vitamin D dosage, that's right, I'm a vitamin now baby. Allow me to explain:

Moving requires packing. When you've lived somewhere for a little over 3 years and you've now got to pack it all into a car and pickup truck, it requires creative packing and a lot of your time. Most of September was dedicated to packing things up. Then I spent the third week of September here in New York. At my parents house, we certainly have the internet, I'm on it now. However, my dear sweet grandmother was visiting from Idaho, and I haven't seen her in a long time. I spent most of that week with her and my parents, also unpacking my car. To add to it, my grandmother was staying in the computer room for her entire visit, making internet access a little more difficult to come by.

Then I took my father's truck up to Massachusetts for another week, where I would later pack it out the ass (meaning: I packed it like a dirty mofo. That should make sense now). However, since I had packed my computer and brought it with me to NY, I had no computer in Massachusetts, making internet access a little difficult.

So now, here I am, the beginning of October, and I am now in NY for good, well, for at least a year or so, and I have a grandmother-free computer room (it was great to see her), and internet access, and a computer. So here I am again, back to write my pithy thoughts upon this lovely screen, and to have all of you come read again. I hope my throngs of adoring fans will accept me back.

Now to my real topic, now that I've blathered about excuses for all eternity. Recenty, I was lying in bed, just thinking; which is something I do pretty much every night before I go to bed. I was thinking about my future, and what the hell I'm going to do, and all that jazz, you know. However, I was at complete peace this time instead of being a little scared, anxious, and nervous. I recently received so many compliments from the music I had written when I finally started giving people cd's of the recordings, and from performances and my church and a couple other places. I have always loved music, and although my musical knowledge garnered from schooling is right next to zilch, I have music just flowing through me. For some reason, I understand music. We just know each other, and we don't have to say a word. I can feel the music, I can watch the music, I can put myself in it and feel the music, experience the emotion that drove whoever it was to write it. I was lying in my bed with a little smile, and I understood that this is where I am to be. Yes, I love writing, and writing songs is still a form of writing, and I can still write things other than songs; but music, music is where I am meant to be.

I can't quite describe what it felt like to actually realize something like that. Who knows, my epiphany may be defunct by next month, but music is something that has always been around me and in me, so I highly doubt it. I am going to write more songs, do some real, professional recordings, and I'm going to put it out there and see what happens. It means too much to me to just let pass. It has meant too much to others as well, and that's the reason I'm in it in the first place. To have someone you don't know come up to you after crying, and try to explain to you what your song did for them or to them, is the most amazing feeling in the world, and it will never cease to give me goosebumps and tingles.

Hopefully soon, I will be able to take those two songs I have recorded and post them on here. I'll make it it's own separate post, and if this site won't let me upload files like that, then you can all just e-mail me and I'll send you a copy in the e-mail.

My sincerest apologies for the length of time that has passed between posts, I have not forgotton about you, I hope you have not forgotton about me. (I feel like I'm in Mister Rogers now, yikes)