So. Another day of recovery from my big trip and another set of worries. Every time I think I’ve gathered all my shit into one bucket, I smell a new load that has attached itself to the bottom of my shoe. I was speaking to that issue at breakfast this morning, and Gram says to me, she says, “Ya need yersef a bigger bucket.”
In addition to my exterior standard-sized shit bucket, the boiling cauldron that is my ADHD-addled brain might need enlargement as well. I was hoping to be able to sit and discuss with you the many experiences and pleasures enjoyed on my recent trip, and I expected to have few distractions from that endeavor. I am, of course, delusional, and since I got home from my trip Monday night, every distraction avoided by my absence was pitched in my mental tent upon my return. And again, of course.
Expanding my mental capacities is somewhat more problematic than that of getting a bigger shit bucket. It isn’t that I’m dumb as I’m actually somewhat smart. Not genius smart like Streaker Jones and BJ, my bloggie buddy, as all of their considerable IQ can be laser-focused onto a single issue. Instead, my intelligence is typically divided—and not equally at that—between fifteen or twenty divergent thoughts.
Again to quote the spindly old gas bag that is my grandmother, “You’d be a right smart little fucker, Mooner, if’n ya could focal point all yer shit at once’t.”
Myself, I don’t feel any smarter than say Newt Gingrich, and I am for certain waaaay smarter than Rick Perry. Why I would choose to assay my smartness with those two shitheads as relevant factors might seem to diminish my reflections thereon. Thereof? OK, maybe thereto.
Can you tell that I’m in full ADHD brain fritz mode?
Look, I left for BlogCon2011 last Monday morning in a light rain that followed me all the way to my first stop, the Choctaw Indian Casino in Durant, Oklahoma. I got there and decided to take a little nappie poo before hitting the poker tables. When I awakened from my slumber I turned on the TV to see what was up in the world, but decided to take my shower first. When I finished, there was a weather alert flashing on TV. “The tornado is approximately two miles from Durant and a mile-and-a-half west of the Choctaw casino,” were the first of the weatherman’s words that sunk into my still sleep-groggy brain.
Since my room was on the 11th floor, west side of the casino, I parted my drapes and looked out the window. “Ho-ly shit!” I said quite aloud. I couldn’t distinguish the actual tornado, but what I saw was a ground to infinity wall cloud of black and angry-gray swill that is the picture-perfect nightmare of anyone who has witnessed a tornado.
“Holy fucking shit!” again aloud and this time quite emphatic.
I raced to get dressed and down to the safety of the poker room located deep inside the thick concrete confines of the building. Pestilence Number One.
Poker was fun and I met some neat folks as I played for a few hours before dinner. After dinner, I returned to play some more and was having a blast. I was playing a pot with a woman—I had Ace and Queen of clubs and an Ace hit the flop—and I was contemplating my move, and it suddenly felt like I had packed a battery-operated dildo up my ass for the trip and someone had turned it on.
“zzzz,” it went for a half-second, and then, “zzZZZZZZzzz,” for a solid three seconds more. The woman said, “Are you going to bet or do I need to call the clock on you?”
Then, suddenly, the entire poker room erupted in shocked expressions of, “Holy shit, that was another earthquake!” Oklahoma had had an earthquake the week before and this was the second act of that drama. Me, I think that these quakes and the ones up to the Cleburne, Texas area are caused from excessive drilling and pumping of underground oil and water reserves. You simply cannot remove huge caverns of liquid from inside the Earth’s crust and not expect it to want to adjust things occasionally.
Pestilence Number Two.
Of course BJ was keeping a close monitor on my progress and this double whammy I brought to Durant, Oklahoma with my visit there sparked some serious concerns. When he told Bob over to Squatlo the news, Bob said, “OK, what’s left that he can bring down on us when he gets here? We already had the locusts fill the sky Pestilence this summer, so it may be the raining frogs for us.”
Me, if I was them, I’d worried more that my visit would bring the lice dealie or maybe the water-to-blood thingie. I was sleeping in two different hotel rooms before arriving and serious quantities of beer were consumed all around. To have contracted a case of the crabs or be pissing blood was not a stretch of anyone’s imagination.
Anyway, I left Oklahoma with less money that I should have had because I couldn’t fold the second nut flush to an all-in bet from Sammy, a casino employee from another casino playing at my table. He was pretty loosey-goosey and managed to suck me into calling off my entire, quite large, stack. I’d like to blame the quake, but can’t. I was a dumbass.
Next morning I arose early and headed to meet Quincy in Jackson, Mississippi. More on that later. I have another psycho therapy session, a “special” session. Sister and Anna the Amazon want to have a baby, and they want me to be the father.
It seems I’m having difficulties dealing with the ambiguity of my roles in that little dealio. So drink your Carta Blanca beer, y’all, and come back manana. And why don’t you go take a look at the book at:
It’s also available on Kindle and cheaper there.