I don’t know where I belong; all I know is that I’m wrong.

Last night was pretty much a lot of traveling and a little visiting with the family. After supper, Marie and I headed to my parent’s house to get my tax rebate check, then to Appleton to visit my brother and his family, and then onto Best Buy to get a new scanner.

Two things I learned last night:
One, whenever a city or county in Wisconsin decides to start a construction project, they make the bold assumption that closing down 7 or 8 streets (most often, that run parallel to each other) is a good thing and will not severely piss off motorists. And we wonder why we have road rage? We ended up having to drive to Darboy and take a huge detour to get to my brother’s place.

Two, the socially inept work at Best Buy. The guy that checked me out had a) chapped lips, b) unshaven face, c) visible dandruff, and d) greasy hair. It was rather creepy and I wanted to immediately wash my hands after him handing me the receipt. Ick.

After we got home, I got to talk with Andrea for a while, which was very cool. Haven’t had a chance to talk to her in a while and good to catch up a bit and discuss current events.

I hopped on-line to check my mail and see if Jon was on-line, since he also called and left a message. That bastard was ‘helping Beth with her homework’, which we all know what that REALLY means. Then, because I was tired, I went to bed.

More after lunch, including a harrowing tale of my dad and grundies. Not to be missed.

Too much information

So when I was younger, my dad and I enjoyed the process of wrestling with each other. Exercises in showing male dominance of the Murton household took place on a fairly regular basis. Myself, a scrappy, angst-seething teenager against my dad, a middle-aged authority figure with love handles. A match made in heaven.

The wrestling matches usually consisted of both of us attempting to pin the other one in such a manner as to exercise the “Grundy” maneuver, which entailed freeing any articles of clothing that were tucked into the waistband of the pants (undershirts, flannels, etc), thereby freeing the prized underwear band, which could then be hoisted and tugged at until a sufficient amount of underwear was wedged between the opponents ass cheeks and cries of mercy filled the living room. Our pre-match preparations usually consisted of selecting two or more articles of the longest shirts we owned, tucking them in, even into our underwear, and securing the integrity of the tucked in garments with a belt as tight as we could stand it and still be able to breathe.

My dad, eternally being sly and cunning, would often end the match early when, upon the verge of yanking the old man’s BVDs with such force that the waistband would act as a reverse headband, would loudly blow ass and politely exclaim ‘Excuse me’. All too often, these events would occur when he was piled on top of me and I was helpless to the heavy dosage of ‘tear gas’ he was emitting, often passing out for hours at a time because of it.

One match in particular, when I was feeling particularly feisty and ready to go to blows with dad, I was again on the verge of Grundy victory, when my dad called mercy and said he had to go to the bathroom. Being the fair-minded and levelheaded youth the old man raised me to be, I relented and let him loose, all the while banging on the bathroom door to remind him what was in store when he was finished and flexing my non-existent muscles in the hallway mirror.

He emerged, seemingly revitalized and I was ready to strike. Pinning him was remarkably easy and I thought for a moment I felt the power structure in the house shift from him to me, surpassing my brother and electing me Leader of the Murton Household. I later realized that moms are the eternal leaders of every household and there is no force powerful enough to overtake them. But at the time, I was poised for a victory.

Upon the untucking of his long sleeve shirt and the vilifying task of reaching in for the waistband, I was encountered with a feeling of utter horror and fear, like never before.

My dad had removed his underwear while in the bathroom, and I was groping his ass.

His laughter at the time still haunts my subconscious and years of therapy have ceased to result in me leading any semblance of a normal life.

So see, that’s why I’m the way I am.