I guess you could call it a bucket list, but I don't. Sometimes you do things and later realize that you've just checked an item off the life checklist, like when I saw Vanilla Ice in person and he poured elk's blood (read: Jager) into my mouf. And another one of those moments happened to me a couple days ago. I was attempting to reach a lake two miles off the main road, which closes for the year due to snow. As I neared the gate, I turned off toward Brooklyn Lake because I had heard a rumor that the dirt road was plowed the two miles back to the lake, which would allow me to park and access several good fishing lakes in the area.
As soon as I turned off the road, I knew that my plan was woefully awful as the road was not near plowed. Trying to maneuver around a parked snow plow, I felt my right front wheel fall off into a small snow-covered ditch. Stuck, I was. And nine miles from any type of civilization. And out of cell phone range. And at the end of a dead-end, snowed-in highway by which very few people pass. And without a shovel. And without a heavy coat. I approached a lodge I knew in the area, but it was empty. I decided to walk a mile downhill to another lodge that advertised it was open "year-round", which was totally untrue. So, knowing that I had no cell service and there was no one likely to be around for miles, I did what any normal person would do: cried. Cried before I decided to hitchhike, yeah!
It only took about ten minutes for a vehicle to drive near. I realized that this could be my last shot for hours, so I decided to not wait by the side of the road with my thumb out like a bum. Instead, I decided to stand in the road in front of their car waving my arms like a crazy bum. I wished to Allah I had shaved my beard that morning in anticipation of looking good while I attempted to hitchhike, but this did not happen Inshallah. Allah did smile on me when they stopped, mostly because they had nowhere to go except through me. Luckily, they were college students up for an afternoon sled, and not the murderous organ-thieving type of college student that picks up hitchhikers.
Right now I'm preparing for dinner, and I know you wonder what's on my menu given the limited cooking and cleaning capabilities I possess. Well, today it's chicken noodle soup followed by a salad with chicken. I recently got a free life insurance policy (from some actuary who clearly hadn't done their homework on me) and I'm trying to overdose on chicken so my family can reap the benefits... the benefits of being a close relative of the first person in the world to OD on chicken.
You may be wondering what I do most of the day now that the parents are gone, I have a steady two-day-a-week job, and I have no water. Well, I listen to the 80's song "Almost Paradise" alot and dream that I'm Kevin Bacon in Footloose, which is probably my favorite 80's movie. I whip up some vinaigrette once in awhile. I spend silly amounts of time reading news and books, most recently Friday Night Lights, which was pretty similar to my high school football experience albeit at an urban private school to which we wore ties and grey pants. Ultimately, I spend alot of the day chopping and moving wood, starting fires, handwashing dishes, cooking,and generally doing things that modern conveniences have long since rendered obsolete. So be thankful for these conveniences. And send me money.
Showing posts with label Allah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Allah. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
A Neighborly Confrontation
Yesterday I sat at dinner with a neighbor and my parents, discussing neighborhood issues. I have, over the last few years, realized that as one get older and solidify your professional and social relationships and develop a routine (which can be difficult to break), your worries become smaller and smaller issues, and disputes get pettier. This set the background for my confrontation with a neighbor today.
We live in a subdivision outside a small, unincorporated village 30 miles outside Laramie, Wyoming. There is a small gravel road that traverses the subdivision. The road is owned, in places, by the adjacent property's homeowner, while in other places it is owned by the original developer, who still lives in the subdivision. In front of one woman's property, she has placed rocks (some quite large) by the side of the road to "defend" her property-line from the grading machine, which goes around about four times a year to level the gravel. When the road is graded, she parks her cars in front of her property to prevent the grader from impinging on her property and, over time, eroding into her claim.
While I respect her right to prevent dimunition of her property, the rocks in the road could damage cars or the grading machine itself if they were not seen. This is especially a concern in the winter. Furthermore, a car that strayed too far toward the rocks could see its tires or wheel covers damaged.
The local neighbors and neighborhood association have spent hours upon hours debating strategies to prevent this woman from making our subdivision less beautiful. It often seems they are being as passive-aggressive as possible in these strategies, so I took matters into my own hands.
Driving home today, I parked my car in the grass across from her home, exited my car, and proceeded to pick up the rocks in the road and toss them into her yard. I have done this several times over the past few weeks, and she replaces the rocks faithfully. This time she witnessed me moving the rocks, and the following conflict ensued (my smartass rating was an eleven):
Lady: "Hey! Hey! What are you doing?"
RetiredJK: "I'm moving these rocks out of the road, I can't figure out how they got here."
Lady: "I put them in the road!"
RJK: "They must be removed. It's simply unsafe to have large rocks in the road, and it disturbs the natural habitat."
Lady: "I will call the sheriff if you keep moving the rocks."
RJK: "I pledge to keep moving the rocks."
Lady: "What is your name sir?"
RJK: "Mohammed."
RJK: "Abdul."
Lady: "What is your last name?"
RJK: "Mohammed." (again, I kind of look like an Arab with my big bushy black beard.) ( I think she went for it.)
Lady: "Hello.... Mohammed."
(I try to shake her hand unsuccessfully)
Lady: "Do you live here?"
RJK: "No, I trek out here from Laramie just to move the rocks out of the road."
Lady: "I'm calling the sheriff."
RJK: "Please do, again my name is Mohammed Abdul Mohammed, and my phone number is 307-777-7777. Praise be to Allah."
Lady: "I am calling the sheriff."
RJK: "You're nuts."
I am driving back to my home now and I plan on removing the other half of the rocks.
Also, I am sitting at the public library listening to Centennial Book Club, and I have realized that book clubs are simply excuses for married women to get together, drink wine, and gossip.
We live in a subdivision outside a small, unincorporated village 30 miles outside Laramie, Wyoming. There is a small gravel road that traverses the subdivision. The road is owned, in places, by the adjacent property's homeowner, while in other places it is owned by the original developer, who still lives in the subdivision. In front of one woman's property, she has placed rocks (some quite large) by the side of the road to "defend" her property-line from the grading machine, which goes around about four times a year to level the gravel. When the road is graded, she parks her cars in front of her property to prevent the grader from impinging on her property and, over time, eroding into her claim.
While I respect her right to prevent dimunition of her property, the rocks in the road could damage cars or the grading machine itself if they were not seen. This is especially a concern in the winter. Furthermore, a car that strayed too far toward the rocks could see its tires or wheel covers damaged.
The local neighbors and neighborhood association have spent hours upon hours debating strategies to prevent this woman from making our subdivision less beautiful. It often seems they are being as passive-aggressive as possible in these strategies, so I took matters into my own hands.
Driving home today, I parked my car in the grass across from her home, exited my car, and proceeded to pick up the rocks in the road and toss them into her yard. I have done this several times over the past few weeks, and she replaces the rocks faithfully. This time she witnessed me moving the rocks, and the following conflict ensued (my smartass rating was an eleven):
Lady: "Hey! Hey! What are you doing?"
RetiredJK: "I'm moving these rocks out of the road, I can't figure out how they got here."
Lady: "I put them in the road!"
RJK: "They must be removed. It's simply unsafe to have large rocks in the road, and it disturbs the natural habitat."
Lady: "I will call the sheriff if you keep moving the rocks."
RJK: "I pledge to keep moving the rocks."
Lady: "What is your name sir?"
RJK: "Mohammed."
RJK: "Abdul."
Lady: "What is your last name?"
RJK: "Mohammed." (again, I kind of look like an Arab with my big bushy black beard.) ( I think she went for it.)
Lady: "Hello.... Mohammed."
(I try to shake her hand unsuccessfully)
Lady: "Do you live here?"
RJK: "No, I trek out here from Laramie just to move the rocks out of the road."
Lady: "I'm calling the sheriff."
RJK: "Please do, again my name is Mohammed Abdul Mohammed, and my phone number is 307-777-7777. Praise be to Allah."
Lady: "I am calling the sheriff."
RJK: "You're nuts."
I am driving back to my home now and I plan on removing the other half of the rocks.
Also, I am sitting at the public library listening to Centennial Book Club, and I have realized that book clubs are simply excuses for married women to get together, drink wine, and gossip.
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