Life on the Road – Trucking News Blog

And I’m still being ostracized by Facebook for asking too many people to be my friend. Actually, being so nervous just sitting waiting here for a truck has "activated" my OCD behavior, and like rubbing door knobs or predicting my future based on whether a traffic light stays green or not, I just mindlessly keep pressing "add as friend." What an utterly stupid waste of time thing to do. I should be mowing the lawn instead. I need to make money.

Even more depressing is listening to practically everyone in the world talk about Twitter. Last night on David Letterman, actress Kristin Chenoweth, looking mighty fine and tan, was talking about her getting almost immediate action from Starbucks when she tweeted about receiving rude service from one of their employees. OK, so she’s a Tony and Emmy award winner. She’s a star. She’s rich. I’m still just a truck-less trucker who, by the way, isn’t making a cent just sitting here at home waiting.

Then I found a trucker who has 11,687 Twitter followers. He’s even selling t-shirts. As far as I’m concerned, unless your getting paid cash money for doing something, other than fishing, or snorkeling in the Bahamas or cruising to Mexico, then it’s a waste of time, right? Anyway, whenever I tried tweaking anything on Twitter, all I get is "Twitter is over capacity." I did, however, manage to SWOM. Hey, I’m trying my best to go "tribal" and integrate all the social media tools available to me. Did I just say that? What a bunch of BS.

Enough of that. So last night I put out one of the dogs out front of our house. I’ve lost 15 lbs. so some things are kind of big on me. I haven’t adjusted to it yet. I threw on a 5XL shirt, a pair of big shorts and old floppy over-sized fuzzy slippers. It was dark and the dog is black. Having just rained, it was slippery. So I’m standing there totally stressing over everything and I look for the dog. No dog. I don’t need this right now. Maybe he ventured over next store to "visit" their mailbox and take care of some business. So I’m walking and rushing and my big shorts are falling down and the slippers are sliding off my feet. Ah ha- I see the dog. I’m trying to hold everything together and go get him. He has other ideas. A chase ensues. This is a smart animal who I’m sure, at the time, was laughing his doggie ass off at me.

I don’t see the cable box in the dark. As I’m falling, I manage, Jerry Rice style, to grab the dog. So, I’m on the ground on top of the dog in wet grass, one fuzzy slipper is missing, my big shorts are down at my ankles and my glasses are tilted on my face like I’ve had a few too many. I’m smack right in front of my neighbor’s house. And suddenly his lights go on. The spots – the high beams. And out he comes with his five or so "guests." They’re all speaking Russian. They didn’t come out because they heard me – they’re just coming out after a night of fun, food and entertainment and are saying goodnight and going home, again, in Russian.

And there I was, quite frankly, looking like some pervert having "relations" with a little black dog in the dark, in wet grass, with my clothes 1/2 off, on a beautiful Florida night, waiting for a truck to make some money. I don’t need this right now. I held onto the now wet dog, growling at me, his sense of humor had quickly disappeared, and with the other hand held onto to my big shorts above my knees and with one slipper on – the other MIA – and my glasses at a right angle tilt, ran back into the house. My wife, watching television very intensely, said nothing. "I fell," I said. "Are you OK?", she said not looking away from the TV. "I guess," I replied, trying to readjust myself back to some normality. "I lost a slipper," I said. "We’ll find it in the morning," she replied along with "Could you put out the trash?"

Well, after all that, I tossed and turned in bed. I couldn’t sleep. I turned on the TV next to my bed and found the late night repeat of the Deadliest Catch. I did a post a while back for LifeontheRoad about Captain Phil Harris’ passing. This was his last show, the episode where he dies. The photo I posted here is when he was looking like the rest of us, I imagine, not so long ago in his prime. But there he was, in the hospital, a foot away my face. And I was truly shocked. He looked terrible. He looked sick. His head was shaved and heavily stitched, tubes and wires everywhere, most of his beard was missing and he had trouble feeling his son’s hand. The sight of him, a tough "warrior", again just like many of us, in bed, dying. The last scene was of his oldest son calling his brother, who left his father’s side to go into rehab, and telling him "We just lost dad." And I sat there in bed, my wife next to me sleeping, with her hand on my back. And I felt so grateful for being alive.