fergie's Diaryland Diary
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Stone Cold Trippin'
Stone Cold Trippin'
My knuckles have been blue since the layover in St. Louis, where I thought I was choking until realizing it was only shockingly crisp air entering my lungs. Thankfully, it wasn�t spontaneous combustion as I�d feared. It was just the first time I�d seen my breath in quite awhile. Good thing I didn�t panic and blow the experience completely out of proportion, because I was about to sprint towards the closest fire hydrant. If I was going to die in a freak accident, it had to wait.
My trip to the mid-west serves a singular purpose, in three parts. You see, this month three of the most important and influential men in my life celebrate a grand old passage of time called the Birthday. Why the hell else would I visit Ohio? I�m fortunate enough to be related to these amazing gentlemen. Each represents a generation of the Ferguson family lineage, starting with my grandfather to his son and grandson, better known as Papa Fergie and Little Bro.
I wrote an essay in their honor, which I�d planned to post here but it wouldn�t be as special or personal that way. It's something I wanted to say to each of them, not the entire world. Suffice it to say, these three have helped enlighten me along the path. There�s no bigger gift than the loving support from my family, and it�s important to let people know the impact they�ve had. Every lowered degree was totally worth it. Still, I�m super glad it hasn�t snowed.
1:23 a.m. - Feb. 22, 2006
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Mile High People Cattle Club
Mile High People Cattle Club
Christ on a cracker! Every time I'm on an airplane, I�m reminded of how much I hate flying. The human cattle drive is definitely not my style. It might be possible everyone else in line is screaming on the inside, except they all seem to have that vacuous expression cattle have in their eyes before slaughter.
Not to be morbid, but if you�ve never seen the hamburger death march they�re all like, �Moo, this is new, check out my private stall, dude. Hey, there's a metal rod poking through the slats over there...let me get a closer loo-� and then BAM! Bullet to the brain, say goodbye to Elsie.
I have a strong feeling a majority of the general population would willingly lead themselves into a meat grinder if prompted by a series of bells and yellow arrows. For all we know, the "plane" at the end of the walkway is just a picture taped to the other side of the glass. And yet most everyone camps out to reserve a place in line half an hour before boarding call. Never mind the fact Southwest splits passengers into A, B, and C groups, calling each one at a time. Also, the pilot doesn�t take off until everyone has handed over their boarding pass, stowed carry-on bags, and found a seat. We�re all landing in the same location at the exact same time, no matter who pushes their way ahead in a self-imposed rush of stupidity. Why these people prefer to stand around, luggage in hand, impatiently waiting for systematically timed boarding calls during a scheduled flight is totally beyond me. First in A group or last in group C, everyone at the gate is on the same damn flight.
Logically, filling the plane from rear to front would be the most conducive corral method, but this defeats the purpose of open seating. In theory, open seating is cool. In reality, people cattle would crush each other in a massive stampede if the airline didn�t break them into groups, literally forcing passengers to allow others ahead of them and let everyone get situated. Self-assigned seating when tickets are purchased makes so much more sense than the cluster fuck I just had to endure getting onboard this crate.
I�m tall, though not a very wide person. If my 29� waist is cramped in this seat, I don�t know how in the world the normal size civilian beside me can feel anything below her navel.
Personal space issues at 30,000 feet are forcing me to close. I think she read that last part over my shoulder and took offense. It�s not like I mentioned her hip fat creeping under my side of the armrest. People are so sensitive these days.
11:12 a.m. - Feb. 18, 2006
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test
this is a test of the d-land email broadcast system, from my phone. if the plane goes down tomorrow i'm totally blogging about it as we drop to the earth.
22:43 - 2006-02-17
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Today @work
Today @work
JtN: Oh nizzle, it�s drizzle.
Me: Fo� shizzle.
##
Mens@Work: :-)
Mens@Work: rejoice!
Mens@Work: the day is almost over!
Me: i'm here till 7ish tonight
Me: have to finish up EVERYTHING POSSIBLE SO STUPID HEADS DON'T FUCK MY SHIT UP WHEN I'M GONE NEXT WEEK
Me: and i hate it
Mens@Work: hmmm. where are you going next week?
Me: Ohio where it snows
Mens@Work: damn. it's gonna be COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD over there this time of year
Me: i...don't have enough longsleve tops & sweaters
Me: did laundry this week & have been going through my mental closet...
Me: i could, like, freaze to death and, you know, die
Mens@Work: i'm sure you would find a way to keep warm ;-)
Fergie: maybe crawl inside a dead tauntau's belly?
Mens@Work: i'd lightsaber for you
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incoming call from Weezy: is hottie there?
Me: mm-hmm
Weezy: i'm so gonna do him
Me: not if i get to him first. you ain't here.
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incoming call from Mr. Bernard: the condom broke & I think I�m prego
Me: I�ll be right over to punch you in the stomach.
4:32 p.m. - Feb. 17, 2006
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Muslims need a sense of humor
Muslims need a sense of humor
I could be missing something, but when I read texts instructing people to kill those who insult the Prophet Muhammad, I begin to think Muslims lack any sense of humility. Making a joke out of something may be a crime in their mind. In mine, the actions of these militant groups have done far more to insult God than any cartoon.
Swearing you're a peaceful, loving Muslim with a gun in my face isn't going to do it for me, sorry.
Here's what I�d like to see: 
Like I said, maybe I�m missing something. If I have offended your delicate sensibilities, please seek to enlighten my soul, not to kill me.
3:21 p.m. - Feb. 16, 2006
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Today is Bullshit [5yr anniversary]
Today is Bullshit
Here I go again, still flying solo. While I�d love to kick start my sixth year of blogging with a rocking love story for the ages, it�s simply not in the cards. Not to say I don�t have plenty of love and affection in my life, because that would be completely untrue. However, a booty-rolodex isn�t the same as having a romantic valentine. Basically what I�m saying is I could get laid tonight but that�s like any other day of the year.
Still, it�s the thought that counts. I do appreciate the cards, email and text messages. It�s like grade school all over again and I love it.
On a slightly sour note, my baby Jimbo in MO sent me a very heartfelt valentine which was stolen from outside my door, where DHL left it completely unsecured in the huge apartment complex I live in. The only saving grace in regard to the whole situation is that I�m sure it was one of the wannabe thug looking teens who run around our building under the mistaken impression living on the slightly posh west side gives them any kind of street credentials. Sorry kid! Santa Monica adjacent automatically disqualifies you from being anywhere close to hardcore, and your stupid bitch ass stole a gay valentine. Ha-ha! Hope all your �boys� enjoy the scented candles, body lotion, and mixed dance CDs.
2:34 p.m. - Feb. 14, 2006
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Save Yourself
Save Yourself
Friendship is a forum for bitching and bellyaching. If your friends don�t ever want to hear about your troubles, then they�re not very good friends. Sometimes we�re just supposed to listen, be supportive, and provide comfort to our friends in need. Each and every one of us needs to vent our frustrations so they don�t build up, causing an eruption. It�s all part of a cycle that helps us to heal our wounds and move on with life.
Everybody�s got the bitching part down, I�m no exception. The difficult part is taking the next step forward. It�s far easier to complain about something than it is to actually do something about it. Complaining will never bring resolution. While others may offer support, understanding, even good advice, they�ve got their own shit to deal with so they can�t save us from our troubles. We have to save ourselves.
3:45 p.m. - Feb. 08, 2006
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Strangest Fan Mail Ever
Strangest Fan Mail Ever
To: Fergie | From: Shay
Hey,chicky Poo wazz ^ ? nmh.im at the library wih shay, teenie(my sister),mom.i just thought i would see how you were doing!how are u and jennifer? last time i herd u two were in a fight,hopefully u r over it. i still cant believe she did that,me @ shay think she is a"Gold Digger" ~change~ guess who im going out w/t? tad davis!his bro is in 7th grade,his name is branson davis. tad is a big hottie WOW.we held hands the 2nd day we were going out.we were going out on friday january 27,2006. i will ttyl
To: Shay | From: Fergie
Huh?
12:13 p.m. - Feb. 02, 2006
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Feb.2006
Door Buzzer Needed
Random bozo waltzes into our office talking some unintelligible bullshit. Nothing new, we�re a condom retailer in Hollywood so it comes with the territory. He wanted to speak with the manager. I asked how I could help him. He asked if I was the manager. I repeated myself, which I find annoying and generally unnecessary. So he already had a strike against him and was starting to get on my nerves. My voice became flat, almost robotic, to indicate the conversation clock was running, his time almost out.
ME: �How can I help you?�
BOZO: �Well, I need to speak to the manager.�
ME: �How can I help you?�
BOZO: �Well, see, I just want to make sure I�m talking to the right person.�
=STRIKE TWO=
(Like what, it�s up to him to decide if I�m important enough to talk to? I say eff that)
ME: �We don�t take solicitors off the street.�
=WARNING SHOT=
BOZO: �Well, I spoke to someone before.�
ME: �Wasn�t me. Who did you speak with?�
BOZO: �I don�t know.�
(That�s because you didn�t speak to anyone before, you LIAR!!!) =STRIKE THREE=
ME: �Do you have a business card (so you can leave it on your way out)?�
(TAKES A CARD FROM MY DESK)
ME: �YOUR business card?�
BOZO: �No.�
ME: �Can you just tell me what you want? I really don�t have time for this.�
BOZO: �Oh, that�s how it is here? Last time��
ME: �There was no last time, or you�d know who you spoke with, or have a description, something.�
BOZO: �It was a guy.�
ME: �Okay. Here�s how it�s going to work: You tell me what you want and when you leave I�ll pass your message on to some guy that works here�
BOZO: �Well, I�d like to speak with someone now.�
ME: �You are speaking to someone.�
BOZO: �Are you the manager?�
ME: �You have my card, read it.�
(LOOKS AT CARD)
BOZO: �Well, is this how you always treat people who come in to see you?�
ME: �Only those without an appointment or materials for review. You look like a bum who just crawled out of the alley.� Dramatic pause as I pierced through his skull with my evil glare �Now get out.�
(HE LEAVES)
The End.
4:56 p.m. - Feb. 01, 2006
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