Goodbye 2006.

Here lies 2006.

Cut down in it's prime, '06 was only 365 days old when it passed - called up to heaven, or down to hell depending on your viewpoint.

For the world at large, 2006 was no real change from the years before it. Nothing really exciting came down the pipe. The wars still raged in Afghanistan and Iraq, the price of fuel continued to climb, and people still went about their lives much as they do every year. I think there were maybe four people in the world who expressed disbelief that Lance Bass was gay, and two of them didn't even know who he was.

I'm horrible at doing a year end wrap up.

I have trouble trying to remember what happened in January. If you ask me what the most important events of the year were, I'd start listing stuff from November, just because outside of stuff that directly impacts me, I have no sense of time. Ask me what I was doing in the middle of May or the end of March and I'll tell you. (Chance of error +/- 24%) Ask me when s major event happened overseas and I'm clueless. If you want to know what the world deemed most important, go read a newspaper, I gots nothin' for ya.

Looking back, 2006 was not a bad year.
I'm still alive, I've got my health, everyone is okay, what more could I ask for?
If I win a million, 2007 will be a better year. (Trying a bit of advance wishing.)
I'll let you know how it turns out.

Tomorrow I'm going to post my resolutions.
(Yes - I know I said resolutions were a crock of shit last year, but I've changed my mind.)
We'll look back next year and see how I've done.

Be safe, everyone.

Later.

Subliminal Message.

The fucking Radio was driving me nuts today.

Maybe it's because of the holiday, but they had the same songs on a loop, and it played about 3 times during my shift today. I only noticed because most of the songs were about Masturbation.

I'm not just dreaming this shit up either folks. There were some very specific songs in there about the art of self pleasure.

They played the shit over and over again.

If they played "She Bop" by Cyndi Lauper one more time I would have snapped. I get it. She's touching her clit.
I also heard "I Touch Myself" by The Divinyls, "U + Ur Hand" by Pink, and I think I heard "Rattlesnake Shake" by Fleetwood Mac - although I'm not 100% on that last one. I was hoping for "Little Red Corvette" by Prince, but I don't think they knew that one.

I think the DJ is trying to tell us that he's very lonely in the booth. I'm glad to see that he was going with a theme though, and that he was sticking to it. (That is a horrible pun I know, but I just couldn't help it.)

I'm glad to say that next to annoying me, it didn't really affect me at all.

Except my palms got all sweaty and I kept looking longingly at the Papaya.

Thank God that my shift soon ended and I was able to escape the radio's maddening hold on my libido.

I hope they change the tape tomorrow.

But then again, maybe not.....

Later.

Storage Problem.

There is so much crap in my house that I do not know what to do with it.

With Christmas and The Boys Birthdays all in less than a week, the sheer amount of wrapping paper and still-boxed presents is overwhelming. As I go through my Domestic Chores today, I find it all a bit maddening. (The wrapping paper is all gone, but everything is still in it's just-opened state.)

I like a neat, orderly home. My obsessive compulsive nature demands it. I'm not a neat freak/germaphobe, but I like to have everything in it's place. This transition with all the new items received at Christmas leaves me a bit out of sorts.

You see, all my shit is put away. Everything I got is exactly where it is supposed to be. It's all the kids stuff that throws me off. We now have to go through the old toys, remove what is not being used, and slowly introduce the new toys. (In case you are wondering, there were presents from last Christmas and Easter that were just introduced in September. Toy rotation is like laundry, it never ends.)

I've busted my ass and finally have most of the house in shape. My solution? Chuck almost everything into the garage so it's out of the way, and then work on it from there. If I had to look at that disorganization on a daily basis, someone was going to get hurt.

But it's almost over now.

The stress is slowly starting to fade as the clutter dissipates. If only there was a way I could fully relax.... Has anyone seen my Cumchuckers?

Later.

Spike of Doom.

Maybe it's me.

Maybe I'm getting old and weak.

I received some DVDs and Games for Christmas, and I've noticed that they are notoriously difficult to get out of the case. (Did I say difficult? I meant fucking impossible.) It's like the guy at the factory who puts the DVDs in the cases was related to Vlad the Impaler.

I have to twist and turn and practically snap the DVD in half to get it out of the case the first time. Once I've popped it's case cherry, it seems to slide easily on it's spike. (Yes, like almost everything else in life, DVD's have a cherry. Hawt.) It's just getting it out the first time that is so frustrating and troublesome.

I haven't yet, but the first time I end up snapping a disc because of one of those spikes, someone is going to pay. I have a feeling it will only happen on a really nice DVD that I've wanted for a long time and had a difficult time in obtaining. (It won't happen to Pretty Woman, it'll happen to a signed copy of Evening with Kevin Smith 2: Evening Harder.)

Unfortunately if they do fix this problem we could end up with a lot of loose DVDs in cases, rattling around, getting all scratchy and useless. That's not a good alternative.

The best solution I could come up with involved cardboard and a lot of Duct Tape. (As you can tell I used up all my good ideas on the previous post.) I think I'll have to leave this problem in the hands of the professionals. The Movie Industry - they haven't failed me yet. (Oh wait....)

Until then, I'll practice my technique on the Sidekick's DVDs - just in case.

Later.

Greatest Idea Ever.

I'm not feeling well.

My nose itches, my heads stuffy, my throat is sore and I'm starting to hallucinate from the NyQuil.

As I was blowing my nose with a Kleenex (with lotion) I had an epiphany, a vision, a sure fire commercial hit.

Tissues made specifically for Masturbation.

They would have to be a little thicker than normal tissues (what with the projected volume they would have to clean up) and the absorbency should be increased if at all possible. You could have them with Lotion, Regular, or Anti-Viral in case you tug one off while out in the bushes or if you think there is a chance that you've given yourself V.D.

The box wouldn't be all flowers and puppies either. It would either be made to resemble stainless steel or have actual pornographic scenes on the box. It would be weighted so you could remove a tissue with one hand and not have the box tag along for the ride. Heck, forget the box, I bet these things would sell wonderfully in a pocket pack - (You know, like the tissues your Mom keeps in her purse?)

I even had a name in mind: Cumchuckers.

These things would sell themselves with the right marketing. Put samples in with skanky porno mags or a free box to every guy under eighteen who buys a computer with an Internet connection. (You have to put the product in the hands of the people who are likely to use it most.)

As soon as the NyQuil wears off I just might apply for a patent.

Later.

Get Out Of My House.

I mean it.

Over the past few days it seems like there have been a thousand people trooping in and out of my house.

With both of the boys having Birthdays within four days of each other and Christmas happening in between, it's been a parade of visitors.

The tiring part is cleaning up after everyone leaves. Would it be rude of me to ask them to take a piece of garbage with them when they go? What with all the gift wrap and boxes, my garbageman is going to have an aneurysm when he sees what is waiting for him on trash day. I should tip him or something, but I think the garbage guys around here make more than I do already.

But now all the visiting is done, the holiday season is winding down and the only people who are going to come to my house now are people that I want to come over.

And the Jehovah's.
But I've got traps for them.
(Chick Tracts and Bourbon.)

Later.

A Good Haul.

Santa was good to me.

Thinking back, I'm amazed that I received some of the gifts that I did. I haven't been giving out hints and I'm not really lusting after any particular gift. (That's a lie - I've been lusting, but the stuff I want isn't likely to just appear under my tree.)

My Brother gave me my Kevin Smith fix, with a Mooby Shirt and complete Clerks graphic novel. (I can hear the Sidekick salivating.) I also got Clerks 2 on DVD. Going to watch that as soon as I'm done writing this. I think I now own almost all of the View Askewniverse. (The Brother got An Evening With Kevin Smith 2 : Evening Harder - I'm a bit jealous.)

I received a lot of other great gifts (too many to list here) and I'm going to enjoy them all. My main shock is that this is the first year that I didn't get any Future Shop gift cards. My Boxing Day shopping extravaganza is woefully underfunded. (What with Tristan's birthday tomorrow I wouldn't have had much time anyway.) I think I might skip it and stay in town, maybe something here will catch my eye.

I've got a small stash burning a hole in my pocket, I'm not sure what I'll do.

I'm off to watch Rosario Dawson dance on the roof of a Fictional Fast Food Franchise.
HAWT.

Later.

'Twas The Night Before Christmas...

And I'm at my house.

Had a drink at Work,
I'm feeling a bit soused.

The Gifts are not wrapped,
There's no tape or tags,

I'll do it the easy way,
And just use Gift Bags.

The kids just went down,
They are sleeping like logs.

I just sneaked in here,
To type and to Blog.

A House full of people
Await me Tomorrow.

I hope I don't kill someone,
Much to their sorrow.

Have a great day
To all who read this,

I'm drinking at Noon,
And I'm gonna get pissed.


Merry Christmas Everyone.

Later.

There Are No Stupid Questions...

Oh, wait...

There's TONS of stupid questions, and I got asked most of them today.

I don't mind answering someones question if it's something that they don't actually know or are confused about. But it drives me batshit crazy when I'm answering peoples retarded questions just because they are to lazy to look or to stupid to see the painfully obvious.

While I'm telling you the knowledge that you need to know, Is it too much to ask that you appear to be absorbing at least some of what I'm saying? That vacant look that you assumed right after asking me you question doesn't instill me with confidence that you are understanding what I'm communicating.

And if I do answer your question, at least have the common courtesy to say thank you. I'm not asking for much. I don't want you to drop to your knees and blow me, I just want a thank you - or at least tell me that you understood what I was explaining to you. Turning around and walking away after I've given you directions to something doesn't warm my heart as much as you may think. (Oh the Shock!)

The biggest possible insult that you can give me? Right after I tell you something, I hear you ask the same question to someone else. If what I told you wasn't clear enough, say so. You're welcome to go get a second answer, but I know that they are going to tell you the same shit that I just told you. If you didn't hear what you wanted, let me know. But going and asking someone else? That just makes you look like an idiot and makes me look like a horrible communicator. (There is no way I'm a horrible communicator lady, I have a Blog on the Internet - that's nothing but communication!)

I know that tomorrow will be another day full of inane queries.
But I think I'm ready. I'm going to try and convince people I'm a deaf/mute and hope they all just go away.

Later.

I'm Done!

I finished off my Christmas Shopping today.

Thank Fucking God that's over with.

I hate trying to find stuff for people.
I usually work best under a pressure situation - no time to think if it's the wrong or right gift. Just go with your first instinct and regret it later. (Luckily my buyer's remorse only works when I'm shopping for myself - not for others.)

I had no idea what to get anyone at all. I just went with the flow and I think I did alright.

I haven't been giving out any hints on what I want this year. Everything that I want is shiny and expensive or possibly illegal (and let's not forget immoral too, while we are at it.) so I haven't been laying out any groundwork. It'll be interesting to see what Santa brings me.

But like I said, I'm done.

Now if I can just find someone to wrap it all.....

Later.

1460 Days.

Today is The Boy's 4th Birthday.

Five Years ago today I can't recall what I was doing. I could have been working, home, drunk, sober, who knows. (Take your pick, it could have been any two of the four.)

Four Years ago today I was looking at a tiny wrapped up bundle, wondering how so much can change so fast.

The Boy and I have a wonderful relationship. I'm his mentor, his disciplinarian, and his friend. We have a great time together, and I enjoy every minute I have with him.

He woke me up today at 3:30am just to see if it was his Birthday yet.

He wasn't feeling well and actually got sick a couple of times today. (Upset Stomach.) I asked him if he wanted to cancel his party and we could do it later, but he said no and toughed it out. We canceled with some of the other kids who were coming just because we don't want them to get sick as well. He maintained a cheerful attitude throughout and was a great host and center of attention while everyone was here.
I'm very proud of him.

Best Moment of the Night: He puts down his new shiny toy (Fisher Price Digital Camera - Yeah, I'm that great of a Dad) and asks me to come cuddle with him because he thinks his tummy might be hurting again.

2nd Best Moment of the Night: He stops eating his cake, looks at me and says "Thanks Daddy, This is the best Birthday ever."

I have to do this all over again for the Number 2 Son's 1st Birthday in 5 days. (Two kids in December? Yeah - I only get laid in March, and only every 3 years.)

Later.

Lip Service.

I have a cold sore.

You know, that sounds a lot better than saying "I have an outbreak of Herpes Simplex Virus (Type 1) on my lip." (What did Eddie Murphy say? - "You keep that shit like luggage.")

I get cold sores occasionally. They usually arrive in times of stress, or when my body is run down. Right now, I think it's mostly the former. (Fuckin' Christmas - this time of year drives me nuts.)

They don't usually get that bad or even really noticeable, but I always feel like I look like that kid from Mask.

I normally stock up on the ol' Blistex here and just keep that baby moisturized. (If only all of life's issues could be solved by keeping them moisturized.) It normally goes away in a day or two. I hope that it's not too prominent in any of The Boy's birthday photos tomorrow.

Nothing I can do but wait it out.

And drink from a straw.

(Timmy's Coffee through a straw! It'll be all the rage!)

Later.

Talent's In The Jeans.

(A little wordplay in the title - hope you don't mind.)

The Boy had his first Christmas pageant the other day.

His preschool has been teaching the kids two songs for about the last month. Yesterday was the the day that they got to show off their stuff. I wasn't able to go because I had to work, but I did get to see the Videotape. (Normally the only video I see is porn-related, so seeing a Christmas pageant was a new experience for me.)

The Boy is a total ham.

I'm watching this on T.V. while The Boy is sitting on my lap. The tape starts up and shows the children lined up getting ready to sing. The music starts, the kids are singing, and I notice that The Boy's mouth isn't moving in time to the song. (He looked like bad Japanese Dubbing - I was almost expecting subtitles.) He wasn't even singing. Oh, he was going through the motions, and if he had been in sync it would have looked like he was leading the troupe. I turned to him and asked if he was singing in the video. He looks at me and says "Not this song, Daddy." He goes on to sing the next one wonderfully. When I asked he said he didn't really like the song, but he liked being up there on the stage, so he faked it.

My Son - The Milli-Vanilli of preschool.

I'm not sure if I should be outraged or not.

Seeing him up there was excellent. He does actually have a lot of talent in that area.
He can remember some lyrics to songs almost instantly. (Even the crappy stuff other people expose him to.) He doesn't know it, but he's getting a guitar for Christmas. He'll use it's power to score chicks, I just know it.

And thus the seed of my lions starts to bloom.

Later.

Workaholic.

Today was a Bad Day.

Not for any particular reason, but for a multitude of little ones.

I found almost everything that I had to accomplish at work today was dogged by tiny, annoying setbacks. No matter what task I was involved in, I was sure to come across something that would either slow it down or make it just that much more of a pain in the ass to do.

I usually voice my displeasure, but today I didn't. If you looked at each thing that was pissing me off, it would seem like I was being a whiny bitch. It's only when you look at it as a whole and its effect on my day that the reason for my displeasure is clear and understandable.

Every day that I work I like to accomplish a set number of tasks. I list them out and prioritize them. If I don't get that list done by the time my shift is supposed to be over, I'm pissed.
Call me crazy, call me anal, but it works for me.

I saw a cartoon once that said:

"God put me on Earth to accomplish a certain number of things. Right now I am so far behind that I will never die."

That pretty much sums it up.

Back to it tomorrow.
If it's bad again I just might have to stab someone with a pencil.

A dull pencil.

Later.

10 Things....

I want to do before I die.

1. Skydive. - Really. I mean it. It'll probably be the way I go out- but what the hell- you've got to try it once, right?
2. See Europe. - I'd really like to see some of the sights and just get a feel for the history. I don't live in a young country, but compared to Europe Canada is barely a teenager.
   
3. Have Coffee with Kevin Smith and Dave Grohl. - You know it would be bitchin'. I would start smoking again just for that time period. So we could all smoke together..like brothers.
   
4. Drive a Hot Car. - Porsche, Lambo, Aston Martin, whatever. Just something that is insanely expensive and fast. I'll try not to hit anything with it.
5. Go to Disneyland. - Yes I have never been there. I'd like to go twice. Once for me and once for the kids.
6. Go Backstage. - I'd like to party with the band. What band? Well it would have to be a personal favorite. I really don't want to sit around and watch Metallica cry and then have a circle jerk.
7. See the Playboy Mansion. - I've been to Vegas. The Mansion is the only other hedonistic center I know of in North America. The others? Why do you think I want to go to Europe?
8. Fire a Bazooka. - I'm a man. Loud boom very funny. Me like make mass destruction.
9. Write a Novel. - If you add up all the words I've typed in this blog since I've started, I bet I have a novel already. Maybe I should just print and bind it all together. We could call it A Steaming Piece of Shit: One Man's Thoughts on the Internet. (Just a rough working titlte, but still....)
10. I do have a Tenth thing, but it's a sexual one, so I'm not going to put it out in the public eye. Take a guess, I think you just might know what it is.

Later.

Mobile Madness

I like my cell phone.

I thought I'd get that out front, before I go off and rant about the things that piss me off about cell phones. (There are a couple - I thought I'd share them with you.) I just don't want anyone to accuse me of being a hater and start screaming "Luddite!"

1. I know it's been addressed so many times, but do people really believe that by talking loudly throughout their whole conversation it must improve the signal reception? There's no expectation of privacy when I can hear you talk about your day from 30 feet away. (I'm sure your Mom's goiter will clear right up.)
2. I think I've said it before, but I believe that cell phones have robbed 50% of the population of their ability to make any decision. If they come up against something they are not sure of, they just phone the other 50% and have them make the choice. I've personally witnessed someone call another person 3 times in the course of 15 minutes to decide what to have for dinner. Thank God it's not a life or death situation.
   
3. Ringtones. - Forget first impressions. You can have a stellar first impression with someone, but the minute they hear your "Tickle Me Elmo" ring tone, you are back to being a freak. People seem to look at a ring tone as another way of expressing themselves. Let me tell you - if your ring tone is "My Humps" - You're a slut.

That's it. That's what frustrates me about cell phones right now. Forget dropped calls and roaming charges, I'm pissed about all the retards out there that have access to cell phones.

Until the cancer eats away their brains, there is nothing I can do.

Later.

Hit The Wall.

I've been trying to think of something to type.

Nothing's happening.

The lights are on but nobody is home.

You keep on knocking but you can't come in.

I could post shitty catchphrases all night, but you only come here for the good quality stuff. If I just meandered on, you'd think I was crazy.

I'll take a night off and let all the semi-coherent thoughts I have simmer and bubble. Tomorrow you all might just get a big helping of brain stew. Yum!

Betcha you are looking forward to that, aren't ya?

Later.

I'd Love To Be A Weatherman.

You don't even have to get it right.

Last week we had some pretty huge storms. Wind, rain, huge gusts and lots of damage. Pretty wild.

They've been saying for the last two days that we are going to be hit tonight with a storm bigger and harder than the last one. Be prepared and stay indoors - the radios and all T.V. news programs were saying it. Storm of the year material.

Tonight?

I just got in from shoveling my driveway.

There wasn't snow called for in any forecast that I saw.
The wind? Non-existent.
Good job picking up on that one, Geniuses.

I'd kill for a job where I didn't have to be correct about anything.

Show up, stand in front of a green screen, and just say whatever comes to mind.
People have become so used to inaccurate weather forecasting that they just assume that the guy is going to be somewhat wrong and plan accordingly.

People counting on me to be wrong at my job?

I'd be the star of the show, Baby.

Later.

Fucked Up Fairy Tale.

So tonight before I put The Boy to bed, I'm reading him a story.

Normally we read Disney stuff, or something from Dr. Seuss, but tonight we went with a classic: Rumpelstiltskin.

(The boy is the one that picked it out - I was glad that he wanted to read something that's been around for a while and not some contrived, modern, wish-washy politically correct book that is so boring it's putting me to sleep as well.)

What a fucked up story.

I haven't read this thing since I was a kid; I know the generalities like everyone else - straw into gold, guess the guy's name - pretty standard stuff. But to read this thing again out loud just makes me realize how messed up it is.

1. The Miller has a beautiful daughter. He loves her so much. What does he do? Gives her to the King. He doesn't sell her - he gives her away. Like a piece of meat. (Or bag of flour. He is a miller after all.) Oh- as an incentive he makes up a lie that she can turn straw into gold. If that was true, do you think he'd be giving her away?
2. The King takes her, locks her in a room and tells her to make gold out of straw or die. (I bet she's soooo glad her Dad put her in that situation.) In order to escape death, she makes a deal with a mean little troll-man. (Haven't we all made a deal with a mean little troll-man at sometime in our life?) She offers him her first born. She really sucks at negotiating.
   
3. When the King finds out she was able to do it, he marries her. (Two traits you want in a wife: Straw into gold and Swallowing.) She accepts. This guy was going to KILL her, and now she's going to marry him? What if he asks her to drink milk and piss a chocolate shake?
4. The new Queen is already breaking deals. When Rumpelstiltskin comes for the first born, she cries and complains and asks for another chance. He tells her if she can guess his name she can keep her child. Who goes from first born to "guess my name"? I thought the chick was a shitty negotiator, but this guy is retarded.
5. Proof of retardation: Not only does he give her three days to guess his name, but during those three days he goes around singing his name out loud. Turning straw into gold must be his only talent, because it sure isn't common sense.
   
6. In the end, after she guesses his name, he stamps his feet and falls through the floor never to return. Death by tantrum? I appreciate the lesson we are trying to teach the kids here, but couldn't the author have come up with something a little more spectacular?
   

The whole story basically revolves around imprisonment, extortion, and selling people into slavery. What wholesome reading for my child to learn from. I'm sure I'll find him trying to trade his Little Brother for half of a day-old cheese sandwich. (Did I mention that the book teaches shitty negotiating?)

I'll have to start re-reading some of these old "classics".
Someone has to think of the children.

Later.

My Friends Car.

I'm in the Sidekick's Ride.

Not right now, but I've been using it lately.

The Sidekick is away in the Frozen North right now, and he's letting me drive his car while he is gone. It's a nice little car, handles well, gets good mileage, and overall it is a very nice ride.

But it's got a funky smell.

I'm not sure if it's something that's gone bad or if it's the cumulative effect of the Burrito & Diet Coke farts that he lets out while he is in there. But something isn't right. (Anyone who's seen his apartment will understand.)

It's not like it's a bad smell. Not rotting corpse in the trunk or anything. (God I hope not.) I don't even notice it after a couple of minutes. It's only when I get in and out of the car. I'm going to get an air freshener and change the smell a little bit. (Lavender, anyone?) He'll love that.

I'm not dissing him. Really I'm not.
I'm grateful that he's letting me use the car.
(He'll never let me use it again after this, but I'm sure he'll forgive me in time.)
I think he'd be more offended if I critiqued the music he has in the car than anything else.

To the Sidekick:
Thanks for letting me drive your ride, brother. It'll be gassed up, clean and sparkly when you come back. If you want that back-home feeling, I'll drop a bomb in there before I pick you up at the airport.

Later.

Loud And Clear.

At work we use an intercom/page system.

It's handy to have is such a large area, and it's used for all types of reasons: notification of phone calls, calling for assistance, or looking for someone.

There is one girl who I work with who seems to use the intercom way more than anyone else.

She'll call for the slightest reason. She'll call looking for you if you are 3 feet from her. She'll call for other people, preempting their use of the system. It's like she figures she's the only one who can use the damn thing.

The main problem is that her voice sounds similar to two rabid cats fighting in a tin box. It's not a pleasant sound, it's a screeching caterwaul that wounds the eardrums and pieces to the depths of your soul. The minute I hear the first few syllables come out I want to rupture my eardrums with a pen, just for a moment of sweet silence.

I don't think she knows how all of us hate it when she uses the intercom. I've tried to tell her to tone it down a bit, and not to use it all the fucking time, but I just don't think she understands. I think I'll have to say something really mean just to get her attention, after which she'll call my boss - using the intercom.
(It's a no-win situation.)

I'm hoping that she will eventually learn to ease up; but until then I'll just stick with letting the homeless guys lick her coffee cup. (That will give her laryngitis, right?)

I'm willing to try anything.

Later.

Trim The Tree

I must have missed a memo.

Maybe there was an e-mail I missed while looking at porn.

I didn't see anything in the local paper.

There has to be a reason why everyone looks at me strange when I tell them I don't have my Christmas Tree up yet. They look at me like I just stepped out from the Dark Ages, or maybe I'm speaking Martian or some gibberish they don't understand.

So what if my tree isn't up yet?

Why people put so much idealism into a dead tree (or a hunk of plastic resemblimg a dead tree) is beyond me. If you want somewhere to stack the presents - just put them in any free corner that isn't full of rotting flora . (The tree just takes up valuable present space anyway.) Or put it on a table, on the floor, does it really fucking matter?

Yes, the tree is a focal point and provides a nice backdrop for photos, but it's still one of those traditions that just doesn't make sense when celebrating Christmas. (Jesus and lumber didn't get along at the end if I recall correctly.) So why do we honor it so?

I think I'll save myself a lot of grief and just go chop one down and let it rot where it is. It can drop all the dead needles it wants on the Forest floor - it's a much better choice than my living room carpet.

Later.

#@$%* Computer.

I should just Nuke it from orbit.

I got the printer problem solved, and then it seemed like my 'puter hiccuped and said "Fuck It." As punishment, it wouldn't let me connect to the Internet. (It wasn't a cable or box problem, I checked - it seems it was a Windows issue.)

Now seeming as it was letting me connect this morning, and seemed to be working while I was updating the printer drivers, you think that it would work now.

Not so.

Nothing would work - I even went so far as to try System Restore!
No dice.
Eventually I could get it connecting through Safe Mode, but as everyone knows, working in safe mode is like juggling with mittens on.
I'm still not 100% sure what I did to get it working again, although I'm sure that my numerous curse words had to have some effect. I was almost ready to perform CPR if all else failed. (CPR = Computer/Pudding/Revolver. Not a pretty sight.)

But I got it working, and that's what counts.

I can Bank, Play Poker (Yay!) Blog, and Illegally Download music.
I'm (re)connected to the world.

All is Good.

Later.

@#$%& Printer.

I just spent fifteen minutes fucking around with my printer.

(And not in a good way, either.)*

I never use the damn thing.
I can't recall the last time I printed anything, but I need some documents for work. So I fire the old beast up, (that's it, pictured on the right) and it proceeds to tell me it's out of Black ink.

Fine.

I go to get the ink cartridge refilled at one of those discount filler places, and it turns out they weren't able to do it. So I get a generic cartridge at the office supply store. I get home and put it in, and then for some reason the whole thing freezes up. It slows my whole computer down. I un-install and reinstall the printer, and even when I'm doing that it's a bit funky. (Everything else on the computer is okay and running at lightning speed.)

Finally, by the grace of God, I get it installed.

Now it tells me it's out of Color ink.

I just about put it through the wall.

Piece of shit. (I'll deal with it tomorrow.)

Later.

*Is there a good way to fuck around with a printer? I don't think so, but I'm sure that somewhere out there there is a guy with a printer fetish. And probably pictures too, if you looked hard enough. Ewwww....

Before I Had Kids...

1. Meals at restaurants were a relaxing occasion. Now they are efforts in damage control.
2. Shopping was simple. Pick stuff up, go to checkout, pay and leave. Now it's a effort not to have have the store pulled into the buggy. Strap them down? Seems reasonable, but then people look at you funny.
   
3. Waiting in any line was not an issue. Now it is a challenge of mental endurance and creative distraction.
4. The "Quick run to the store" was actually quick. Now it's like an expedition into Darkest Africa. See you in six weeks.
5. Sleep was not a long-forgotten memory. Waking up at noon was not uncommon. Now - I can't recall what real sleep is anymore. Sleeping in means 8am - If I'm lucky.
   
6. I had disposable income. Now every time I look at an XBox 360 I see my child's future, hanging on the edge of the toilet. DVD's? No thanks - these diapers I got will have to do instead.
7. I only had to have the answers to things I cared about. Now I have to have the answer for everything. "I'm not telling you why poo is brown, okay? It just is."
8. I would Rock & Roll all night and Party every day. Now I find rocks in pockets and party PG-style.
9. I never knew what other peoples mucus looked or felt like. I can't say that anymore.
10. I could walk around the house naked all day long. Now I can only do it during naptime.
    

As you can tell by the above, it's been a trying day.

It's amazing how sometimes going to work can feel like time off.

But the minute I hear "I love you, Daddy." - It's almost worth it all.

I'm out of here - I meed my nap.

Later.

Changeover.

As I mentioned before, I won a new cell phone at the Staff Party.

(Once again, Yay for me!)

I've switched my service over and it's all good. That seemed to be the easiest part of the job. The biggest pain in the ass is reprogramming all the numbers and shit that I have for everyone.

(Oh I wish that it was like the iPod - just hook it up and sync everything. I'm sure there are phones out there that do this, but this isn't one of them.)

So I'm stuck taking a half an hour re-keying everything in via the phones lovely interface. It's better than the phone I had, but it's still a pain. Then I had to re-grab the ring tones and wallpaper that I liked. (And had on the previous unit.) I think that the extra sales I generated for Telus in downloading that stuff again should entitle me to some kind of rebate.

The cool thing about this phone is my ability to check websites on it. I had wireless web on the other phone, but the graphics sucked. This one actually shows some of the web page, which is neat. Of course watching it download is like watching paint dry. I feel like it has a 14.4 modem in it, and it's running at 50% capacity. Still, it's nice to have. (Gmail from my phone? Bitchin!)

I'm almost done the programming, and I've only had four finger cramps so far.
By the time I'm done, I 'll be too cramped up to flip it open.

Later.

And when I said Gmail, I meant it. I wasn't thinking Porn at all, until right now. But that would be kinda Bitchin, right?

Rinse Cycle.

Of all the things I hate doing around the house, Laundry is my most favorite.

(If that doesn't make any sense, read it again - it means I don't mind doing it.)

It's not like it's a challenging, constant task. You throw the stuff in the washer, dump a random amount of some cleansing stuff in, and walk away. Later on, when you finally remember that it's there, you throw it in the dryer for an even longer period of time.

(Don't look at me like that. I sort it out first. I'm not a complete idiot. Whites/reds, yellows/blues, right?)

The worst part of laundry is putting it all away. I never realize how many clothes I or the Kids have until you are folding and putting it back. I always end up with a few stray socks and such, but those are just the spoils of war. (I've heard about "washer's wages"- money found while doing laundry - but I think it's a myth put out there to catch my interest.)

Oh - I gotta go - I think it's time for the fabric softener.

Gotta have it, 'cause static build up from my short and curlys is not my idea of a good time.

Later.

Deposited.

Let me get this straight - I'm not a hippy.

But I know someone who is even less of a non-recycler than I am.

This guy throws out pop cans.

(He also drinks more pop than most third world countries., just so you understand the scale that I'm talking about.)

I think with the pop/water this guy drinks in a month, he could by a new DVD every time he turned in his empties. (I have to say DVD, it's the only currency he understands.)

Why not just take them in? How hard is that? It can't be too tough, you see lazy homeless people picking them up all the time. I think he's got more energy than a homeless guy.

Sure isn't that social conscience wearing him down.
(Burn!)


Later.

Party!

I'm about to go to our Annual Staff Christmas Party.

It's either going to be very good or very bad.

I'm posting early, because with any luck I won't be in typing condition later on.

I love the social aspect of the Christmas Party. In fact it's one of the few things I like about Christmas. The camaraderie, the music, the dancing, all the things I like about the bar, but none of the assholes associated with that place. The fact that we usually get some sweet prizes helps to some degree as well.

The fact that there is Karaoke means I'll get to bust out my wicked rap skillz. (Dope-a-lope. Fo' Sho.)

Wish me luck though, I have to work early the next day.

Maybe I just won't go to sleep.....

Later.

Decorations.

As I go to and from work, I'm amazed at the different levels of decoration that people go to in preparation for Christmas.

Forget the fact that there is a guy on my street who has had his lights up and on since November 16th - That fucker is in a whole other world. For arguments sake we'll exclude the crazies.

As for everyone else? Here's what I see:

1. No Decorations - This is where my house is right now. I'm just putting it off until I find the time. I think most are like me, where they are just waiting for the right day to do it. Some don't decorate at all, and that's just fine too. What's the point of putting all the shit up, just to take it down again?
2. Basic Lights - Three strings, tops. You know they don't really have their heart in it, they just do it because by the 24th it looks strange if you are the only one without something up.
3. Creative - Some of these people might have even thrown some lights in an outside tree, or maybe had those fake lighted reindeer going on. (I would forgive any fake reindeer in erotic positions.)
   
4. Enthusiastic - Window decorations start to appear. Fake snow, stickys, pictures of elves frolicking with Santa. The crazier ones go up right in the front window. These are the people who make their own wreaths and hang them until January 17th.
5. Psycho - Lighted Blow Up shit abounds. More lights than any three houses on the street. As I walk by I can hear the hydro meter ticking round and round. Think Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation. (The November man? He's like this.)

It'll only get worse as we get closer to the Big Day.
I swear the first place to play Christmas Carols gets egged on a nightly basis. (I have access to eggs, I can make this happen.)

With my luck I'll fall of the roof putting the lights up.

Oh, the Joy of the season.

Bah-Fucking-Humbug.

Later.

Conflicted.

I just had the best haircut ever.

Not in terms of excitement or anything, but it was done right, the way I liked it, correct length, proper styling, attention to detail around the ears and neckline - an all around perfect haircut.

The only thing bothering me is that the guy who cut my hair was so obviously gay that I'm wondering if he was trying to turn me with his attention to detail. Was he taking his time out of personal pride in a job well done, or was he just viewing me as a luscious piece of man-meat?

I could understand it either way.

I still tipped him, 'cause that's how I roll.
I just didn't make eye contact when I did it.

Later.

Temptation.

There they were.

Sitting in a little white bag on the counter.

Might as well have been crack, smack, or some other illicit drug.

I could have sworn I heard it's whispering from across the room.
"C'mon - you know you want to. You've been eating healthy for too long." They just wouldn't stay out of my head. I was fighting the urge with every fiber of my being, yet the voices just wouldn't stop.

I only ate them to stop the voices.

It was the voices I just couldn't stand.

But I showed them.

Polished off the whole fucking bag.

That'll learn 'em.

Who's in charge now, you little round fuckers?

Later.

Snow Sucks.

(At least today it does.)

Snow is an amazing thing.

Crystals, each one unique, destined to fall from the sky in a white curtain and blanket the land.

Why does it turn people into such complete retards?

Why does the guy in the jacked-up pickup truck suddenly think he is invincible and able to turn and stop on a dime? Why do these people think that their need to be somewhere quickly outweighs other peoples need for safety?

When there is no snow, people park between the lines, in an orderly fashion. With snow, all resemblance of order is gone. It's like people forgot the their car is supposed to be parallel to the other ones.

Some people welcome the snow. Others make it seem like it's fecal matter falling from the sky. (If it's that white, I think it means God has had too much Dairy.)

The only thing that drives me nuts is the fact that I've had to shovel about 4 feet of it off my driveway. I don't mind doing it once a day, but three times is just too much.

So for today, Snow sucks.

Ask me tomorrow, after I've built (another) Snowman with The Boy; I'll probably have changed my mind.

Later.

Zoned Out.

Today was a day where my mind shut off.

It's a talent I have, but I think that most men have it.

We as a gender are able to shut off our brain and yet still go through the motions of everyday life. Today I had conversations, completed tasks, worked hard, communicated, and I can't recall a damned thing. I don't think I had one significant thought besides whatever task was at hand.

I'm sure on a subconscious level things were going on fine, as I dimly recall smiling or chuckling when different songs came on the radio.

Normally I have tons of random thoughts scrambling in my head, waiting to jump out in conversation or online. I don't usually type up any random thing that pops into my head last minute, but as I sat down tonight to recall what I had been thinking about, I noticed that I didn't really focus on anything at all today.

That is how we men think - or don't, as the case may be.

Just watch - now I'll wake up at 4am with a head full of thoughts.
It'll be like Blue Balls for the brain.

Ouch.

Later.

The Long and The Short Of It...

I'm not a B.C. native.

I wasn't born here.

I was born and raised in the tundra of the Frozen Arctic, in the land of the Midnight Sun, far away from where I am now. Even though I have lived in B.C far longer than any other place, I still find that there are things that people do around here that I just can't understand.

Right now, according to my computer, it's -7° Celsius (With the wind chill, probably closer to 11.) it's been below freezing all day, and even I am feeling the cold through my protective layer of donut fat.

It still doesn't explain why I saw four different people today wearing shorts. Seriously, shorts. There was another guy who was wearing those retarded "holeys" shoes, and yet another who I saw wearing sandals, without socks. At first I just chalked it up to eccentricity, but by the end of the day I'm convinced that maybe our Government is doing secret genetic experimentation to build the ultimate Winter Warrior.

I've never been able to accept how really fat guys wear shorts year round, but there was only one fat guy out of the four people I saw today. (The whole fat guy/ shorts thing is another blog entry at another time.) I can't think of a reasonable explanation. Even going from your car indoors would be a stretch because of the wind. And walking on the snowy ground in just flip flops? Sheer madness!

In some way I look at these people in envy. They are out and obviously comfortable in the snow, and I have to bundle myself up just to walk to work. And I was born in the North! I used to scoff at B.Cer's who used to wear parkas at -1°, laugh at those who fumbled to make the perfect snowball, and frown with disdain at anyone who dared say it was "Too cold out." I was comfortable with the snow, and was in my element when surrounded by it.

Not so comfortable that I would wear shorts though.

Do I look crazy?

I felt like yelling at every one of them to put on some pants.

Assholes.

Later.

Ego.

I was told by someone today that I have a big ego.

I told them that if by ego they mean penis, they are correct.

Seriously though, have you ever thought about it? I don't think I have a huge ego about myself, but I do try to present a confidant manner and style. If that comes across as self centered and egotistical, than so be it.

(Plus, if I don't tell people how great I am, how will they know?)

I don't think that there is anything wrong about pointing out the things that you are good at. I'm not saying I'm the best at any given task, but there are a few things I do that I do very well, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm tired of some people decrying the fact that I take pride in myself and the things that I am able to do.

You are damned if you do and damned if you don't. If I didn't say anything positive, and only complained about how I think I'm overweight and didn't like how the world has treated me, then I would be called a whiny bitch. But it seems to me that most people you see nowadays are "whiny bitches" so the fact that someone is out there being positive about themselves, must seem odd and out of character.

I'd like to clarify - I don't go around saying how great I think I am and talking about my penis all day long. I'm not from Port Alberni. All I do is show some self-confidence and throw some humor along with it when I do happen to mention something.

I think people need to inflate their own egos a little bit now and then. Instead of looking in the mirror and being depressed about yourself, think about that one thing that you do great, and tell the next person you see.

(Unless the one thing is Masturbating and the next person you see is a Nun, this should work great.)

Later.

Snowball Fight!

Just got in from a massive snowball fight in the front yard.

Okay, not really massive, just me and The Boy, but I really whooped his ass.
(Any four-year old who thinks he can take me is going to be in for a big surprise.)

It started out as shoveling the driveway, and then it escalated from there. Words were said, battle lines were drawn, and the warriors met over by the skinny tree on the front lawn.
He almost got the jump on me, but I told him Santa was standing behind him and tagged him good when he turned to look. That only phased him for a second. (He's quick - he has his Daddy's reflexes.) After he launched a barrage of snowballs at me, I realized that if I took one step back, I would be out of his throwing range. (The boys got accuracy, but not a lot of power - yet.)

Afterwards it was easy to pummel him into submission with a flurry of white doom. He accepted defeat gracefully, and the obligatory face-wash was punishment enough. I know he'll think twice before taking on the old man again.

As I walked back into the garage in Victory, he said he had a present for me. I turned to look, expecting a hug for World's Best Dad ™ and BAM! Snowball right in the face.

He's a crafty little bugger, I'll give him that.

Just like his Dad.

Later.

Geriatric Rock.

An Open Letter to The Rolling Stones:

Please, just hang it up already.

This letter is addressed to you because you guys are the figurehead band for aging rockers. Because of you, other bands who thankfully retired or disbanded years ago have decided that they are still relevant, and wish to tour and produce records.

I know that the touring is just a cash grab.
Don't tell me you are in it for the fans. If you were really in it for the fans, you would have stopped touring long ago. Does canceling tour dates to rest your voice sound like you are doing for the fans? How about missing other tour dates because one of you geriatric fucks thinks he's a monkey and climbs trees looking for coconuts?

And the performances aren't up to par.

You're resting on your laurels, and it shows. People only go to your concerts to say they've been there, not because it's an incredible rock experience. People are buying tickets for the memory of you, not for what you are now.
Mick, are you going to tell me that you can put on the same show with the same energy that you did when you were 25, or even 30? I'll bet the stage has non-skid floors so you don't slip and break a hip. When I saw Robert Plant, it was all he could do just to stand there and keep from dying. If that's what you think your fans want, I think you are sorely out of touch.

As for material, I don't think you guys have released anything good since maybe the early 80's.
Yet your continued release of albums, even ones that don't chart well, inspires other formerly great artists to give it another shot. I don't think the Eagles would have even tried to get back together except for the fact that they saw money to be made. I'm finding Aerosmith guilty of this as well. (Since Armageddon, they haven't made decent music at all.) And the list goes on: The Who, The Guess Who, Micheal Jackson, Hall and Oates, heck - even Duran Duran is in the studio right now. ( I would mention Guns and Roses, but they haven't released any albums, and barely tour.)

Won't any of you just die?

Collapse on stage. Mild stroke. Whatever. Just to show these other old fucks that there is a hazard involved in coming back. Then maybe they'll think twice before getting back on the bus or going into the studio again.
Is it too much for a guy to ask?

All the best on the last leg of the tour.

Sincerely,
Fuck You.

Later.

Snitch 2.0

I should invest in the stock market.

Almost a year ago I posted about how my son likes to tell everyone and anyone what he did that day, where he went and who he saw. I theorized that he would eventually say the wrong thing to my Wife and get me killed.

Close, but I'm not dead, so it's not as bad as you might think.

He's progressed from transcribing events to actually recalling what Bad Words Daddy might have said throughout the day. He's like a voice recorder, except I don't control the playback function.

I'm getting picked up from the gym tonight and once I'm in the car I'm asked about something I said two hours ago.
(There was a cop driving by with his lights flashing and a truck hadn't noticed - he kept on his way. Eventually he did see the police car, and pulled over, and I commented to myself that the guy was "Driving like a retard.")
The Boy had seen a cop car when he was with his Mom and told her that Daddy said a Bad Word about a cop. If he's going to squeal, I wish he'd get it right.
He then comments to her that I also said something bad about a car in the Tim Horton's Drive Thru. I'm left defending my actions (or trying to) and looking like a horrible Dad.

I think I'm going to have to get earmuffs for him or something.

I'm now waiting for the day when he confesses to me saying some woman has a nice rack.

I don't think I'll feel the knife slip through my ribs......

Later.

Five Things.....

1. Until last night, I've never come across anyone talking on their cell phone in a movie theater before. I think that this crime should be grounds for justifiable homicide. Seriously, can't you turn the fucking thing off for an hour and a half? Are you so fucking important that someone has to get in touch with you at 10:45pm on a Tuesday night?


2. I think I'm starting to develop gills. Not necessarily a bad thing. I'll be swimming (floating) around Waterworld-style, while the rest of you are paddling away trying to keep your head above water. (Seriously, what's with all the rain? If we were in New Orleans I could at least run around screaming "Make sure the Dykes don't crumble!" - if I did that here, a bunch of masculine women would kick the shit out of me. Or do my hair, I'm not sure which.)


3. How many cups of coffee is too much? I've had about four extra large today. I think I'm trying to hit the hundred-cup feeling Fry had in that episode of Futurama. I will either step out of the time stream or see God, I'm not sure which. (If it's God, I'll ask him if he can top me up.)


4. What is the difference between a burrito and a soft taco? Seems to me to only real change is the addition of lettuce. How does adding one condiment justify the addition of a whole new sector of a country's cuisine? (I will not except any answers unless they come from Mexico, or from someone who works at Taco Time.)


5. I've been debating on getting a Vasectomy. I think I'll do it, but the only stumbling block I have is the fact that afterwords, every time I masturbate it'll be like lying to myself. I'm sure I'll get results, but it'll be like going to the store for a bagfull of air. What to do, what to do....

Later.

Blond, James Blond.

The sidekick and I just got back from the show.
What did we see? Take a look at the picture.

Here's my thoughts.

There are things I expect in a James Bond Movie:

1. Good Bond - Check - Daniel Craig is spectacular, and covers both the action and serious parts well. He's great at switching from classy to kick-assy as the situation permits.
2. The Martini - Check - We even get to see the origin of it in this one.
3. The Car - Check - Aston Martin all the way. Both cars look equally phenomenal, and the homage to the original was a nice touch.
4. Gambling - Check - Changing the Game de Rigour from Baccarat to Poker was a great thing to do. I never understood Baccarat, but I'm all about the Poker.
5. Ladies - This one didn't disappoint on the ladies, either. Hotties? Oh Yeah.

But there are also things I didn't expect to see in a Bond movie.

1. A Story - Usually Bond is all shoot'em up and high-tech gadgets. This one actually had a plot. You could imagine my surprise.
2. Product Placement - Ford must have paid a bit, but I think Sony Ericsson must have sold their soul. According to this movie, there is only one cell phone manufacturer in the whole world.
3. Physical Harm - James normally comes out of every fight a bit ruffled but none the worse for wear. In this movie he takes a shit-kicking and he shows some scars. Refreshing, nice to see that they've shown him as human.

I really enjoyed the movie, and I have to rank it up there with some of my other Bond Favorites, Dr. No and Goldfinger. As the Sidekick stated afterwords, Daniel Craig is the perfect mix of Sean Connery and Perice Brosnan. They have revitalized the series and I can't wait for another one.

It's getting late now and I'm off to bed - I think I'll dream of Chilled Drinks, Hot Women and Flashing my Licence to Kill.

Later.

The Most Dangerous Word.

Michael Richards fucked up.

Is he a racist?
I don't think so, but now he's guilty until the social conscience sees fit to forgive him.

The root of the problem is that he's a white guy standing on a stage shouting "Nigger". Nobody is ever going to say that that is a good thing, but the fact is it's a word. And in this day and age, it's a common word.

I think it's unfair how black people can throw that word around like it's just any ol' thing, but scream and shout when a white guy does it. I know that each race has slurs for it's own, but it seems like the N-word is used more than any other, especially by blacks in almost any type of entertainment; comedy, movies, music, you name it. (With all of these negative connotations surrounding one word, why is it used so frequently by people who are so offended by it?)

The word has entered the common vernacular.
It's almost lost all sense of it's root meaning.
It's tossed around so glibly that it's only a shock when it's used from one race to another.
If you don't like the word, don't use it. Don't make it acceptable for anyone to use it. But making it's use acceptable to only a few and not for all is what causes shit like this.

I'm not defending Michael Richards.
I saw the video - the guy fucking lost it.
A professional comedian should be able to take a bit of heckling.
If he would have lashed out and said he was going to kill them, nobody would have cared.
But he used that word.
So now he's fucked.

As for my own usage of the word?
I'll admit, I've said it.
When quoting Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, Eddie Murphy and Richard Pryor.
Do I use it in my everyday life?
No.

There's no way to solve this issue, and I'll admit I've re-read this post two or three times just to make sure I'm not coming off as a Neo-Nazi Hate Monger ™, but I just had to get this off my chest.

In the article I quoted, Comedian Paul Rodriguez said "Freedom of speech has limitations and I think Michael Richards found those limitations." So he's free to say anything he wants - almost.

That doesn't seem very free to me.

Later.

Not The Best Medicine.

I work with this lady, and she has a really annoying habit.

She laughs after everything she says.
Everything. It doesn't matter what it is.

It's not really a laugh; it's kind of a titter or a giggle. (It's not just around me, although I do have that effect on women.) I've even asked other people if they've noticed it and it seems to be universal.

I just don't understand it, and it drives me crazy. How do you function in life like that?

How do you tell anyone anything bad?

"Sorry to hear about your mom dying." (chuckle)
"It must be horrible" (Snicker)

What kind of message does that send?

I read it as an intelligence deficiency or just not being socially aware enough to know what's funny. This forces her to laugh at everything, just in case some thing actually is funny.
It's like packing her own laugh track with her. (A busted one of course.)

Sometimes I feel like just being deadpan with her.
Just give her the stone face and see if she knows what is going on.

She'd probably just laugh.

We'll see if she laughs with a pen in her eye.

Later.

Priorities.

I check Google News everyday.

I enjoy staying on top of world events and interesting things.

For each article they have they also list all the other relevant articles on that subject that have been published, so you may check another source and get a different point of view.

Pretty nifty.

The average report might have 200/300 other publishings.

Bomb attack? 600/700.

President Bush in Asia for Summit? 1500.
("Well I'll tell ya - I'd sure like the cream of sum yung guy." Heh, heh. "Get it? Cream..heheh.")

But the fact that Tom Cruise's wedding to Katie Holmes garnered 2592 articles just today is sad.
Forget war and famine. The couch-jumper is getting hitched.
I could care less about the celebrity weddings, especially this one.

Someone tell me, where did it all go wrong?

Later.

Private Time.

Listen buddy, I'm not here to make friends.

Why are you asking me questions?

Do my short, impolite answers not give you the hint you need?
The fact that I refuse to look at you? Is that not an unspoken gesture?

I don't care that you recognize me from where I work.
I don't have a clue who you are.
I don't care that you've been a customer of ours for years.
I don't want to talk to you right now.
I can't make it any clearer with out just telling you to fuck off.

I didn't come here to have a conversation with you.
I came here to work out.
Out there, on the gym floor, I might have a chat between sets.

But right now, when I just got out of the shower and I'm toweling my balls dry?

Not the best time to strike up a conversation with a random stranger.
Even if you do recognize me.

Later.

(And yes, I know they are impressive. Thanks.)

Wallpaper.

I'm a Wallpaper junkie.

Not that faggy stuff that actually goes on walls, fools.

I change my desktop wallpaper every couple of days. I usually favor the minimalistic styles, as I find that a busy wallpaper tends to distract my eyes away from what I'm doing.

(That's why I've never really had erotic images as my wallpaper. Hard to complete anything when you keep switching to your desktop with one hand.)

I peruse image sites and I hoard anything that I find.
I'll go with photography, fantasy, digital, whatever.
There have only been a couple that have stayed on the screen for longer than a week.

Because I like that clean look on the desktop it drives me nuts anytime I see someone with a shitload of icons on their screen. I understand they are shortcuts, but that's what the Toolbar at the bottom of the screen is for. What's the point of having an image on the screen if you can see it for the ass-ton of icons on there? (Ass-ton. Like it? I came up with it by myself.)

What do you like to have on your screen?
Is it full of icons? (Better not be, you lazy bastards.)
I need new image sources.
Tell me where you go.

Later.

Thoughts I Had Today...

1. Is it just me, or do I normally look this damn good?
2. Why did I just scramble to put pants on, when answering the door in my underwear would have been a perfectly acceptable alternative?
3. Boobies. Boobiesboobiesboobies.
   
4. How come my hands are warm and my feet are freezing cold?
5. Did Maury Povich just say "Fuck it" and decide to only do paternity shows?
6. Does this belt go with these pants?
7. What kind of sad individual actually buys Who's the Boss on DVD? Why not just stick your head in the oven and get it over with?
8. Now why did that start itching?
9. What would Shatner do?
10. Why do other peoples houses smell like cabbage? Do they think my house smells like cabbage? What the fuck is with all the cabbage?
11. Would an Oreo & Peanut Butter sandwich exceed my maximum caloric intake for the day?
12. Can I spell out my whole name while I pee?
13. Yep.

Later.

Space Pimp.

I've always admired James T. Kirk.

And who wouldn't?
The guy commanded a Starship, had the biggest fucking T.V. screen ever, and scored more chicks than anyone could ever comprehend.

I'm surprised the Enterprise didn't have to go back to Earth weekly just to get condoms. I bet you Kirk double wrapped it when he was banging the green hotties.

As much as he's a lover, Kirk is also a fighter. He's the only guy I've ever seen drop someone with a judo chop to the shoulder. I bet he kept in practice by beating the shit out of Chekhov every once in a while. (And why not? I bet that smarmy little Russkie deserved it too. "Nuclear Wessels" my ass.)

I guess that anyone who knows me may say that I have some Kirk-like tendencies. My gold sweaters and oiled up physique are two dead giveaways. Same with my habitual bossing around of minorities, telling Asian guys to steer my car and Black women to answer the phone. ( "Just pick the fucking thing UP!")

But I refuse to score with the green chicks, I don't know how he does it, but I don't think I could.
Unless she was hot.
And just green-tinted.
And I was drunk.

Then I'd hit it at Warp Speed.

Later.

Cramp.

I've got a cramp.

It's not a menstrual cramp. Or a Charlie horse.

I went to the gym today, and in my enthusiasm for rowing my ass off, I may have pulled something in my back. I didn't even know I had a muscle there. (I think my zeal on the ab machine might have had something to do with it as well.)

A hot shower really helped. (Is there anything a long, hot shower doesn't cure? Get out of here with your sick thoughts, people.)

I'm sure the pain will subside, but for now I'm just going to suck it up and deal with it. Sure, I could be a pansy and take actual medication, but why not add a few notches to my macho belt? Some lady may tell me about the pain of childbirth, but I can tell her I had a back cramp, and that will put me ahead, right?

If anyone is looking for me, I'll be the one wincing as I get up out of my chair.

Later.

Gone For Coffee.

I'm going for coffee, which is a good thing.
I don't really have anything to say right now, and coffee with the Sidekick is usually a great cure for Writer's Block.

We'll see, anyway.

Later.

174 Days.

That's how long it is until Spiderman 3 comes out.

I think that the Spiderman franchise is one of the few that seems to get better with every installment. After viewing the recently released trailer, I expect this one to be great for a multitude of reasons.

• Sandman is an interesting villain. They've done something to make him more personal to Peter, but the fact that they are taking a chance with a different style character shows that they aren't just stamping out cookie cutter sequels.
• Peter gets mean. As you can tell by the picture, Black Costume = Bad Ass. It's funny how in the movies the bad guys wear black, but in real life, they just wear wife beaters.
• I was never a big Venom fan, but if it's done right, he can be a great character and opposing force to Spiderman. If they even hint of a Carnage appearance, I'm throwing my coke at the screen and leaving.
• Mary Jane. Any movie with the sweet apperance of a slightly damp MJ is good enough for me.

Here's to hoping they don't fuck it up.

But as I said earlier, I don't think they will. The track record is good, and I think that it's the type of franchise the actors themselves care about.

Now I just have to find something to occupy my time for the next 174 days....
(And please don't suggest masturbating to visions of MJ in the alley. That only covers 157 days.)

Later.

Pigheaded.

Some times people as a whole just drive me nuts.

(This is no surprise to the regular readers.)

Dealing with people in the customer service industry can be rewarding and fulfilling. It can also be an excruciatingly annoying and can cause severe mental strain.

I'm trying to explain to a customer the need for a coupon in order to get the "special" price on the item she wants. She knows there is a coupon for it, she knows she doesn't have one, and yet somehow this is my problem. She sees no problem in me just giving away the items at that price, which would totally defeat the need for the coupon in the first place. (The coupons are needed so we as a company can get our money back from the supplier. They will only honor redeemed coupons, not made-up, special-just-for-her coupons.) As I explain to her the multitude of reasons why I can't do this for her, she then informs me that she "knows" the owner of the store.

Good for you, lady. Good for you.
I know him too, he signs my paychecks.

She then informs me that she'll speak to him and he'll make "The Deal" happen. I tell her that that is her choice and I'm just following the instructions of the same owner. She then tries to tell me that if he knew it was for her then he would okay it. Right.... He must have forgot to mention that when we were discussing handling the coupons. I'm amazed that he would have overlooked such a crucial subject.
"Hey guys, if this whiny bitch comes in without a coupon, just make it happen - she 'knows' me."

I can't believe I wasted ten minutes of my life debating with this lady.

I could have just caved in, but when people start sounding all arrogant and stuck up about these types of things, it just really sets me off. By the end of it, I was not going to let her have anything, even if she pulled a coupon out of her ass accompanied by sparkles and fanfare.
(Well maybe then.)

I can be just as Pigheaded as they can.

Later.