Fright Night.

Ah, Halloween.

Tonight I will take my spawn and parade them around to the homes of strangers. Should the strangers find them pleasing, they will be rewarded with treats. (Good Family holiday, right?)

As soon as I'm done taking them out, The Wife takes them and visits all the relatives. Me? I stay at the homestead and had out candy to other peoples kids. (I'm thinking I might shut the lights off and watch Shaun of the Dead, but that wouldn't be keeping with the spirit of the holiday.)

Either way, it's a long night.

I yearn for the days when Halloween meant dressing like a Hobo and getting drunk at a party. When I was younger all the girls dressed like pumpkins or clowns. Now it's all about Naughty Nurses and Slutty Vampires. (Bitter? Not me.) No wonder young males take their fireworks and blow up everything in sight - it's not vandalism, it's sexual overload.

The picture on the right is what my Jack 'o Lantern looks like. Yes, my creative input involved printing out something I found on the Internet. The kids like it and that's what counts. I must say I did a hell of a job.

Watch out for the Ghosts and Goblins if you are out - and if you come to my house, don't knock - I'll be watching a movie.



Later.

Totally Fucking Gay.

I need your opinion.

I need to settle a matter of utmost importance. It's an ongoing question that can only be answered by an anonymous vote.

Which Coffee order sounds gayer to you?

• Venti White Chocolate Mocha.

Or...

• Venti Hazelnut Latte, Extra Hot, No Foam.

I can't tell you what I think, because one of those orders is mine. The other? It's the Sidekick's - and I think it's way gayer than my regular order. I wouldn't even order his in the Drive-Thru, because to do so would mean I'd eventually have to make eye contact with another human and I wouldn't be able to hide my shame - that's how gay his coffee is.

But I'll leave it up to you. You decide.

I put my fate in your hands.

Later.

Rock Out With My Cock Out.

"We all just wanna be big Rock Stars; live in hilltop houses, drivin' fifteen cars...." Rock Star - Nickelback.

Rock Stardom has always eluded me.

It may be because I can't play an instrument or carry a tune, but that doesn't matter right now. I believe that my main setback was the inability to practice what is known as Rocking Out.

Rocking Out is that strange combination of stance, facial manipulation, and body gyration that Rock Stars do - all while shredding their biggest songs on a killer guitar. Being able to practice my Rocking Out skills would be beneficial, even necessary, for me to attain Rock God-hood.

But I lack some items that are crucial to my needs:

• Killer Guitar. (That I can play.)
• Catalog of Music.
• Talent.

At least two of these problems can be solved if I buy Guitar Hero 3 for the Wii. The aforementioned Guitar (coolly customizable - with stickers!),and the game comes with over 70 songs. The talent? I'll have to supply that, but I think I can manage.

With these tools in hand nothing would stop me from ripping up some funk jams in the comfort of my own home. I know that with only a couple of late night sessions, my path to Rock Stardom would be well on it's way.

Buying it would be like an investment in my future.

Yeah, that's it...

I'd be crazy not to buy it, right?



Later.

(I know the Sidekick's gonna shit 'cause I opened the blog with a Nickelback lyric - it's his favorite band. Hahaha.)

Lost Time.

Sometimes I hate the Internet.

I sit down to blog, (about HDTV and 80's bands - an interesting combination) and as soon as I take one click away from what I'm about to do, I'm lost.

I needed a picture, and since it was about a band, I head to Amazon for some cover art. While I'm there I notice that Amazon has a really neat new mp3 listen/purchase thing for albums and check that out for a second. Then I glance up and see "People who viewed this also bought" and notice 3 or 4 other bands that I'd be interested in checking out. After that I decide to check and see if some of my favorite bands have sample things on their albums too, and then I have to start checking back catalogs and then I get stuck looking for rarities and then start seeing what's new and then I'm 45 minutes behind on what I wanted to accomplish. (That's a lot of "and thens".)

So what should have been a 10 second job wasted almost an hour.

I thank God once more that I do not have the Internet at work. (Yet - they are talking about it.) I'd never get anything done. If we do get it, I'm thankful that I won't have unlimited access to it - I'd be in trouble, I can tell you that.

- I just clicked away for a moment to double check something on Amazon, and I'm lost for another 10 minutes. See how this can be a problem?

I'm glad it wasn't YouTube - I'd be gone for days. (Chad Vader is the best.)



Later.

So Fucking Early..

The kids were up at 6:30am today.

Both of them.

Now I have a splitting headache and I'm going off to work. (Talk about bad karma - I must have kicked a puppy in another life.)

It's not as bad as it seems - I did get to sleep in a bit, so I'll be on top of my game at Poker tonight.

Just forgive me if I yawn while I'm taking all the money.


Later.

All Quiet....

I'm on lunch right now.
(Working the Late Shift.)

I was looking forward to coming home for lunch because I knew in advance that no one would be around. The Spouse and Kidlets are down-island today, and I'm the only one here right now.

God it's quiet.

Usually I come home to the kids playing, music or the T.V. on, and I get mauled the minute I walk through the door. That's not a bad thing, mind you, it's just that it's nice to have a little bit of solitude now and then. (Change it up a bit.)

So I have some music playing right now, (Metric, with The Foo & White Stripes to follow) and I'm going to relax and just enjoy the peace. This doesn't happen often, so I should take advantage of it.

Ahhhhh.... That's better.


Later.

Highlight of My Evening.

I just finished watching Episode 3 with The Boy. He loved all the others, and this one was no exception. (He's aware that the acting is somewhat wooden, but too young to care.)

Best part - right after the movie, I asked him if he liked it. He said "Yeah, Daddy, but that part where Darth Vader cries was kinda silly."

I just wanted to hug him. He makes me proud.


Later.

Where's The Beef?

Dvds are pissing me off lately.

Used to be, when you bought almost any DVD, you'd open it up and you would see something worth the $25 you paid for it. There would be a disc with nice artwork and a booklet or extras tucked into the little clip things on the left of the case interior. At worst you would have a scene selections sheet with chapters on it, usually laid out amongst photos or artwork pertaining to the movie.

That's what made buying DVDs so great - packed full of extras, both on and off the disc.

Recently? Not the case. (Pun intended.)

The last four or five movies I bought had nothing in them. Nada. Zip. Zilch. There was a bland, grey disc (or double-sided Fullscreen/Widescreen disc - a crime against God and Man) and nothing else. Granted, none of the discs were Special Editions, but only one of them (Transformers) came as anything other than a regular, plain DVD. There's just nothing left for the consumer anymore.

I can see why people pirate. If all I'm going to get is the movie and absolutely nothing else, why buy? Why not rent and burn, like I know so many others do? Why don't I just download them, if all I'm going to get is 90 minutes of whatever.

The music industry is slowly learning from the piracy battle. Make it worth our while to buy the physical media. Lots of artists are releasing albums with bonus Dvds, custom artwork, or innovative case design. They've tried to make us want the actual disc again.

Dvd makers are going to have to learn this lesson. Give me the extras - that's what I want. If you have to release a Special Edition, do so. (Transformers was a good idea - the only flaw was the the regular Dvd had nothing extra - not even deleted scenes.) You have to give the regular purchaser something, then they'll get hooked and lunge for the Special Editions - just like you want them too.

If you are going to fuck me over on the included contents, at least snap off those little clips inside the case so that they aren't staring at me, taunting me with what isn't there.

But stay away from this shit. I know it's eco-friendly. I know it'll save the planet. But I also know it'll look like crap on my Dvd rack - and that I just won't tolerate.



Later.

Bathroom Wall.

People who write on Bathroom walls confuse me.

I'm not exactly sure what they are trying to accomplish. Do they think that their expressions and proclamations are going to be heard by those they are targeted at? If so, I don't see how. Unless Julie T. sits down where Eric D. was taking a shit, she's never going to know the true depths of his feelings for her. (And that will be hard, because she'd have to sneak into the men's can.)

And are you supposed to enjoy or feel elated by these words? It's great that just before you wiped your ass, you thought about your girlfriend. I'm sure she'd be delighted to know that you hold her in such high regards. (When my colon is finished spasming and I have a hand full of tissue, that's the time I think of my loved ones.)

If you want to get your message out so bad, take an ad out in the paper. I understand that the lure of an audience that has nothing to do for 5-10 minutes but look at what you've written is hard to resist, but try to do it anyway. Jiffy Marker marketing doesn't (and shouldn't) work for everyone.

I think my other major frustration is that Bathroom Walls don't have spellcheck. I know it must be hard to write & defecate at the same time, but a little extra focus is all that's needed. (Or maybe take a dictionary in with you.)

Please flush twice after reading this post - someone needs the water.


Later.

Caffeinated Bliss.

I love Coffee.

Correction: I love Store-Made Coffee.

Doesn't matter where I go, Starbucks, Tim Horton's, or that coffee shack at the other end of town - I enjoy it when other people make me coffee.

And it can't be just anyone - it has to be a Coffee Professional.

My Coffee at home? Sucks.
Coffee at Grandma's? Sucks. (Sorry Grams.)
Restaurant Coffee? Sucks.
Regular Cup 'o Joe at work? Sucks most of all.

What do all of the above have in common? (Next to the fact that they all suck?) Neither myself, sweet Grams, the waitress at Ricky's, or any of the people I work with are true Coffee Professionals. There's training involved. Rigorous hours of training, using industrial equipment, to make sure that my beverage is prepared to exact specifications.

If you think of it, it's amazing. Take a 4-dollar crack whore, slap a Tim Horton's Uniform on her, train her up in customer service,(instead of servicing customers, wink-wink) and she can make a better cup of coffee than my Gran. (Bless her sainted little heart.) There's some Johnny Mnemonic -level brain technology going on there. There just has to be.

(If I brought home a 4-dollar crack whore and told my Wife that she was just there to make me coffee, do you think she'd believe me?)

Whatever it is, there's something about having that sweet beverage created just for me that makes it so wonderful. (I'm on my third Extra-Large of the day, and if I have any more, I think I will approach spiritual nirvana.)

If you'll excuse me, I think there's some residue left in the bottom of the cup.


Later.

Best Joke I've Heard All Day..

"What do you call a Dog with stainless steel balls and no back legs?"

......."Sparky."


Mind you, I work with the public, so it's not often that I get any really raunchy ones coming my way. It's just good to see that some people have a good sense of humor on these dreary days. The wind and the rain really seems to bring the asshole out in everyone.

At least I got to laugh.


Later.

Fish 'n Chips

Tonight is Poker Night at The Homestead.

The Sidekick's coming for diner, and after that, the cards start flying. We've got a good crowd coming, so there should be lots of cash floating around. (Some of it will be The Wife's so I hope I can win enough to balance out.)

We've only done Poker here once before and there weren't too many people that time, so this should be entertaining. Hopefully the kids stay asleep - the last thing I need is for The Boy to ask what I'm going to do with those two Aces......

Later.

Unpleasant Concoction.

Nasty has a new word - SunnyD.

I get home from Poker tonight, and look for something to drink. I glance into the fridge and there is nothing - no milk, no soda, nothing.

I rummage around, looking for a stray can of whatever. By this time I'm parched, and would drink practically anything I see.

That's when I spot it.

Way at the back of the fridge, behind the lettuce, is a bottle of SunnyD.

It's been years since I had SunnyD. I hated it then, but maybe it's worth a shot. I glance over at the tap, thinking maybe I should just go with a glass of water instead. But some part of my mind (the retarded part) urges me to chug the cool, crisp SunnyD and quench my thirst.

I scoop the bottle up and twist the cap off, thinking to myself "How bad can it be? It's got a shelf life of two months, and can sit at room temperature for two weeks without having to be refrigerated - it's just full of natural ingredients, right?"

The SunnyD washes down my throat in a wave of flavor. I chug the bottle, slaking my mighty thirst. Then it hits me - the aftertaste. I burp, and it tastes like oranges dipped in gasoline. All of a sudden there's this oily taste in my mouth, and my tongue has gone all fuzzy.

This isn't good.

I go to the bathroom, and after brushing my teeth and tongue twice, I can still slightly taste it. I rinse with water three times, and bust out the Listerine to kill whatever traces may still be left. There is only one problem....

Now I'm thirsty again.

I could just have a glass of water.
Or maybe there's another SunnyD at the back of the fridge......



Later.

Wrapped Around Your Finger.

The Older Boy is a virtual master of manipulation.

I was watching him tonight - we were having dinner at my parent's place. He played my Mother like a pro. Anything he wanted - he got. He knows that all he has to do is look at Grandma and ask sweetly and whatever he wants will be his. ( I busted him earlier tonight trying to convince his Grandfather that there weren't enough Transformers at Grandpa's house, and that The Boy could show him what store to buy them at.)

He doesn't pull any of that shit when we are around, but I leave the room to use the facilities and come back to him bending my Parents to his will. After that, it's too late.

The Grandparents don't notice because he's so polite when he does it. He's not rude, and he never demands - he suggests. He's a true negotiator at heart.

He'll be great with the ladies when he's older.

That's m'boy.


Later.

Corruption.

Someone is influencing my child - and not in a good way.

He likes to listen to music, and asked that I make him a new CD to listen to - something for in the car or at home. I told him to scan the digital channels, and if there is something he likes, his Mother can write it down.

Simple, right?

Nope.

I come home and check out his list. Half of it is Country music. What the fuck? Who lets him listen to Country? I have a kid who likes The Beasties, Foo Fighters and the White Stripes and someone lets him listen to country? Oh Lord - his musical education has been set back years.

I'm thinking aggressive therapy - go full-out Punk or Death Metal to counteract the influence of whatever banjo-twanging he's been forced to hear. Something has to work, it just has to.

I know who the culprit is, too. I'd eliminate her- but she tucks him in every night, and he'd notice if she was gone. I'm thinking robot double, but it'll take some time to get the parts together.

Help me George Clinton, you're my only hope.


Later.

Grapes Gone Bad.

I hate raisins.

I know that hate is a strong word, and I may have been exaggerating in my use of it. I imagine that biting into a raisin is akin to chewing on mummified scrotal sac. (I only say imagine because I've never tried scrotal sac, mummified or fresh.)

Cookies baked with raisins in them? No thanks - I'll take the candy apple from the creepy guy's house on Halloween instead. Putting those shriveled bits into a wonderful thing like cookie dough is like adding fecal graffiti to The Last Supper.

Avoidance is the key - mark my words.

Remember - friends don't let friends eat raisins.


Later.

Eye Catcher.

I'll admit - Tom Ford sure can advertise.

I was flipping through a magazine while on lunch break, and this ad stopped me cold.

I wonder why?

Sex sells, baby.

I gots to get me some cologne.

.....And some private time.


Later.

Increase Penis Girth Today!

A while ago I posted about my E-mail.

I was getting another individual's mail, and it was getting annoying. I sent off a couple of "return to sender" mails, and slowly but surely, word got around that this wasn't their e-mail address anymore. The invitations and family photos dried up.

But now I'm getting spam. Lots of spam.

This account doesn't get used for anything but personal e-mail. I have an account setup elsewhere for this type of thing. Since I'm quite anal about it I'm also confident that no one in my home is giving this address out to anyone else. Which leaves me with one thought:

That bitch is using my e-mail address as a spam address.

I know it's a girl from all the mail I got addressed to "Mindy". (Since there was none for "Mork" I assumed that was her real name.) My best guess is that she's out there entering porn sites and using her old address as a referral dump or even worse, clicking those "punch the monkey" ads and entering my information.

Just tonight I received 21 spam e-mails - that's after getting 15 or so this morning. It's not a major inconvenience, as I have filters and such, but it's a pain knowing that I'm getting them. And knowing that it's not my fault just infuriates me even more.

There has to be a way to get even. I'm not going to be some-one's Internet Bitch.
Revenge will be a dish best served electronically.

Until then, I'll do a little light reading on the subject of girth.


Later.

The Legacy.

The other day I tentatively introduced The Boy to Star Wars.

I've always loved these movies, even if George has mangled and distorted them from what I viewed on the screen as a young boy. I wasn't much older than my son when I first saw Star Wars- I hoped he would enjoy them as much as I.

Did he ever.

We've watched the entire Original Trilogy in the past four days - He loves it. His shock when he found out Vader is Luke's father was priceless, as well as his exclamation of joy when Vader helps destroy the Emperor. (He thought Ewoks were "silly" - my heart swelled with pride.)

He wants to be Darth Vader for Halloween now.
(A lot of parents probably wouldn't think that their child dressing up as a Dark Lord of the Sith is a good idea, but I'm not one of them.)

The Boy wants to watch the Prequels as soon as possible now. I think he'll like those just as much as he did the Original Trilogy. Truth be told, I'd be even more proud if he is just a little disappointed in them - just like I was.

That would be the true passage of the Legacy.


Later.

Skip It.

It's a late night.

I just finished Poker, and I have to hit the sack.

(Why do mornings come so early after Poker?)

Skipping a post isn't something I do lightly. As a matter of fact, I don't skip lightly at all - it's more of a "thud - thud" sound. Not very flattering at all.

What can I say? I'm tired.


Later.

Bass-ackwards.

I was out doing errands today, and I kept running into the same lady over and over, no matter which store or parking lot I was in. (It's a small town, so this isn't the strangest thing.)

She was driving an import Land Rover - that's what made her so noticeable. It's a very nice vehicle, and I thought that it must be odd trying to re-learn to drive with the wheel on the right. I wouldn't mind having one myself.

It wasn't until I was in the Tim Horton's drive-thru that it occurred to me. When driving an import car in Canada, every single drive-thru is of no use to you - you're on the wrong side of the car.

I use drive-thru's a lot. As a parent, anytime I can get a prescription or stop at the bank without having to take the kids out of the car is so much better. To take that out of your life would be a pain in frustration. You'd still be able to use them, but you'd either need a passenger to do all your transactions, or else lean way over, defeating the convenience aspect of the drive-thru. (I'm not about to hand The Boy my bank card - "Punch in Daddy's PIN, son.")

So for now, the thought of an import car is just that - a thought. Until all drive-thru's involve robots to service either side of the car, I'll be on the left, leaning out the window and yelling into the speaker.

Later.

Fat Fingers.

I need help.

When I type, I tend to look at the keys, only glancing periodically at the screen to check my progress. (That's why I'm horrible at instant messaging - anyone who can actually type can converse circles around me, and I haven't even looked at the screen to see what they have said.)

I was just typing another post, and as I looked up to see what I had down I noticed that out of five words, I had four spelled wrong. I was shocked. Some words had an extra letter in them, or a space where there shouldn't be one. I'm not sure what to blame it on - either lack of attention, horrible education, or chubby fingers mashing on the keys.

All I can say is thank God for spell-check. I could have left it that way, but then you would think you were reading The Sidekick's blog and not mine. (Zing!)

I wonder if they make fat-key keyboards. Like those oversized buttons on your Grandma's phone. I need something like that to prevent this horrible event from happening again.

Or I could just run spell-check every thirty seconds, just in case.

Nah, I think the fat keyboard is the way to go.....but I'll need a bigger desk.



Later.

Toilet Humor

Tonight I watched something that surprised me.

The Boy had picked out the movie Flushed Away, and I had groaned at the thought of it. I hadn't heard much about this movie, and wasn't into seeing it.

I'm a Pixar snob, you see - and any movie that wants you to watch it just because the guys from Shrek made it doesn't sit well with me. I got suckered into watching Barnyard once, and that memory haunts me to this day.

But this one turned out okay - so much in fact that I might actually buy it. I enjoyed the humor, the kids loved it, and visually it's a great animated movie. There are a ton of in-jokes that the kids missed but I got. (The 2 second shot of Wolverine's uniform won me over.) I'm glad they put something in there for me. Nice of them to think of the parent.

I guess you can't judge a book (or Dvd) by it's cover.

I know most of you thought that with a title like Toilet Humor I'd be talking about what makes me laugh - and you'd be right - this did make me laugh. It can't all be dick and fart jokes, people.



Later.

Dear Corey Hart:

I grew up in the Eighties.

As a young Canadian boy I was force-fed your music, and it has had quite the cumulative effect on me.

I wouldn't call myself impressionable, (I owned parachute pants just like everyone else) but the constant barrage of your lyrics over the years have delved deep into my psyche, causing what I deem to be permanent damage.

I keep wearing sunglasses at night.

I know it's wrong, and that I look like a fool. But for some reason I can't help myself - this affliction, and it's accompanying yearning for wacky morning DeeJays, are the scars that the Eighties have left on my brain. For some strange reason I feel compelled to wear sunglasses as soon as the sun dips below the horizon.

So far this has cost me approximately $323,287.63 in legal costs, from the constant accidents and lawsuits that follow. (Driving with the aforementioned sunglasses on isn't wise at 1:30am.)
Thus we get to the root of the matter.

Corey, I'm gonna need some money to help me out of this jam. I know the royalties from your music are all tied up in investments and what not, so I'm hoping that you will be able to assist with the wages you have from your current job. I will forward this to whichever A&W you are cleaning floors at. (I'm sure your parents will be able to give me the address - you still live with them, right?)

Thanks in advance for your help, Corey - I know it's not your fault - the music was just too good.


Later.

Brownout.

The power went out today at work.

Well, that's not exactly true, as it only went half-out, and we were able to stay open in a reduced capacity. Not too fun considering it's Thanksgiving.

But goddamn, people were assholes. It's not my fault the power's fucked, okay? I had nothing to do with it. So don't treat me like it's a major inconvenience to you. Do you have any idea how much of a inconvenience it is to me? (I didn't think so.) Do you think I like having to stay open and deal with shmucks like you? I'd rather sit in the back and drink beer, playing games while waiting for the power to flicker on. Did I get to do that? No.

Instead I put my best foot forward and bit my lip, even while you insisted that you should be treated like royalty. Demanding that we stay open past our regular time just because you want it? Fuck you. I'm thankful for a lot of things, and one of them is being able to restrain myself from kicking your ass.

...

Ah, that's better.

See, the power did come back on - eventually. (After closing time.) And the Powers That Be made sure that there was a cold beer waiting in the office for me afterwards.

Karma wins again.



Later.

The Shittiest Beer I've Ever Had.

I was out for drinks tonight and I followed the Sidekick's lead.

Bad Decision.

See, he goes out more than I do, and I'm not that much of a drinker. (Anymore.) So when I see him order a beer I've never seen before, I put my faith in him and order the same. (Our tastes run very similar.) It's happened before and has always worked out for the best.

But not tonight.

What was handed to me was the most foul and evil beer I can recall ingesting. (The bartender tells me afterwards that earlier this year the beer was up for recall.) The flavor? Like week old socks soaked in vinegar. The smell? Like wet dog in a closed room.

Oh yeah, it was that good.

If the time I had drinking the beer wasn't exceptionally fun, it would have been a total write off.

Next time, I'm forging my own path, and picking out the exact opposite from what the Sidekick orders.

Unless he orders Gin.
That, my friends, is a whole other ball of wax.


Later.

Roughage.

Thanksgiving is on Monday.
(At least in Canada it is. The Americans have their Thanksgiving at some fucked up time, like three days before Christmas or something.)

It's this time of year that I feel bad for the Vegans.

That salad sure doesn't look as tasty as my Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy. I'm sure it's good and all, but what satisfaction can you get from a salad?

"Honey, that lettuce sure was crisp today - I think I'll nap on the couch for a bit - sleep this big meal off." Say what you will, it's just not the same.

Sure, they'll be lean and long-lived, but I'll be well-fed in my big fat coffin.

Who's laughing now, eh?

Pass the gravy. Will ya?


Later.

De-Composition

I was scrolling through my Blog archives today, looking for something I thought I wrote.

Every once in a while I'd come across a post or two that I was particularly proud of. I'd re-read it, chuckle, and then move on. I never did find what I was looking for - but I did find out something.

I think I'm tapering off.

Much like Motley Crue in it's later years, I just don't have that "zing" in my writing anymore. It's not like it's completely hopeless - I'm still better with the spell-checker than a certain Hetro-Life Mate I know. I think that I started writing just to entertain - and now I blog not so much for all of you, but for me. I've never had a journal before, and since Penthouse Forum sent my letters back (unopened), this is all I have.

Dear Blog....I never thought this would happen to me...

Just doesn't sound right, does it?

Later.

Podcast.

I think I'm a funny guy.

The Sidekick? I think he's hilarious.

Together? We are some funny shit. The banter, the comments - I tell you - it's a fuckin' comedy goldmine.

But when he suggested the idea of doing a podcast - I immediately became skeptical.

Why? The sound of my voice.

I know I think it sounds like melting White Chocolate, but I'm not sure it would go over well with the general public. Every time I call home and hear my answering machine message I become a little more sure that my vocal talents aren't for everyone. (Notice I said vocal, ladies - my oral skills are excellent.) Luckily I have a face built for radio and broadcasting in general.

I also think that it would be tough to have a ten minute conversation, one that other people would find interesting. If you want me to talk about my penis for ten minutes, sure - not a problem, but I don't think The Sidekick is going to want to linger on that subject for too long.
(But if you're reading this, you might want to hear that, right?)

I'm still on the fence about the whole subject - but you never know - things could change.
Until then I'll keep my Barry White -like sounds to myself.

Can ya dig it?


Later.

Awkward Silence.

I hate "The Pause".

You know the one that I'm talking about - the pause while you are waiting for the approval on your debit card when making a purchase.

Sometimes? No pause at all. Transaction completed and I'm on my way.

Occasionally it takes a bit longer and you start to question yourself. Did I punch in the right PIN? Was it the right account? Do I have money in that account? AmIgoingtolooklikeanassandhavetodoitalloveragain? Be aware that this is going through my mind within the five seconds it takes the machine to give it's friendly beep. (My paranoia knows no speed limit.)

I don't want to be one of those people who comes out on the negative end of The Pause. All of a sudden your whole existence as a human is put into question. What kind of life does this guy have if he can't co-ordinate $1.64 in his account for coffee? How did he get here - on the short bus? That's not the perception of myself I'd like others to have.

Thanks to modern technology I'm second-guessing myself almost every time I swipe my card.

Fuck it - I'm going to start paying cash.
But first I have to go to the ATM.


Later.

Applesauce.

See the picture on the right?

That's what my brain feels like right now.

The good thing is that tomorrow is my day off, so I'll be able to (somewhat) relax. The bad thing was that I had to bust my ass at work today just to make sure I had everything done.

It was one of those days that I dread - everything that I had to do took just a little longer than it should. Now while that's not a bad thing during sex, when it happens at work it's not good. If I needed an order form, I couldn't find one. When I did, it had been filled in. When I went to make a copy of a clear form, the photocopier was out of paper.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

I need my day off.
I need my Starbucks Coffee.
I need... well, you know what I need.

Tomorrow is another day.
Thank God.


Later.