Smartphoney Pants.

So I'm texting the Sidekick while sitting in Starbucks waiting to pick my kids up from a Birthday Party.

(Aren't I just the picture of Urban Dad-hood?)

The Sidekick comes up with a great idea: Why don't we have a separate blog just for our podcasts, so we can have them all in the same spot and in an easier format to see? (Without being surrounded by post after post of my whiny shit, is what I imagine he's also thinking.)

Since I'm already using my wicked-cool Android phone, I simply head to Blogger, and before you can say "You're such a fucking nerd.", bam! New blog setup.

We haven't moved the archives over yet, but it'll be there soon.
There will also be some newer podcasts from us (hopefully) soon, as well as some that the Sidekick might do with random people. Who knows, maybe I'll even have a solo point or two I might want to speak out on.

No matter your reason, when you get a chance, head on over for a listen - it only stings for a bit.

MidlifeRamblings.

I'd just like to point out that I did all that from my smartphone, while we were texting, in about 10 minutes.

I'm a techno genius, yo.

Later.

Scrabble'd

I don't normally play games on my phone. Let's just say I installed Angry Birds and then uninstalled it again.

(The Angry Birds phenomenon is a whole other post - I really don't get that one at all.)

However, I had a friend introduce me to Scrabble Online and I'm hooked. I was up until 1:30am the other night finishing a game with someone just because it was so close in score and I was on a good roll and didn't want to put it away.

The things I used to loathe about the game when I was younger are some of the things I like so much now: the strategy, the vocabulary, and the fact that you're actually learning while you play. (Who knew Qi and Xi were words?)

It's nice because there's no pressure for time - you submit your word, it gets graded and scored, and then it's the other guys turn - but you move on to your next random game until it's your turn in that game again. I'm playing 5 games right now - and only losing in one so far, thanks.

If you're down with the Scrabble, look me up - there's only one "MidlifeRambler" - and I can do wicked things with X, Q, J, V, and even the letter Y.

Bring it.

Later.

Start and Stop.

Seriously - I had a post here.

I'm really tired today, I'm at work, and I just blanked out.

I started typing, but it was all ranting and bitchiness, so I stopped. I started again, but lost the point I was trying to make, so I stopped. I tried to write something witty and observational, but it turned out to be neither, so I stopped.

This is about the best its going to get today, people.

Later.

Fasten-ating Situation.

"A button, a button, my kingdom for a button." - Me.

Why the soliloquy, you may ask? (And even if you didn't, you're going to hear anyway.) I know its not normal for me to bust out my semi-Shakespearian chops, but it all comes down to a missing button on my shirt.

It wouldn't be a problem except that the button I'm missing is, to me, the most important fastener on the shirt - the second button down.

(You think I'd write about missing a bottom button? What kind of blog do you think this is? I'd just tuck that shit in my pants and carry on.)

The second button is the one that holds it all together. At this time of year we don't wear ties, so the collar button is always undone and without the second button, my shirt is open to the middle of my chest - making me look like a reject from a 70's disco movie.

Adding to that image is the fact that I'm quite hirstute , so there's a forest of manly chest hair breaking out all over the place, straining towards the sun. Might as well throw a couple of gold medallions on there just to top it off.

So as you can see, my two options are to either button right up to my collar and go all Revenge of the Nerds or leave it wide open and appear to be a Tony Montoya wannabe.

(Just so you know, I'm going with the Tony look - at least he got laid. Sure, the nerd did too, but he also had a Darth Vader mask going for him, and I'm fresh out.)

I figure my options at this point are either keep broadcasting the manly chest-hairness, staple it closed, or see if I can somehow carve a button out of something.

I'll try and keep you posted, but that staple option is looking pretty sweet right now.

Later.

I Feel:

- That I totally have the personality, voice, and most importantly, the face for radio.
- That people who have heard the Podcasts will agree that I could only host the "Talking with Tourettes" hour.
- That the more I deal with people who lose their shit over the tiniest thing the more I want to stab them in the eye.
- That the above makes me one of the people who I want to stab so much.
- That nothing brings out the competitive nerd in me quite like Scrabble online. I want to beat them down with my mass vocab, yo.
- That if I had to choose each morning between sex or coffee, I'd take the one where the extra cream doesn't come from me.
- That when I was a child, I used to look at the arrival of the Sear's Christmas catalogue with merriment and wonder - as a parent, it now fills me with dread and terror.
- That being expected to come up with the dirty reply to anyone's comment is a responsibility that's not to be taken lightly...much like my penis.
- That being told you smell good by a beautiful woman would be a wonderful compliment that brightens my day - unfortunately I end up with an 82 year old woman with three teeth wearing a bathrobe. (Welcome to Oyster River, y'all.)

Later.

Paternal Realization.

As I sat at my parents the other day, I realized one thing:

My Dad is Grandpa Simpson.

(For your information, I do not look like Homer.)

My Father looks nothing like Abraham Simpson, in fact they are as opposite as can be when it comes to appearance. Where they are alike is how they tell a story.

This realization hit me while my Dad and I were talking about cars. Dad was telling me about his first car (a '34 Plymouth) and the story, which realistically should have taken less than 2 minutes, sprawled on for almost 20.

It starts with where he bought the car - instead of just stating the location, Dad went on about why he moved there and where he was working at the time. He then went on to how he met the friend of the friend of the guy who sold him the car, where he went for lunch when he took it on the first test drive, and so on. After a while the blur of names, places and people were a jumble in my mind. (And he says I never listen.)

When he was talking about the car, I asked what color it was and pulled up a picture on my phone. He looked at the photo, looked at me, and asked how I got that picture on my phone. I told him I looked it up while he was speaking and he just couldn't get it - he thought I'd seen one and taken a picture - he gets the camera phone part, but the Internet on the phone is a foreign to him as hugging a Nazi would have been to Abe Simpson.

I try to keep him from wandering off topic as much I can - guiding him back to the origin of the conversation with pointed questions or observations, but most of the time I'd have more luck trying to bathe a dozen cats at once. If he's on a roll or its about the government, good luck keeping it contained.

I dig my Dad, and any chance to spend time with him is wonderful. I just have to remember that when he starts to talk about the "Good 'ol days" I should just shut up, pour a coffee and get a comfortable chair - it's going to be a while.

Later.

Momentary Comeuppance.

I believe I spoke of the Hero I work with before.

The other day was joyful for the fact that, if only for just a moment, Hero realized that the shit he does doesn't necessarily make him super in everyone's eyes.

What happened was there was a mistake on an order at the other store, and it looked like they were going to get an order in that was approximately 55000 cases of product. (Just for reference, a big order for us is 200 cases.)  The thought of an order 275x bigger than usual was a bit hilarious.

(The warehouse caught the mistake, of course - they can be dumb, but even they aren't that stupid.)

As a joke, one of the guy's from the other store faxed the confirmation e-mail showing 55000+ cases on it to our location and wrote that they had a "Massive order" coming, and to "Send Hero Boy!". It was a funny thing to see, and Hero saved it to show me.

Thing is, Hero doesn't know that he's called Hero Boy. Just like I'm blissfully unaware of the shit that gets said about me when I'm not there, he's unaware that 2 or 3 of the staff here call him that, and that practically everyone on the other store's management team use that particular phrase when talking about him.

So Hero shows me the fax, we chuckle at the numbers and the mistake in general, and then he looks at me puzzled and asks "But why would they ask for 'Hero Boy'? Who's that?"

I looked at him for a half second and said "You are - that's what they call you."

The look of surprise was momentarily replaced by quick glimpses of disbelief and shock, but soon somehow within the depths of his mind, Hero turned it around into a compliment and he regained his composure.

It was brief, it was fleeting, but I hope that that knowledge sinks into the back of his mind and maybe changes something for the better.

Probably not, though - even Red Kryptonite wears of after a while.




Later.

Of Note.

Out of sheer curiosity, who do you have to fuck to make it in this town?

While I'm not above whoring this place out via Twitter, the thing that seems to elude me is making the goddamn list on Blogs of Note.

It sits there, whenever I log into my Blogger Dashboard, a little tan-colored tab that mocks me for not being included amongst the chosen ones. I've looked at what gets selected and feel insulted at how they could have made it and have not. With the exception of the newly discovered A Beer for the Shower, most of the stuff on this month's list is crap - yet it's exactly that crap that I want to be a part of.

(I know that says all sorts of fucked-up shit about me, but since this isn't a psychological blog, we'll just ignore that, right?)

So back to my original question: Who makes the selection process? What is the criteria? Do I have to do anything dirty, and if so, is it okay if I don't look them in the eye after?

I need answers, people.




Later.

Afternoon Delight.

I'm not sure if I've said it before, but I work in a cell-phone dead zone.

It's not truly dead - there is some coverage, but most of the time it's zero bars or "no service". (Shitty, I know.)

When I had my old cell phone, it was a minor inconvenience. However, once you get a smartphone and are used to having the world at your fingertips, being cut off is a bitch. (I can see those of you who live in major urban centres going "Dead Zone? What's he talking about? Does he live under a bridge? Is he a Troll?")

The other bitch is the drain on my phone's battery - all that searching for a 3G or Wi-fi, as well as Apps trying to update when there's no signal, sucks the juice from it pretty quick. Easy to solve as I just turn everything except SMS off when I'm working.

And thus the only plus of the whole matter and the reason for the title of today's post - The joy I feel everytime I go on lunch.

The minute I head up the stairs for lunch I pull out my phone, turn on my wireless and updates, drop it in the one corner of the lunchroom that gets reception, and watch it light up with notices, tweets, emails, and such.

Now that's a wonderful moment - connected once again to the digital world. (Albeit briefly, as lunch is only for an hour.)

Don't judge me - you know you'd be the same if you were in my shoes.





Later.

Midlife Ramblers Episode 8 : Weekend Recap - Hangover Edition.

I'd just like to say tha considering the fact that The Sidekick and I were both remarkably Hungover when we recorded this, we sound freaking great.

So may I present Midlife Ramblers Episode 8:Weekend Recap.





As always, comments are not only welcomed, but encouraged - and we'll even respond to the good ones!





Later.

The Unusual Suspects.

The Place:
Victoria, British Columbia.

The Time:
2:30 am

The Setting:
A dive pizza place called Second Slice, packed with drunk patrons looking to satisfy their hunger after closing the bar moments before.

The Players:
Me (Happily Drunk),
Hipster Bearded Guy (HBG),
Young Hot Girl (YHG),
and introducing She-Meth - Queen of the Meth-heads.

Here's how it went down:

After stuffing my face with subpar pizza, my bladder decided that it needed to empty itself before we walked the streets of Victoria on our way back to the Sidekick's place.

I headed to the only bathroom in the joint - a one room affair that you have to be "buzzed" into. This necessity was bypassed by the fact that the next person in line just grabbed the door before it closed when the other person was leaving. This system seemed to he working well, considering almost everyone who was going in and out of the bathroom was hammered.

She-Meth was next in line to get in, and HBG and I were after her. To describe the majesty of She-Meth with just words is impossible - just picture the bottom of a garbage can with more hair and less teeth.

She-Meth must have been thinking about firing up her next pipe, because she completely missed grabbing the door when the previous occupant exited. As you can imagine, when presented with the closed door, the urgency to pee, and the necessity that someone has give up their spot to go to the front counter and get buzzed in, Methy did just what you'd expect - she froze, made some strange noises and scratched at her face.

HBG, realizing that Methy wasn't going to do anything, said he'd get the door buzzed if I would hold his spot. I said sure and he headed to the counter, leaving me and Methy alone in the hall.

After about 5 seconds of looking around blankly, Methy notices me. This is our conversation as I remember it:
Methy - "I really gotta pee."
Me - "There's a lot of that going around."
Methy - blank stare (obviously not aware of my incredible sense of humor.)
Methy then reaches into her grubby, dirty, stained jeans pocket and pulls out a shiny, compact, purple digital camera - she looks at me and says "Wanna buy a camera?"
Me - (knowing that the camera was probably just stolen minutes ago) "I'm good - just here to pee."

At that point the door buzzed and Methy puts the camera away and dashes inside. HBG returns and takes his spot as first in line. It's only about 15 seconds later that YHG walks up.

YHG - "Is it okay if I go into the bathroom next? I just want to wash my hands."
I glance at HBG - it's his call, but I can tell he's thinking that she's just lying to steal his spot in line.
HBG - "Sure - but I have to watch you wash them."

As odd as that request sounds, it makes sense - if YHG was just planning on sneaking in to pee, she would turn down his demand - if she was being honest, he could just hold the door open while she washed her hand and go in after.

YHG accepts the deal, and almost immediately Methy comes out of the bathroom. She must have thought she was being chased by bugs or something, because she just bolted past us and raced to the front door. I wasn't sorry to see her go.

(Side note: So glad I wasn't next in line - using the bathroom after whatever Methy was doing was really something I was not looking forward to.)

So HBG grabs the door and YHG heads in to wash her hands. I then watch in amazement as HBG follows her in and the door closes.

Now there were a couple possible scenarios going on behind that door: Either HBG was waiting for her to wash and then leave him to do his business, or he pulled out his dick and just started pissing while YHG scrubbed away at the sink right beside the toilet. The latter seemed to be the most uncomfortable for YHG in my opinion.

(I also considered the fact that they may be getting it on in there. Hoped that wasn't happening because a) I really had to pee by this time, and b) being passed over for HBG would have been quite the blow to my ego.)

After waiting for what seemed like hours, (a full bladder warps one's perception of time) the door opened and YHG rushed out, followed a half second later by HBG - judging by the quickness of YHG's exit, I'm guessing I was correct in guessing that HBG decided to show her "The Goods".

I didn't hang around to find out how it went - I grabbed the door and proceeded to feel relief much like our planet does after a major earthquake - that much pressure being released at once is a phenomenal sight, and I stood waaay back just to avoid the overspray.

Having done my duty, I washed up and proceeded out into the Victoria evening, bladder empty, stomach full, and shaking my head at the people you meet in the wee hours.

(Yeah, that last pun was intentional.)





Later.

Shenanigans.

Victoria

I just got back from by two days of Shenanigans in Victoria with the Sidekick. Just to let you know, Shenanigans when you're my age aren't the same as the ones when I was younger - there's almost the same amount of booze, but less "Hey - let's jump from car to car" and more "Sittng on the patio is great". I'm not even going to go into the travesty that was the Poker game the first night I got there - let's just say that in the end, the Beer won.

Drinks

So the next morning we got up (slowly, I assure you), had coffee, and eventually headed Downtown. No breakfast was necessary as we were both still stuffed from the obligatory Denny's 2am feeding - nothing tops off a night of beer and Poker like Oatmeal Pecan Pancakes and Egg Whites. (Don't ask).

Victoria is a gorgeous city to walk through, so we parked and decided to go see the Twin at his store. After dropping in and talking Comics with him we decided to do the manliest thing two mature guys would do in the big city - we go shopping. (I know, you probably thought "Naked Shots", but we changed it up a bit.) The Sidekick had a gift card he felt compelled to spend, so we got him some threads to wear for the evening.

Pho

After we got our shop on, we hit lunch - the last time I was down the Sidekick introduced me to Pho, a wicked Vietnamese soup that my picture doesn't do justice to, and I don't have the vocabulary to describe how fucking epic this stuff is. Just go and have it - you can send me a consultant's cheque to express your joy.

Once we were full, we decided to have the best dessert possible - Booze. The place: Irish Times. The Drinks: G&T for me, and Snotty beer for the Sidekick. He must have impressed our Bartender with his choices in beverages, because she was giving us samples to check out, and I know it wasn't our good looks that had the drinks coming our way.

Blueberry Girl & Santa Claus

After going back to the Sidekick's man cave, we drank even more and then headed out to dinner at Brown's Social House - I hadn't heard great things about it, but who is going to argue with $4 pints and a location right around the corner from the Royal Theatre? The plus was the group of the Sidekick's friends that we met there - I laughed so hard that I only got to drink 4 beers. (Sad face.)

It was tough to leave the restaurant, but we hustled around the corner to the theatre - we wanted to make sure to catch the opening act, and there was also a bar service there, and we just HAD to take advantage of that.

First highlight of the evening: as we headed to the theatre, we saw this scruffy looking guy walking towards the tour bus that was parked on the road. After a quick "Hey John?", the Sidekick and I were shaking hands with John Butler himself - it's not everyday you get to meet a guy who can play the guitar like he's been touched by God.

John Butler Trio

I could go on about the concert - it was amazing, from the opening act (Hayley Sales, a Vancouver Island girl from a Blueberry Farm in Qualicum Beach) to the encore of "Funky Tonight". I heard practically every song that I wanted to, and the best part is that I knew Mr. Butler's back catalogue way more than Sidekick, which is a first for almost any concert we've been to - a rare feat to be sure.

Second highlight of the evening: Watching (along with everyone else in our section of the concert) two extremely pretty lesbian girls getting quite intimate during "Groovin' Slowly".

Once the concert ended, we headed out to the Sticky Wicket, a huge, multi-level bar in the middle of downtown Victoria - after the first round of Jagerbombs and Gin, the night gets a little fuzzy - I recall a lot of beer, a wedding party in the sports bar, and a meth-head in the pizza joint at 3am.

(That last part is a blog post in itself.)

Too much fun - and I'm paying for it today - trust me.





Later.

Sidekicking It.

I'm enjoying the start of two days hanging in Victoria with the Sidekick.

The plans?

Last night was Poker night - played at a friend of the Sidekick's house - and like my Tweet implied, it was like watching monkeys juggle flaming chainsaws. That, combined with not having played in a couple months, meant my stack did not grow as I would have hoped. Thank God there was alcohol.

The other bonus? Denny's at 2am. I love me some breakfast when I'm drunk. And eating Whole Wheat Pecan Pancakes with scrambled Egg Whites means that I'm making up for destroying my liver earlier in the evening.

Right now we are enjoying coffee, about to record a podcast (ohhhh yeah - it'll be up in a couple of days) and enjoy everything Victoria has to offer before going to the John Butler Trio concert tonight.

See? I knew you'd be jealous.

More to come.

Later.

Preempted.

Today's blog post is being postponed due to my boss taking me out to lunch.

Gotta respect the free lunch, y'all.

Later.

App-titude

I think I'd like to try and make an App.

Why, do you ask?

Just for the sake of doing it, really. To try it and see. I know my work mentioned that they'd like to try and have one, and if I can learn and get paid for it, why not jump at the chance? This type of stuff has always intrigued me, and really, if some guy out there can create an app that makes fart sounds, how hard can it be?

Keep in mind that I have no idea what to do, or even where to start.

This could be interesting...

Later.

I Feel:

- That no matter what your job is, coming back from holidays is a bitch. (Porn might be the exception to this rule.)
- That the more I read Chuck Klosterman, the more I want to hug a vinyl album.
- That going to the library and seeing more people Facebooking on the computers than browsing the stacks is kinda depressing.
- That no matter what the season, Lulemon is a welcome sight.
- That at some point in my life, I want to slap a mime for no reason, just to see if they'd break character.
- That dogs are like kids, cats are like roommates, and hampsters kinda taste like chicken.
- That some of the people I follow on Twitter are so incredibly funny that I imagine them spending all their free time thinking of funny shit to say just to me.
- That if imitation is the highest form of flattery, you've never been retweeted by more than 5 people.
- That I bet Gordon Ramsey is a really nice guy who, deep down inside, believes every problem can be solved with a hug.
- That if I had to make a Bucket List, drop-kicking a Unicorn would be up there, probably behind throwing darts at Justin Beiber.

Later.

Tea-Totalled.

I'm really picky with my coffee.

(I understand to some of you that saying I'm picky about coffee and going to Tim Hortons is hypocritical, but it's my blog, so fuck off if you don't agree.)

So it goes without saying that I DON'T drink the shit coffee in the breakroom at work - I bring an instant I like from home and make it when I'm on coffee/lunch.

But due to an unforeseen old cream/my fresh coffee incident at lunch I was forced to throw out my coffee (now riddled with yogurt-like chunks) and find an alternative.

Enter: Tea.

It's been eons since I've had a cup of tea - usually reserved for colds and the odd time when I run out of coffee. I decided that caffeine was caffeine no matter the source and made a cup.

- I even got fancy with it - steeped it extra long, put good cream in it, used some honey for sweetness. I did that shit up right.

After a nervous fist sip, I realized everything was going to be okay. And only one guy at work called me gay when he saw what I was drinking. (My comeback was that when he's not looking, I stir his coffee with my dick, so who's drinking gay shit now, eh?)

I might not switch to Tea full time, but it's better than no caffeine at all. And believe me, having just got back from holidays means I need my fix at work more than ever, or else someone is going to lose an eye.

Let that thought steep for a while, eh?

Later.

Flip Flop

Holidays.

God I love being on holidays (With the exception of yesterday's Meteor disappointment)- it's been sunny, bright, warm, and I've been outside with the family doing tons of stuff. One of the things I like best is just hanging out in shorts and a t-shirt, doing whatever. Casual is my new middle name.

To me, the pinnacle of casual wear is the flip flop. Next to wearing running shoes at the gym, all I've been wearing is flip flops. The only embarrassing part I've found is that my deeply tanned, sexy feet have giant white "V"'s on them - it's not very attractive.

Sure, I could go barefoot to even out the tan but then I'd look like a dirty hippy - and trust me, my hair is too short for dreads, so I couldn't pull of that look.

I think I'll just roll with the look for a while. Heck, I might even try to get it as different as possible - just so that when I take off my warm fuzzy socks in November, those lines will be there to remind me of my awesome summer.




Later.

Astronomical Letdown.

Fuck 3am. Fuck the Full Moon. Fuck fucking clouds.

Fuck them all.

Why all the hatred, do you ask? Let me tell you:

For at least the last nine years, I've worked with a guy who has raved about the annual Perseid Meteor Shower. He goes on and on about how gorgeous and wonderful it is, how millions of people stay up until the wee hours of the morning to see it's majestic display. He's talked this up so much that I decided this year I'm going to check this thing out.

I went online and looked everything up - found out that the Full Moon was going to impact how many meteors I could see, and that for where I'm located in the world the best time to see them was between 3 and 4 in the morning. (I know that should have put me off right there, but hell, I've been listening to this for nine years - I should make the sacrifice, right?)

What a fucking letdown.

I got up at 3am, and sleepily made coffee and went out on my back deck. (I'm in the suburbs, but was told and read online that these things would be so bright that as long as I could see stars, I could see them.) I gave my eyes time to acclimate to the pseudo-darkness (Thanks Full Moon) and glanced up to see what had been explained to me as "God's Fireworks".

Goddamn fucking clouds.

There hasn't been a cloud in the sky for most of my holidays. And yet tonight, when a clear sky is essential to the accomplishment and enjoyment of what I'm doing, wham! - fucking clouds.

I waited and waited as there were a couple of clear areas that were moving towards me - I think I saw two meteors in about an hour, and only through small holes in the clouds. But who knows - could have been a sleep-induced hallucination. Looking back five hours later, I'm not really sure either way.

So I'm disappointed that I didn't get to really see anything, but that's what you get when Karma decides to punch you in the dick. And since I can't dick-punch Karma back, I'm going to have to settle for my Meteor-raving co-worker.

Don't anyone say anything to him, okay? I want it to be a surprise.




Later.

Nerd Beach

We went to the Sandcastle Competition in Parksville the other day to check out what was created this year.

When you walk in, they hand you a chip to place into the box beside the sandcastle you like the most. When I saw the one pictured to the right, I knew exactly what I was voting for.

It's like my childhood rolled up in sand. Mario, Megaman, Final Fantasy, Legend of Zelda and even Bubble Bobble on the back. The fact that I was able to name them all immediately only testifies to my nerditude.

I should have paid attention to who the artist was, if only to see if they wanted to dust off the ol' NES and play a few games.



Later.

Ring of Fire.

I like spicy stuff.

So when the Wife brought home a bag of Blair's Buffalo Wing potato chips for The Boy and I to share, I gave it a shot. I'm not the biggest potato chip fan, but something new never hurts, right?

Wrong.

To put it bluntly, they burned going in, and burned coming out. I'm going to avoid potato chips in general for the next six months just to be safe. The only logical assumption is that the Wife meant to get potato chips and inadvertently grabbed the stuff they give to guys who find waterboarding non-threatening.
Feel pity for me, and send your condolences to me c/o my bathroom.


Later.

Directional Disagreement.

Just so you know, I've lived in the same town for almost 25 years. As such, I've driven almost every road around here at least twice - possibly even sober both times.

So no matter where I'm headed, I know at least two or sometimes three ways to get there - the quick route, the scenic route, and the route to take to avoid possible roadblocks.

This is usually a bonus, except when I'm driving with my Wife.

You see, she has lived in this town longer than I have, and we've had our licenses for about the same amount of time - meaning she has just as much experience on the roads around here as I do. For some reason, whenever I'm in the passenger seat, I seem to forget that fact.

It's not that I'm a backseat driver - I don't tell her where to go - what I tend to do is question why she took a particular route to get wherever we are going. (That's different, right?)

Whatever way she chooses to take to somewhere, I'm always able to point out a couple of ways that I think would have been better - maybe better is a bad word - just ways that would have saved us time & gas. (Who needs to save those?)

In a perfect world, my lips and vocal chords would stop working the minute I sat on the right side of the car. Unfortunately, this is not a perfect world.

At first, we used to have "discussions" about the path she chose to take - I have to consider myself lucky that by now she just ignores me.

I think today was finally the day that I learned my lesson. After being stuck behind some slow moving asshole for about 10 minutes the Wife decided to take a different way home. As she pulled off the highway, she passed the road that would have had us home in about 5 minutes - I turned to her, she looked at me, and I just said "What a douche that guy was, eh?"

I should get a fucking medal. (and it should probably be mouth-shaped, to cover the hole that gets me in the most trouble.)



Later.

Shock & Awe.

In doing errands today, I became convinced that my vehicle hates me.

It's not anything mechanically wrong with it - it's been a trooper in that department - it was the fact that every time I got out of the car, it shocked me.

Get out at Home Depot? Zap.
Get out at the Library? Zap.
Get out at the Mall? Zap.
Home? Zap.

No matter where I touched the door, or what I did before getting out, it zapped me. It was becoming so bad that I actually considered being like the Dukes of Hazzard and jump through the window. (I would have totally been Bo Duke - Luke always came off as kinda skeezy.)

I persevered, though. Ain't no door going to ruin my holidays.

...just ignore the rubber gloves if you see me tomorrow. (It's fashionable, okay?)

Later.

Change it Up.

Since my foot is still an issue, I've switched from Running to Biking in an effort to get my cardio fix in - it's not too bad, but there are some differences I've noticed:

1. It's easier on the feet, but tougher on the balls.
2. As a runner, it seems to me that cars tend to give you a wide berth - on a bike, it's like cars fucking hate you.
3. The plus with riding a bike is that the breeze cools you off - the downside would be the sweat gushing out of every pore the minute I stop.
4. I don't know about you, but I don't have to wear a helmet when I run, so getting used to that is going to be a bitch. (If you do wear a helmet while you run, I suggest you join a different running club - you may have inadvertently signed up for the Special Olympics.)
5. Going downhill on a bike? Waaaaay fucking easier on your quads.
6. I think I'm going to need gloves as the grips on the bike are hurting my palms - and I really need those. (I gotta take care of what takes care of me, right?)
7. It's hard to appreciate female bikers like female runners. Same amount of spandex, but the women on bikes are all hunched over..
8. Did I mention it hurts my balls? 

No matter the differences, I kind of like the change - and even when my foot feels better and I can start logging miles again, it's still going to be part of my routine.

I'll just make sure to take the helmet off if I'm riding the bike in the gym.




Later.

I Feel...

- That it is hard to feel bad for someone's sunburn when they show you how bad it is by pulling out a boob.
- That the best way to start your day is with cleavage. (See above)
- That as much as I love egg salad, I feel guilty eating it, as I know the people around me will be paying the price later.
- That knowing I start holidays in less than 4 hours makes being at work seem like cruel & unusual punishment. (Come see where I work, and you'll understand the "unusual" tag.)
- That somehow, the word "trickling" sounds just a bit dirty.
- That just because I work with a guy who wants to be a hero doesn't mean I have to be the villian.
- That listening to an extremely unattractive woman talk about the kinky hotel-room sex she had the other night makes me wish I would have reconsidered the egg salad.
- That if it wasn't for the haphazard personal grooming back then, I think I would have liked the 70's.
- That even the Nazi's had Grammar Nazis.
- That once you've made a Nazi joke, you really have no where else to go.
- That I've come to the conclusion that everybody bitches, hardly anyone is happy, and all they do is whine.
- That I have a blog for all those things, so it makes me better than them.

Later.

The Whole Story.

I tweeted the other day about a Telemarketer telling me to fuck off. After making such an outrageous claim, I was rightfully called to task by one of my friends who said, and I quote, "Blog post or it didn't happen."

Since he is the Master of Messing with Telemarketers, my story will not compare in the least to any of his - but it still felt like an accomplishment.

- So I'm at home the other day, playing with the Boys, and the phone rings. The call display flashes "Illinois" and I automatically know it's a Telemarketer, but for some reason I pick up anyway.

Normally I don't care about Telemarketers, I usually give them a minute or so to start their story and then cut them off politely and ask to not be on their list again. Most of the ones that I get are calling for charities, so there's no point in giving them a hard time.

However, this one was a scam call. You may have heard of it - they call you at home, say they are from Microsoft or whatever and that your computer is infected and sending out personal information. They then try to instruct you to sign on to their website and download something to protect yourself. 

Maybe it's because I'm a geek, maybe it's because I don't like to see people be targeted because of their ignorance in regards to technology - but this type of scam just passes me off. It's not like that "Nigerian Prince" scam - where your own greed and stupidity is your downfall - it's targeting innocent people who just want to protect their personal information.

For some reason, as soon as he started talking and I realized what the scam was, I lost it. I interrupted him, and basically started ripping into him.

What were my words, exactly? Looking back, its hard to say, because when I get rambling, its hard to stop. I started out with how I thought that what they do or are trying do is fucking sick, and that praying upon people's ignorance is for losers and people without a conscience. (I know, me talking about conscience is funny, right?) I then said that it doesn't matter if it is his company or not, but questioned if it made him feel like a "fucking superhero" to trick old people and anyone who doesn't know better. I then asked if I could call his mother's house and see if she was proud of what her "fucking loser child" does.

Pretty sure that's what did it - the Mom comment - because right after that, he said "Fuck You" and hung up on me. My only disappointment was that it didn't last longer. (I now know how my wife feels.)

So that's the whole story.

Not as glamourous or funny as the type of stuff you usually read about, but it felt good anyways. I'm pretty sure they won't call back again, but if they do, I've been browsing Urban Dictionary and have some really good phrases to use next time.

Kinda hoping they do call...

Later.

Customer Service Can Suck My Dick.

I'd just like to start by saying that not every customer I encounter in my day to day work are assholes - most are great, some are outstanding. This blog post is not about either of those two groups.

I have no problem dealing with the general public. However, there are traits that some display which, for lack of a better phrase, fucking pissing me off.

What could possibly trigger such a change from my normally sunny disposition, you ask? Let me explain:

- Learn to fucking read. If you can't understand the sign that is directly in front of the product, how is that my fault? Should I sit down and have a reading comprehension session with you just so you understand that it's 2/$5?

- Be Polite. I see hundreds of people a day wandering around with that "Looking for something" look on thier face - please don't freak at me if I ask if you need help finding something - it's part of my job, I do want to help, and if you're a douchebag I hope you never find that Preparation H you were looking for, dick.

- Respect My Answer. If I tell you that we're sold out of the bread you are looking for and that the truck is due in two hours, please don't ask the cashier at the front the same thing. Do you know who she's going to ask? Me. And I just fucking told you.

- Be Reasonable. Is there any food business in Canada that will let you walk around their place with no shoes on? I know we are in the "laid back" area of town, but really, how hard is it to wear shoes? (I'm thinking thumbtacks on the floor just to be an ass about this one.)

-Acknowledge Me. I'm asked by my boss to say "Hi" and speak to customers when I see them. You could do your part by at least recognizing that I spoke to you, and don't act like some mute fuck who doesn't speak to "The Help".

- Help Me Help You. I know you may think that just throwing you're basket of groceries on the counter is helping me, but making me unpack, scan, and then bag your shit just slows the whole process down. This also goes for bringing your own bags - if I've already bagged half the order and then you tell me you don't want plastic and your bags are in your car, I will fucking stab you. (Not really, but I'll be thinking it behind my smile.)

- Be Reasonable (pt 2). Understand that there are things I can't control, despite my god-like Grocery Manger powers. So getting mad at me because a truck that delivers to us is 3 hours late dropping off the Newspapers doesn't really do anything except make you look like a schmuck, and make me want to slap people who look like schmucks.

I know it's a lengthy list, but it can be summed up in just four words: Don't Be An Idiot. If you can follow that, then you and I will get along just fine.

Later.

Questionable Content.

So far today I have eaten:

- 1 Banana
- 1 Peanut Butter toast
- 2 Egg salad wraps
- 1 Apple
- 3 cups of coffee. (Big cups - I don't fuck around when it comes to coffee.)

They way I look at it, the Egg Salad is TNT, the Toast, Fruit and Peanut Butter are C-4, and the Coffee is gasoline on the gut-bomb that is building in my stomach. (I can feel the gurgle-urgle down there already.)

I hope I don't sneeze when I get back from lunch - I'll either explode or shit myself - neither is a desirable result.

Later.