Crack In The Armor.

So I'm at work and someone asks me an inane question.

"Who would win in a fight between Batman and Spiderman?"

The world seemed to go hazy and then I began to speak.

Not only did I explain who I thought would win, but I listed several plausible reasons for why they would win this imaginary contest.
I listed the balance of power, strategy vs. ability, and how terrain might impact the outcome.

After I finished speaking, I realized what I'd done.

Being caught unawares, I revealed my geekiness to people who never even suspected I could be as bad as I am. The suspicions would soon arise. (I almost feared Ogre from Revenge of the Nerds would pop out and start yelling "Nerd" at me.)

Let me set this straight. I've never totally hidden the fact that I'm a geek. The main difference between me and your regular geek was that I was getting laid as a teenager, and always chose the female species over playing D&D. ( I wasn't much of a D&D guy - not visual enough for me.)

I've always kept the geek part of me buried, and only exposed small bits to some people, with only a few knowing how deep the rabbit hole goes. I might let one person know that I'm handy with computers, and another would know that I used to collect comics. But that's all they knew - and I made sure to never reveal more than I had to, until today.

Why was I asked the question in the first place? Because the Twin owns a comic store. These people figured I might have some residual information. But I over exposed myself. I might have to take drastic steps to restore my image .

(I'm debating on either beating up a really nerdy guy or having sex in the middle of work - that should put of any doubts as to how manly I am.)

I'll build up the wall again. Never fear.

Later.

Poker Night.

I had my ass handed to me at Poker tonight.

Not really whooped or anything - I only lost half of what I came with.

The worst was the two bad beats I had.

Thought I had the hand down, and someone turned up that one better card.

It's kinda like a kick in the nuts, except involving money.

(Which I guess makes it hurt even more.)

It sounds like we might have a regular game going again soon - and that's a good thing.

Except when I'm losing.

I've discovered that I'm the chatterbox at the table, which may be annoying for some, but since I'm funny, I can get away with it. (In Poker, funny guys are like chicks with big tits - you'll let them sit at the table because they are fun to have there.)

All in all a great night, I hope to do it again soon.

Later.

One Man's Trash...

What is one of the most disgusting things that you can think of?

Would eating garbage out of the trash Qualify?

If it doesn't, then you might want to look at becoming a Freegan.

Think about it: all the food you want, free of charge. All you have to do is dive into the dumpster to get it. Sure, that apple may be buried under a bunch of condoms and needles, but wipe it off and it probably tastes like it came straight from the tree. (You know, that tree with all the semen and drugs.)

I can understand saying it's for environmental or political reasons, but lets not kid ourselves, you are eating garbage. This isn't a case of the Long John sitting on the edge of the can, (Seinfeld reference) this is wading through the crap people throw out to get some food for free. If you really wanted to affect actual change you would be doing so, not raiding my trash in the hopes that I didn't eat all of my Butterfinger. If you feel justified in chowing down on that old pork chop, go ahead. (Just clear off the mold and cat hair.)

I hear that Freeganism is a growing movement. It's nice to see that someone is giving the Raccoons and stray Dogs a little competition. I guess the rock on top of the garbage can lid won't fool you guys like it does them.

It would be great to see a Freegan Convention. It could be catered by the City Dump, with the Garbage Men as your waiters. ("Hey, My name's Vinnie and this is Fat Joe - We'll be yer servers tonight, arright?") A Tarp, a fork, and napkin, that's all you'd need.

Don't try to convert me. I'm a lost cause. I prefer my foods sanitary and clean. I don't want to know what they did to it in the kitchen, but I know it didn't come out of the trash.


Later.

Helter Skelter.

I haven't really had a coherent thought all day.

It's not that I can't think of anything, it's just that for some reason I feel unable to articulate any of my thoughts. (When you are working in a written medium like this, articulation counts.) I know its not going to make much sense, but here's a brief synopsis of what's been going on in my mind:

Tiredcoffeehungryfoodtastyyumshowerhotwatercoldoutworkwhatnottodaydownaislethreehangou
tindairycoolernotthesameasitwaslunchtimefoodnogotogymsweatipodwhatsthatboobiesimpressiveb
ackworkkeepbusycheckphonenothingworkmoregohomeeatmailchecktypeblogthink.

See? Out of context with no back story, it doesn't make any sense. Hell I don't understand it, and I just wrote it.

So tomorrow I will attempt to have something that incorporates my fully functional brain.
But not today folks, not today.

Later.

With The Legs...

My Legs are killing me.

Not only are they sore because I've ran 2 miles on the treadmill each of the last two days, (In 20 minutes each time! Personal best.) but they are sore from all the lifting I've been doing at work.

We've been doing a lot of spring cleaning and reorganizing at work, and a lot of it is some heavy shit.

I'm one of those people who tries to take care of their back, and thus I do attempt to lift properly. But after running at the gym and then lifting/ moving a bunch of stuff, my legs feel like noodles.

I think I'll lay off the treadmill tomorrow, and give my legs time to recuperate. If I was really serious about recuperation, I'd call in sick and sit on my ass watching movies. I could say it's the WCB recommended way to safely avoid leg strain. (Think they'll buy it? Neither do I.)

Maybe I'll just rest these chiseled calves and tight quads for a bit; watch some Futurama or Harvey Birdman and chill. That'll do me good.

Lest this blog start sounding whiny and bitchy about my body, I'll tell you one good thing:

My Package looked great when I got out of the shower.

Too much information?

Later.

Really Fucking Cold.

If anyone from North of B.C. or back East is reading this, you might want to stop right now.

Good. Is it just us B.C.er's here?

My God - I'm cold.

You'd think a guy like me - who's got a little "extra" around the midsection (and down below too, ladies) wouldn't feel the cold so much. Hell - I work in the cold for large parts of my day.

But today I just couldn't get warm.

The only time I was warm at all today was at the gym. After working up a sweat, having a shower and stepping outside, I wasn't warm long.

It's tough being a guy in cold weather. I can complain about the cold, but I'm not supposed to show that it bothers me. So even though my testicles have retreated so high that they are sitting somewhere under my spleen, I can't show any discomfort. Worse yet, since I'm at work, I can't ask anyone to rub them until they are warm.

Life's little discomforts, eh?

I know it's going to be like this for the next month or so, (unless Global Warming fucks everything up more) so I'll try and get used to it and also dress a bit warmer. ( I can't snug the Boys up though, gotta let 'em swing - they need to breathe.)

Someone turn up the heat, okay?

Later.

Five Hundred.

If you had 500 Pennies, your pants would sag from the weight in your pockets.

If you had 500 Songs, you'd have half an iPod.

If you had 500 Friends, you'd be more popular than me.

If you had 500 Pounds, you'd be a fatty.

If you had 500 Cats, you'd be that old lady who lives at the end of the road.

If you had 500 DVD's , The Sidekick would be jealous.

If you had 500 Loonies, you could get me an Xbox 360.

If you had 500 Coffees, you'd really have to pee.

If you had 500 Pictures, you'd have quite the photo album.

If you had 500 Thoughts, you'd have this Blog.


Later.

Last Beer At The Save-On.

The Sidekick and I went to The Tragically Hip concert in Victoria last night. The concert was good. (I wasn't converted like he had hoped, but I do admit a grudging acceptance.) I guess I can't laugh and roll my eyes anymore when someone mentions their name.

The concert was the reason for being there, but it was nice to just get out.
I will admit the beer was flowing freely, and I did enjoy myself.

I was able to snag the last 2 beers at the Save-On Centre due to my quick thinking and previously mentioned ninja-like abilities.

The Sidekick and I downed our first two beers while the opening band, The Sadies, were playing. Then we heard about horrendous lineups at the concessions so decided to wait a bit to go. (We were amused by the antics of Drunk Native Guy 2 Rows In Front. He was jumping, leaping and waving his jersey in the air. I'll let the Sidekick post about DNG2RIF; he could sum it up better.)

Soon The Hip came out and we forgot about the beer for a moment. Or at least the Sidekick did. After a while, my bladder wouldn't let me forget about it. I headed to the can and thought about getting more beer. The concert had been going for a bit, so I figured the lines would be short.

They were short. They weren't selling beer anymore.

The Save-On's license for alcohol sales ends at 8:45. My watch said 9:10. They were just trying to serve the last of the people in the line, and had cut off the line by having an old guy hold the end of some police tape while the other end was tied to a post. (High Tech, eh?)

People were getting pissed and trying to sneak under the tape and get in line. There were two or three guys who were just there to deal with those people. I had a better solution: I wouldn't go under the tape - I'd go around the old guy.

I waited for my chance and when some drunk (more drunk than me, anyway) guy started yelling how much of an asshole the Security guys were - I skillfully sneaked around the old guy and took my place in line. I must have been like a ghost, because nobody even batted an eye.

The line moved along and by the time I got to the front it was just me and the 5 people on the other side of the counter. (Now that's customer service!) I ordered my beers, paid and turned around to see the same guy still freaking out that they wouldn't serve him booze.

As I walked passed him to the concert floor I took of the lid and had a sip. I looked him in the eye, smiled and said "God, that's cold beer!"

Then I went back to see the show.

God I'm an asshole sometimes.

I know the Hetro-Life Partner is going to post about the concert and his thoughts on it. I said it was a good concert, and I mean it. The bar afterwards was just insane, and I'm not even going to post about that. (I have not been so drunk since our Summer Staff party, that's all I can say.) My Hangover is testimony enough.

Later.

Scratch That Itch.

I'm off to see The Tragically Hip in Victoria tonight.

The Hetro-Life-Mate has been hounding me to see these guys play for ages. I finally broke down - if not only to end the constant whining.

(Plus the tickets were only 50 bucks.)

He's hoping to have a repeat conversion, (a-la Pearl Jam) but I'm not sure if it will happen or not.

Needless to say, you will either hear about the concert tomorrow, or My Adventures in Victoria.

A fair trade either way.

Later.

Hunter / Killer.

"To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women. " - Conan.

And all shall bow down before me - for I am the Slayer and the one from whom there is no escape. I am the Mighty Hunter, who strikes before he is seen.

Yep, I got my first confirmed kill the other day. Had to wait until now to tell all of you because I wanted to make sure I got credit for it and that I wouldn't have to "share" the Honor with someone else.

The Beast was somewhere in the compressor room at work. It had set off the alarms the previous night, and we knew that it was possibly still in the store. Quick thinking was needed. Action had to be taken, lest the element of surprise slip away from us.

I gathered my tools and crept ninja-like into the area. I was confidant that my graceful movements ensured I was not noticed. I laid out my carefully prepared trap, baited with things impossible for him to resist. I was going to wait and savor the moment of triumph, but I left the area to lull my opponent into a false sense of security. (Better to lure him into the trap.) He would be completely unaware of the fate which awaited him.

He was taken and snared while I was sleeping.
He died like any other who would dare to cross my path.

He will be remembered in the Halls of the Fallen.

Basically what it comes down to is this: There was a rat discovered where I work that had sneaked in from outside. It was setting off the motion sensors at night, triggering our alarms. Not Good.

Being the incredible "Doer" that I am, I got two Rat Traps, baited them, (With Goat Cheese - in case it was a Lactose Intolerant Hippy Rat.) and placed them in the compressor room. Sure enough, the next morning the sucker was dead.

End of Story.
(But it's so much better to tell it the other way.)

"Come to me, Son of Jor-El, kneel before Zod!"

Later.

Scapegoat.

Our society is always looking for someone to pin the blame on. There always has to be a scapegoat, someone to point the finger at, no matter what it is.

The roof of B.C. Place Stadium had to be deflated the other day because of a tear which soon became a Big Ass hole. No one was hurt, and the roof is going to be patched.

Immediately the media was all over it. Not only reporting what was happening, but looking for who's fault it was. Management, Building Personnel, Computers - someone is going to get their ass handed to them.

Funny how Mother Nature's name never came up. (That Bitch)

There are two or three human-error type things that could have caused the trouble they had, but everyone seems to forget the fact that the roof is over twenty-three years old, and has worked great for the other 8395 days.

But someone has to pay, right? The media will continue to probe and dig until someone loses their job. Can't we just admit that a twenty-three year old balloon roof finally popped? And maybe we can say that a roof held up by air is really just a dumb idea?

(If anyone is going to lose their job, it should be the guy who had that plan.)

But lets wait to blame someone until something substantial can actually be proven. Baseless speculation is just retarded. I'm impressed that it was handled so well, no one was hurt, and that they were able to minimize any other damage.

But blaming someone for doing a good job?

It'll never happen.

Later.

Call Me Slick.

I'm a Sweater.

I can't help it, I was born that way.
It's not bad in the Summer or if I'm warm, but when I work out I lose at least a litre in fluids.

I don't really care so much that I sweat, there's nothing wrong with it. But I do have a big problem that has to be rectified as soon as I am able.

You see, when I'm on the Treadmill, Elliptical, Rowing Machine or Bike I use my iPod. The problem is that when I get sweaty, the sweat runs into my ears, and oh-so-gently loosens the snug fit on the earbuds. They don't sit as well, it doesn't sound as good, and eventually they come flying out .

I'm left with two decisions.

1. Get the John McEnroe-like headband to wear while working out. This not only makes me look like a 70's Pornstar/Tennis Pro, but has the added value of having people stop and laugh at the fat guy in the headband. I'd become the center of attention at the gym, and people would flock to witness my chubby sweat get all soaked up. Sounds too good to be true, right?
2. Get some over-the-ear or behind-the-head earphones. They may not make me the center of attention, but I'll get to listen to my music and not worry about taking someones eye out with an errant earbud. I know there are many different types, but I'll take my time and try to decide what's going to work best for me.
3. Staple the currant earbuds to my head. The main drawback I can see to this is that I'd go through a lot of staples taking them out and putting them back in. Oh yeah, and the pain. Lets not forget the pain.

So there are my choices.

I would prefer to sweat a little less, but hey, it shows you I'm working hard. I also work up a bit of a sweat at other times, (if you know what I mean) but nobody's ever complained yet. (Shows I'm putting out the effort.) I don't need headphones for that workout.

The other options look good, but I think I'm going to go with the new headphones. Maybe pick some up when The Sidekick and I go to Victoria.

If not, I think I'll fall back to the headband.
Do you think Blue is my color?

Later.

Porn Stash.

Uncomfortable moment.

I'm working on a friend computer, trying to tidy it up and just doing the simple things that people tend to forget. (Spy-ware check, better antivirus, shit like that.)

As we are running a complete virus scan, one pops up and shows the source file as one that he had downloaded from Limewire or some such shit. His wife then mentions that she recognizes that file and then proceeds to accuse her husband of downloading Porn. She said she had checked it out, wondering what it was, and it was Porn.

Busted.

I don't care if he's got Porn on his computer, it's almost natural for every guy to have some on there. (I'd only worry if it was terabytes of the stuff or some of that really freaky shit.) Wasn't Porn the whole reason the Internet was invented? Maybe for e-mail too, but I'm pretty sure the backbone of the Internet is Porn.

In the end, she wasn't too upset about the stuff being there. My main question was why she felt the need to point out that it was Porn, (It wasn't obvious from the file name.) and why she did it right in front of me. What am I going to do? Tell him not to look at it?

So to all the people out there- if you've got a stash: make sure it's clean, make sure it's stashed, and make sure that there's an "understanding" between you and anyone you may stumble across it. (I reverted to Guy Rules - Don't comment on it, don't look at it, and NEVER bring it up in conversation.)

As long as I never stumble across Gran-dad's stash - I think I'll be okay.

Later.

Super Size Me.

I know I'm three years too late.

I think that by even speaking of a movie that's over six months old I'm breaking some sort of Internet Law. But please forgive me as my reasons for the delay will become apparent.

I refused to see this movie when it came out. I was no longer an employee of the Arches at that time, but I was still in the "defensive " mode, and argued against it like a Halliburton employee would rail against Fahrenheit 9/11.

After working in Management at McDonald's for so many years, you just get used to fielding criticisms about where you work. People have such a maligned image of the company, and are so ready to ponce on any rumors or innuendo that may come up. (Yet they all still eat there, even after saying how much they hate it.) It's second nature for almost any Manager to discount or discredit half of the bullshit they hear. So when this movie came out, I was picturing it as just another stab at the company that I used to work for. I did want to see it eventually, but just never got around to it.

It was on the CBC just the other night, and I wanted to make a point of watching it. I went into it open minded, yet cautious. I wanted to see if I could filter the information through the layers of expected bullshit and accusations.

I was pleasantly surprised.

The director doesn't attack McDonald's as much as uses them as a familiar backdrop to explain his case. He's saying Americans are getting fat, the kids are getting fat, the health-care system is unable to cope, and the Government refuses to do anything about it. He also points out how eating a diet compromised of fast food is essentially unhealthy. (I can't grasp the fact that there are people out there who don't understand this fact. If you eat high fat, highly refined foods and live a sedentary lifestyle, you are going to get fat. that's the way it works.) As everyone knows, he eats nothing but McDonald's for a month to prove this fact.

Why did he go after McDonald's? Because it's the biggest kid on the block. If he would have done the same thing with Arby's I don't think as many people would have paid attention. He does specify that McDonald's targets kids in their advertising, but so do all the other fast food places. It's a business model. If the kids want to eat there, Mom and Dad will follow.

In the end I have to agree with almost everything that was pointed out in the movie. He's not bashing the companies for serving a product, he's suggesting that people take personal responsibility for what goes into their bodies and what goes into their kids bodies as well. (The section on School lunches was an eye-opener. I think when the Boys get to that level I'll watch what's on the menu at school.)

I know urging people to see a three year-old movie is a little bit retarded, but I'll do it anyway.
If you are working or have worked for the Arches, I think you'll even like it.

Later.

Split Shift.

"I'm not even supposed to be here today!" - Dante (Hicks, that is.)

That's not quite true.

I was supposed to be off at 6pm tonight, but a co-worker of mine was not feeling well. Being the charitable son-of-a-bitch that I am, I offered to finish off his shift for him. So I cut my early shift short (just over halfway through) and came back later to lock up.

The only thing wrong with a split shift is coming back. After being away from work for a couple-three hours, it's a challenge to get back into the "work vibe" again.. I dragged my ass to the door, I'll tell you that. I even cursed my charitable inclinations just a bit.

But pulling off a split shift has it's benefits - I look like a hero, and I'm reimbursed in the best currency of all - favors. Having somebody owe you one is a great thing indeed.

So I sucked it up and persevered. (Not really that hard - it's a slow night and I'm about to go on days off.) I made it through and it's done.

Plus it gave me an excuse to use my third favorite Clerks Quote. Right behind "Chicks with Dicks" and "My Mom's been fucking a dead guy for thirty years - I call him Dad."

Later.

...Is What I Need Now.

Never has a musical lyric been more relevant.

For those who aren't sure what I'm talking about, here is a definition.

It's January 1st, and like everyone else before me, I'm making some resolutions for the coming year. I've said in the past that resolutions are a bunch of shit, and although what I'm doing now flies in the face of that, I'll ask your forgiveness. What I said before was that you shouldn't have to wait until January 1st to make a resolution. If you want to make a change in your life you should do it right away. I'm making this statement on New Years Day because that's the only day anyone pays any attention to shit like this.

My resolutions for the year are as follows:

• Lose 20-25 pounds - I'm already on my way on this one, which is why I'm doing it first. I'm not going crash diet, either. I'm going to the gym and eating better. I'd like to be at my goal weight before my birthday, which gives me plenty of time.
• Teach The Boy how to swim and skate - I'm going to need help, because I'm not the greatest teacher when it comes to these. They both came really naturally to me when I was younger, so I have a hard time showing him what to do. I'll put him in the programs, but I'd like to be his introduction to them. Skating is already done, we are working on it, but getting my lard ass up to the pool will be a challenge.
• Save More - I'm not just talkin' my personal stash. I'd like to save some cash towards something. We save set amounts each month into the kids college funds, but nothing in case of emergency or just for that big purchase down the road. (coughbigscreentvcough) I'd like to have some cash saved to do some renovations on the homestead (Hardwood floors) as well as the aforementioned big purchase.
• Get Out More - I do go outside, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'd like to get out more in the social sense. It's tough with kids and a budget, but you can't spend all your time in the house or just going to the same spots over and over.

That's it. I was kinda general on a couple of them, but I know the details, and that is what is important. They are more guidelines to work towards, and I'll try to keep checking them.

I think I'll make some selfish resolutions too. The other ones were for things that I'm trying to do to better myself. These are the things that I'm going to work my damnedest not to change.

• Keep my sense of humor - I'm still going to be a crude, funny, witty pervert. Nothing can change that.
  
• Blog - I haven't missed a post in God knows how long, and it's a streak I'd like to continue. (I will try to improve the quality, however. I'll admit, some of these posts are weak-ass shit.)
• Touch myself - When you look this good, how can you not?

Oh, these will be easy.

Later.

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.