Jacked Off.

Welp, my pride and joy is wounded, damaged in the heat of battle.

My Laptop has a busted power jack, and since I don't have time to check it out (working) I've turned it off and am only using it for essentials. (Porn & Banking.)

 I'm one of those people that freaks when anything with a battery is below 50%, and at 42 and falling, I want the laptop to last until I (or someone else) can take a look. I'm confident enough in my nerditude that I can probably get it working enough to get by  - at least I hope so. (Duck tape only goes so far.)

What pisses me of most is that I recently,...um, procured some new music, and was looking forward to listening to it and making some new playlists for the workout/car. Now I'm left with the shitty stuff I've been listening to for weeks. *First World Problem*

Frustration thy name is Toshiba.

Wish me luck.





Later.

Suprise Concurrance.

I'm a fan of The Black Keys.

If you don't know who they are, go here and educate yourself. (Of course, if you are a regular reader we already know you are a person of taste and culture.) You can come back to the blog and thank me later.

So I'm checking out the video for the new single "Lonely Boy" on YouTube -(I highly suggest you check it out below)



And there's an ad right before the video starts -



Normally I skip ads as soon as possible, but for some reason I didn't - and if you've watched it, you'll realize why I'm glad I didn't.

I'm a straight man, but the combination of Ryan Reynolds & Denzel (No last name needed 'cause it's motherfuckin' Denzel) is to much to resist.

The fact that such an awesome looking trailer was matched with an awesome song means one thing:

Good Job, Marketing Boys - I'm going to buy this album and watch the shit outta this movie. (Pictures will NOT be posted of either event.)

But just for the record: I dance waaaay better than the guy in the video.







Later.

Folical Fun for Anal Awareness.

It's Movember, people - which means I grow ridiculous shit on my face to raise awareness and money for Prostate Cancer.

(Not for the cancer itself - it doesn't need funding. It's for research dollars and awareness about getting checked out.)

So as of the 1st, I shaved my regular facial hair and started rockin' the 'stache. I'm not going for the Victorian-Era curly-mustache, though - I've got the badass biker-stache happening.

I figure I'm raising more awareness than most people only because of the color of mine. When you have brown hair and are sportin' the ginger 'stache tapering to grey-white by the chin, a lot of people ask if you are part of the Movember movement - because only a crazy fucker would sport this look without doing it for a cause. Remember my Playoff Beard? it's like that, but without the Hockey jersey.

We're doing some stuff at work for support as well, so it should be fun as I won't be the only guy looking like a 70's porn reject. I'll post pics of my majestic mustache as the month goes on.

I think we should combine the facial hair of Movember with the Breast Cancer Awareness Month (October) and have Motorboat Marathon. Get the right women, $5 per Motorboat ($3 if you're wearing a Mustache), and we'd have the necessary funds raised by the end of the month. Guaranteed.

I'm willing to be the first in line for tryouts.







Later.

Distractional Segueway.

Let's ignore the last post's ranting and look back to happier times.

Climb inside my Wayback Machine and enjoy a simpler time - like a week and a half ago.

Listen to the Sidekick and I Ramble on after the Sam Roberts concert. We discuss a multitude of subjects, but there's one thing that will stand out: the laughter.

I listened, and it cured my Arthritis and gave me a boner at the same time.*
*Didn't actually happen.

So take a break, grab a beer, and enjoy MidlifeRamblings.

My scheduled sense of humor should be back tomorrow.






Later.

Fuck.

*Warning - This is a rant, and I'm going to come across as bitter and hateful - if you would like to keep thinking of me as a nice human being, stop reading.*

I'm in the midst of a minor family crisis right now.

My Dad (72) had a small heart attack about 10 days ago. He was in the hospital for about 3 or 4 days and then he was released to come home. My Dad is overweight, a diabetic, on depression medications, and takes about 15 pills a day. Releasing him home in the care of my Mom (63), who is a newly retired Nurse, makes sense - she manages him well and has been doing so for years.

Mom had to go to the Hospital last night. She was dizzy, unresponsive, and when she was lucid, said her arms and legs were tingling. Dad did the smart thing and called 911 before he called me. She went into the Hospital at about 6pm, and after she stabilized and was okay to leave Emerg to a room it was almost 1 am. They are sure it's not a heart attack, just something to do with her Asthma (which caused her to hyperventilate) and a dosage change on her meds - Mom's biggest concern was that Dad was looked after.

I volunteered to look after my Dad last night and to take care of his meds, food, etc this morning. Making sure that worry is off Mom's mind means that she can just focus on herself and make sure that she's okay. My sister was going to help today while I was at work, and stay tonight. (Mom is staying one more night waiting for test results and should go home tomorrow.)

Now my sister is being a fucking cunt.

It's hard to describe exactly what she's doing, but somehow she's making it seem like what happened with Mom was all Dad's fault. Somehow in her mind, Mom taking care of my Dad caused all this. I should add right now that I work 5 days a week and she doesn't work at all, and yet I'm the one who goes up to my parents place on my days off each week and fixes things, helps with appointments, etc. Mom and Dad don't even ask her to help because she makes it seem like such a imposition on her time. (Like taking her ass away from Farmville for more than 20 minutes would end the world.) Today when we were at the Hospital she said she couldn't stay with Dad because  she had to make sure her Husband got up for work.

So ditching your sick Dad and easing your sick Mom's mind isn't as important as shutting off the alarm clock for ONE day? That's a fucking complete bitch move.

I'd love to go into some of the other massively cunt-y things she's done in the past 24 hours, but I only have so much time - suffice it to say that after all is said and done, and Mom and Dad are okay and settled down, her and I are going to have a nice, long talk that she is going to fucking hate.

I'm done with her shitty fucking attitude.
I'm done with her shitty way of talking to my Dad.
I'm done with her selfish way of looking at things.
I'm done with her.





Later.

Hallowed Out.

I'm just not that into Halloween anymore.

I'm down with the spookiness, the zombies, and the mythos of it all, but Halloween seems like more and more of a contrived, forced holiday that it sucks the joy out of it for me.

I enjoy the dressing up - some of the outfits that people come up with are astounding - but I think so much pressure to have a great costume ruins what I think should be the spontaneity of it all.

The fact that I live in a cold, windy, wet area makes taking the tots out trick-or-treating more of a torture than listening to Justin Beiber. They may be running on a sugar high from house to house, but Daddy wishes there was more than cream in his coffee - just to take the edge off, of course.

I'm sure if I was back in my 20's it would be more enjoyable. Back then all you had to do was dress up as Shaggy and try to fuck whichever girl came to the party as Daphne or Velma. (Those were the days, eh?)

But times have changed, I've grown up, and I have to try and remember that its not all about me. The kids really enjoy it, and the satisfaction I do get out of this day is seeing their imaginations at work.

So I'll do my best to persevere - just don't ask what's in my coffee if you see me out tonight - I might just have some "help" in there.

Later.

Fatty Foods and Running Guilt.

Do you see that wonderful creation to your right?

That's an Applebee's Maple Butter Blondie dessert.

It's fucking incredible. It's an orgasm that comes served to you on a sizzling plate. While you're transfixed staring at the stack of ice cream, walnuts and pecans, some sort of magic sauce is poured over - covering the ice cream, boiling and caramelizing as it hits the plate.

And then you eat.

Now, you're probably already 3/4 full from your dinner, but it doesn't matter. Once the taste of this motherfucker hits your palate, you are instantly compelled to finish it all. The wife and I share, and even then we are battling over the last few crumbs.

The worst thing I ever did was look at the nutritional information on my beloved Blondie. Each serving has 990 calories - and that's where the guilt kicks in.

Skinny Me knows that splitting the Blondie (Sound's like an 80's Porn slang, amirite?) was a good idea, but he also knows that those 500 calories, plus what dinner was, equal at least an hour running.

Fatty Me doesn't care - that dessert is worth it.

Skinny Me knows that you can't cut out everything from your diet and, in moderation, a cheat day every once in a while is a good thing.

Fatty Me already wants more. (Fatty Me is a selfish asshole, in case you haven't noticed.)

Thankfully the nearest place we can get the Blondie is a 45 minute drive away - keeping Fatty Me away from it shouldn't be too much of an issue. If it was just down the street, we'd be in trouble.

Maybe if I ran to the restaurant from home (31 miles) I wouldn't feel so guilty about enjoying my dessert.

.....and then maybe I can have a whole one to myself....*evil grin*







Later.

Let's Hear it for Beaver.

It appears some people in our Government want to change our National Mascot from the Beaver to the Polar Bear.

Fuck that noise. Beavers rock.

Hardworking, industrious, big fat tail, buck teeth - Beavers just don't fucking care what people think. They looked at what nature gave them and said, "Fuck 'em - I'm gunna cut down some trees and make a house.". That's the kind of plucky animal I want representing our country.

Polar Bears are only badass because they're bears. Who gives a shit? Winnie the Pooh is a bear and he gets no respect. The fucker is practically retarded. Polar Bears aren't much better - the only time anyone likes a Polar Bear is when it's a rug. No one romanticizes about Polar Bears when they are rifling through the garbage.

Say the word "Beaver" to any international tourist and, next to Pussy, the first thing they'll think of is Canada. (WARNING: If you are a girl, repeatedly saying "Beaver?" to someone who doesn't quite speak English could cause some type of, uhmm...mis-communication .) Say "Polar Bear" and people will nod and point to a Coca-Cola can. Not really an association I'd be proud of.

Sure, individually a Polar Bear will fuck your shit up. But take a thousand Beavers and they'll cut down all your trees, build a dam, and flood your fucking town. Who's more badass, now, eh?

In short, if these people in Government want to "Update" our National Symbol and "Keep it fresh" maybe they should try giving the ol' Beev a trim and shine up that tail - don't go replacing what's not broken.





Later.

Shameful Introduction.

I'd like to introduce you to two people: My Dear & Big Fella.

Who are they, you ask?

Are they characters in my as-yet-unfilmed Porn masterpiece?
Nope.

It's simple, really - My Dear and Big Fella are what I call anyone I run into whose name I can't remember.

Cheezy, right? I know.

It's not my fault - God gave me a great eye for faces (and boobs and butts) but I'm kinda lousy when it comes to names. I'm that guy who says "If I saw them I'd know who it is" when somebody asks if I know someone. I also use it a lot with any ex-employees that used to work for me. After managing a McDonald's (for what seemed like an eternity) I always run into people who remember me after working there for only 6 months - I barely recall any employee who worked less than 2 years.

Big Fella and My Dear work great, though. For women of any age "My Dear" is a personal yet non-creepy greeting, and "Big Fella" works with guys of any age or size. (If they're fat or muscular, they're used to being called Big Fella, and with any other size person it's a nice informal greeting.) I've never had this fail for me, and with working in retail, I use it repeatedly every day - mostly for customers and stuff, but also with people who you haven't seen in years whose name doesn't immediately spring to mind. (If they say hi to me first, I usually respond with a token "Hey..You!" until my brain catches up to my eyes and figures out where I know them from.)

So there you go - my secret is out.

Don't tell anyone, K? Thanks.

By the way, My Dear, I like the way the light of the laptop reflects in your eyes - and you, Big Fella, have you been working out? Nice to see ya, thanks for stopping by.





Later.

A New Groove.

I'm so fucking tired.

For the last 2 years, I was on set days off of Wednesday and Thursday. It was sweet - I always knew what my schedule was, could make plans, and the routine was set.

One of the pluses of the new work location is that I can rotate with my co-workers into weekends off. That means I get to see more of the Boys than just mornings and nights, and it's also great for going to events like this last weekend. (Which I still believe I am recovering from - I just can't party like I used to.)

The thing is, I'm so used to having Wed/Thurs off, that when Wednesday rolls around, I'm fucking exhausted. (Some of you may look at my Twitter and say "Well doesn't the 5 mile run you did have anything to do with it?" - I say no.) My body expects today to be a day off - not really a day of rest, but a no-pressure day.

No such luck.

I'm just about to head back from my lunch break (going to try a 10 minute power-nap and see if that helps) and all I really want to do is sleep instead. I'm contemplating going to bed when my kids do tonight and seeing if there's a difference.

The same sleep schedule as an 8 year old.
Life's not as glamorous as I imagined.





Later

Unfathomable.

My kids were amazed last night.

Why?

Because my Wife cooked rice.

Now cooking rice isn't a new thing around our house - we frequently enjoy the tasty grain. The kids are used to seeing Mommy setup the rice cooker on the counter while getting stuff ready for dinner.

They were excited last night because they got to help pick out what we were having and were looking forward to it as we haven't had rice in a while.

Imagine their disappointment when we found out the rice cooker wasn't working.

The kids were just about to go into whiny/crisis mode (I know - over rice. First World Problems, eh?) when they looked astoundingly at the Wife when she pulled a pot out and put it on the stove. They asked her what she was doing and seemed dumbfounded when she said "Cooking Rice".

My kids have never seen rice cooked on a stove.

As hilarious as that sounds, I somehow feel like I've let them down. If my kids are baffled by the fact that rice can be cooked in something other than a rice cooker on the counter, how are they going to be when they are lost in the wild? I can only picture them wandering around, trying to plug their Nintendo Ds into trees, hoping for a miracle.

I'm wondering what other things they are missing out on - maybe I can surprise them with the news that dishes can be washed by hand or before air conditioning we just opened a window.

Trust me, the situation will be rectified, even if I have to strand them in the park, Man vs. Wild style.




Later.

Discordant Arrangement.

There was something that struck me as odd at the Sam Roberts concert the Sidekick and I attended Saturday night.

There was a lot of old people there.

Now, I'm close to 40, so when I say someone is "Old", I'm saying around late-50's. I'm not going to judge these people, but I will admit that maybe they were at the wrong concert - I did a quick Google search and there isn't any operas or classical artists named Sam Roberts, so maybe they were at the right venue after all. There where quite a lot of them, (I'd say 10% of the people there) and I just chalked to up to season's ticket holders or some such thing.

But they sure weren't there to have fun.

There's one thing that happens at every concert I've been to: People stand up and groove along to the music and the people behind them stand up and so on and so on. It always happens. Sit down when ya want, but once the music starts, prepare to stand up.

These people were having none of that.

When the teenage (mid-20's? - I can never tell anymore) girls in front of them started dancing, they complained to the usher. When the people in front of the girls were standing, they complained to the usher. No matter what, they complained to the usher. It wasn't just an isolated incident either - I could see him running around to every group of older people and receiving some kind of bitching. This 19-year old kid looked like he was frazzled from having to try to appease all these people, and all because some kids want to dance.

The Sidekick's comment: "These people make the parents from Footloose look like a bunch of party animals."

When I go to a concert, I don't expect to sit down. In fact, I really only use the chair to hold my jacket and to mark the general area where I'm permitted to do my flailing about. (That's dancing, for those of you who have never seen the spectacle of my moves.) There was a bunch of old people around us, but since no one was standing (and I could see just fine) I restrained myself from jumping up.

The Sidekick's brilliant plan saved the day.

He had seen that even though the ushers had moved some people around to seat the dancers and non-dancers together, there was still a couple five or six rows in front of us who weren't looking like they were having a good time. He took it upon himself to approach the usher (who looked completely terrified at the thought of someone else complaining) and suggest that we switch seats  - as stated before, I'm perfectly fine with standing up and dancing my ass off.

So we switched, the people were happy, and all was well.


But the question remains: Who the fuck goes to a ROCK CONCERT and just sits down? Elvis would be rolling in his grave at the sight of it.

That older generation - I'll never understand them.





Later.

Digestive Downfall.

Beer kills me.

As much as I like the foamy beverage, it doesn't seem to reciprocate much at all. Normally, this isn't a problem, but on weekends like this it can be an issue.

You see, I was just in Vic at the Sam Roberts Band concert, and since I'm hanging with the Sidekick (official Beer Snob) there's a lot of the brewskie flowing.

I lost count of the types and amounts of beer that was consumed. (Really, it was all the Sidekick's fault.)

Add coffee, Gin, Denny's, pancakes, and driving to all of that and it means my guts are churning up a storm. I'm sure the wife and kids are really going to appreciate the odor I'm bringing home.

Yet another great thing they don't tell you about middle age.

Maybe I'll be nice and strap a charcoal filter to my ass and save everyone some discomfort.

Or maybe not - I'm kind of an ass that way.

Later.

Sammy.

I know I usually call my TV Sammy, but tonight it's a different story.

Tonight the Sidekick and I are attending the Sam Roberts concert at the Royal Theatre. They are one of my favorite Canadian Bands, and seeing them live is something I've been waiting for and can now check off my list.

Just so you don't feel left out (and to rub it in a bit) here's a couple of samples of what I'll be enjoying:







It's okay to be jealous - I would be if I was you.






Later.

To Good to Be True.

I checked the mail yesterday, and there was some interesting news.

Supposedly, according to the letter I received, their was a multi-millionaire with the same last name as me that died in China in a mysterious hiking accident. The partner in his investments is looking to cash in on the $21 million dollars that was left in-estate, and needs my help. He hasn't given me all the details yet, but it seems almost too good to be true.

Which is why I know it's a crock of shit.

We've all heard this one a thousand times - just usually a Nigerian Prince instead of a wealthy Caucasian. This guy did try really hard, however, and I will give him credit on a couple of things:

• His use of actual paper. Everyone is so used to the email scam that receiving something in the mail almost makes it seem legit. You'd think the cost of the postage and the paper would work against the scammer, but all he needs is for one person to fall for it and his expenses are covered.
• He didn't make it an outrageous sum of money. Having $21 million tied up in a foreign country seems like something that could possibly happen to a person who deals in International business.
• The English language is butchered horribly - almost as bad as when the Sidekick sends a tweet - but he actually apologizes for it at the end of the letter! Would a real scammer do that?

But there were some red flags:

• This guy is supposedly a Investment manager who deals with moving money Internationally - his English should be better, and if he has access to a computer to type this request, he probably has Spellcheck. Like I said above, the apology was nice, but c'mon - who falls for that shit?
• If a Multi-Million Dollar Financier disappered in a mysterious accident, it would have been covered on the news. Bill Gates can't take a shit without someone writing about it, so overlooking a death seems far-feteched.
• Looking up the name Anderson Watson in any search engine brings up 0 results. Google, motherfucker - have you heard of it?

If it turns out that I'm wrong and this kind Chinese gentleman really is trying to give me millions, I will apologize - right after I endorse the cheque with my Unicorn-horn pen and blot the ink with the ass of Santa's Reindeer.






Later.

Partial Timeline.

My Day Off today:

• 7am - Wake up, stumble around house in a daze until I make my way to the kitchen to put coffee on.
• 7:05am -  Go into each kid's room and proceed to wake them up with a combination of tickling and threatening to fart on their heads. (They're Boys - they think farting is the height of comedy.) 
• 7:15am - Hand coffee to the Wife as she gets out of the shower. (Yes, I'm that terrific of a husband.)
• 7:20am - Get breakfast for the Boys, and try to make sure they eat it while they deploy every strategy known to 5 & 8 years olds on how to postpone eating said breakfast. (The Ruthless Parent in me sometimes wants to send them off with no breakfast like they want - but the Shameful Parent knows they'll tell their Teacher "Daddy didn't feed me".)
• 7:40am -  Tell the kids to get dressed - Check with wife to see if it's going to be a "Need a Second Cup" kinda day before she goes to work.
• 7:45am - Find out that the kids must be colorblind - there's no reason they would dress themselves like that on purpose.
• 7:50am -  Redress the kids, and make sure their hair is combed/teeth brushed/faces are clean  - one wants me to gel his hair up in a faux-hawk and the other wants his hair to have the Superman "S"-type curl on the front. (Yup - I've raised a couple of classy ones here, people.)
• 8am -  On my way to get dressed for the gym, pass by the wife getting ready and give her a little Helicopter Dance (no contact). I don't think she appreciates it.
• 8:10am - Tie my shoes, kiss the Wife goodbye, (There's a bit of a twinkle in her eye - maybe the Helicopter worked after all..) and hustle the kids out the door to school.
• 8:30am - Drop the oldest off and let him go to class - take the youngest to kindergarten, where I realize that while mine seem bad at times, they pale to other people's kids in bad behavior. (One Dad tells me his kid pissed on his bedroom floor because he was mad about Lego.) I try not to gloat.
• 8:45am - Sign in at the gym and run my ass off for 45 minutes (give or take). Try to avoid repeat glances at the tatted up, firm-buttocked lass on the stair climber in front of me. (Unsuccessful - Great inspiration, though) Proceed to stretch my hams, glutes, lats, pecs, and any other muscle that feels like jelly.
• 10am - Get home, make a coffee and a sweet omlete for breakfast and say I'm only going to spend 15 min online while I eat.
• 11am - Finally realize that 15 minutes has turned into an hour. (Don't judge me - I bet you've done this too.) Resolve to finish one last thing and then sign off.
• 11:30am - Feel shame and amazement at how quickly a half hour flies by. (But look! Now you can tweet this post! )
• 12pm: Fresh from the shower, dance around naked while listening to the Foo Fighters. (Yes, I checked - the blinds where closed.)
• 12:15pm - Scramble to put pants on when I hear a noise at the door. Relax after realizing it was just the paperboy. Wish my paper was dropped off by out-of-work Supermodel.
• 12:30pm - Try to figure out what I want to blog about today. Running? Work? Batman? Poker? Why I think Gerbils are classier rodents than Guinea Pigs?
• 12:40pm - Start typing. You have no idea how shitty I am at typing. I'm not a touch-typist, and not quite a hunter-pecker, either. People who have seen me type compare my roaming, fumbling hands to a teenage boy undoing his first bra clasp. 
• 1:19pm Post this and hope for the best.

I'd post the rest of the day, but it hasn't happened yet. I could make it up, but all of you would get suspicious if I mentioned winning the lottery or battling dragons I found in my crawlspace. Best to just stick with reality.






Later.

Under The Bus.

I'm enjoying being at the new (old) location for work - everything is going well, I'm getting lots done, and I like just  enough of the people  I'm working with. (They are finally starting to get my sense of what's funny.)

There's only one thing that's bugging me:

The guy I switched with.

He's a good guy, and we've known each other for ages. He took over my old section at the other location. I had found a couple of minor-ish things wrong down here, and I expected for him to do the same there - everyone is different and we all notice different things, so there will be some stuff that we each will find. I didn't say much about what I found, just gave him a heads up and he told me a couple things too.

But I heard from two or three reliable sources that he's slagging me down there - trying to critique my job and blowing anything he found waaay out of proportion.

This fucking pisses me off.

I checked with my bosses, and they don't believe or don't care about any error or missed item on my part.

I confronted my co-worker, and he complety denied saying anything negative. (Repeatedly, in fact - I think he's scared of me.)

I don't really give a shit about it, as I know and am fully confident in my job performance - it's just that for some reason the useless little shit pushed my buttons the wrong way.

I think that a pen to the forehead (Dark Knight style) should be punishment for anyone who pulls this type of shit. (Anyone else agree?)

It's over, it's dealt with, moving on.

Thanks for the rant, Internet, its been fun.

Later.

I Feel:

- That beating up thugs playing Arkham City is almost as much fun as shooting up Zombies in Left 4 Dead.

- That if there was a game where Batman blew the shit outta Zombies, I'd be first in line at the preorder desk.

- That being closer to home means I get a nooner when I go home for lunch.

- That it also means I can play video games.

- That being able to do both in the same lunch hour doesn't say much about my staying power. (Sad face)

- That having once-regular customers ask if I just got back from holidays (when I've actually been gone for 2 years) is kind of a letdown.

- That having the Sidekick finally finish editing the podcast is excellent, because I can then post this.

- That kicking ass at Jeopardy, thereby schooling everyone else in the room, will never get old.

- That after gym, work, dinner and kids, my body and mind are both completely wiped.

- That I used to have the same feeling after Spring Break when I was younger - but it was Gin instead of Gym, Weed instead of Work, and somehow Women replaced both food and kids.

- That I'm finally in good enough shape to keep up to the dreams of my youth.

Later.

Switcheroo.

So after being down in the OR for 20 months, it's my first day back in WP, where I spent my first 8 years.

Some things I noticed:

- Next to Department Heads and long term employees, I have no fucking idea who anyone is.
- But no one knows who the fuck I am either, so it kinda balances out.
- I'm so used to my routine in OR that I'm just kinda wandering today. Boring only begins to describe it.
- The breakroom in OR? A fucking palace, with 2 couches, a recliner, and tons of space.
- The breakroom in WP? I could fit it in my crawlspace. (Hopefully I'll be going to the gym/home on my lunch more often.)
- I have yet to see one redneck today, or sell one pack of cigarettes - in OR, both are staples.
- The people I could usually make my witty/crude/humourous comments to aren't around, and I haven't had a chance to break these new ones into "my" sense of humour.
- Hopefully doing that doesn't involve lawyers.

It'll take a bit to get back into my rhythm, but I'm looking forward to being back - even if it's just because the drive home is 3 minutes instead of 25.

Later.

This Post May Be Late...

.... due to the image you see at the right.

Yup - I lucked out at Wal-Mart and got Arkham City 3 days before it's supposed to be released and due to another fuck up on Wally's part, I also got it for $20 cheaper than I should have.

So I'm taking a night off to beat up the worst that Arkham can throw at me.

What can I say? I'm a nerd.





Later.

Comment Commentary.

I love getting comments.

You have no idea the joy I get when I recieve a notification to my inbox saying that someone has posted a comment to my blog. It means that they've read something of mine and liked/disliked it enough to take the time to respond to it. Be it a compliment or a complaint, it's welcomed.

Except for this guy.

This guy commented on a post from 2005, and while I was initally excited that someone was perusing the archives, (There's gold in them there hills, people.) the comment itself leaves a lot to be desired.

1.  It's in Russian. Tip to the commenter: When leaving comments on an blog that's written in English, it's best to go with that language. Do I go to Arabic blogs and leave comments in Danish? Hell no - because I can't read Arabic and I eat Danish, I don't speak it.
2. After running it through Google Translate, I find out the commenter's name is "Removal of Iron Magnetic Separator". His parents must have fucking hated him. Although the abbreviated "RIMS" makes him sound like a cool secondary character in The Fast & The Furious.
3. His comment is "Supplies of iron, magnetic separators and metal detectors for the industry." WTF? What kinda comment is that? You are adding nothing to the conversation, sir - you remind me of that kid in Elementary school who would interupt our G.I.Joe conversations with repeated shouts of "Pudding!".
4. He somehow bypassed the incredible capatcha security Blogger has on the comments section, meaning he's either smarter than I think, or someone's trained a monkey really well.
5. I will give him credit - commenting on the post about anonymity on the Internet is veeerrry subtle.

So thanks for checking out the blog, RIMS - but no thanks. I'm not in need of a magnetic separator, (my personality is magnetic enough) and I get all my iron from Broccoli. (Veggies - Yay!)

I hope my calling to task of this wayward feedback doesn't discourage others from commenting - I do seriously have a mini-nerdgasm when that notification pops up - and I don't want that to stop.







Later.

I Feel:

1. That having the guy who tries to kill me whenever we workout together tell me he wants to train with me for my Spring Half-Marathon makes me want to run less, not more.
2. That he will find distance running so boring he'll want to quit in 2 weeks. (Bonus for me)
3. That watching Escape from New York is weird - it's version of the future was 14 years ago. Probably why I've never watched 1984 - that, and 1984 doesn't have Snake Plissken.
4. In the last 2 days, I've watched EfNY, and From Hell. After watching Kurt Russell and Johnny Depp flex their acting chops on screen, I'm almost obligated to watch Porn as to not develop a man crush. (It's in my own best interest.)
5. That I spent way too much time at the gym this morning looking at the dimples on the girl's ass in front of me. I feel that balances out how much the gay guy at the gym was creeping over by the treadmills.
6. That I'm so much of a nerd that I got excited when I saw someone else had a Zune at the gym today. 
7. That I want to meet and have coffee with the guys who write this - just when I think I've crossed the line with something, I read Cyanide & Happiness and know I'm not even close.
8. That I like Halloween for two reasons - neither of which involve candy.
9. That those reasons are: The enjoyment my kids get out of dressing up, and the enjoyment I get from the massive amount of slutty costumes women wear now. (Although Slutty Elmo creeps me out.)
10. That saying in my last post that I would put up a full frontal probably scared away more readers than it gained.
11. That Holidays are the greatest thing ever - to fill my days with Movies, Podcasts, Running, Coffee, Writing, and Family is what I'd like to do with my life. Now if only the Lottery or Internet Fame would help me out....

Later.

Wrong Place in the Queue.

I swear Blogger hates me.

They're subtle about it, but I think they do.

I was looking at my Blog on a different computer, and just for shits and giggles, I clicked the "Next Blog >>" thing at the top, just to see what was next in line for someone who was just visiting my little space of online real estate. I get a lot of traffic from that "Next Blog" button, so it's kinda nice to see what's behind me, and maybe where people are coming from.

What I saw kinda shocked me, so I clicked again. And again. And again.

Each of the blogs that followed mine had a common thread - They were written by middle-aged Christian women writing about their families and their faith in the Lord.

WTF?

How did I get in with that bunch?

If it had been just one, I could understand - the random nature of the Internet is kinda sickly-weird in the fact that it would stick a quasi-religious blog behind a guy who talks about his dick as much as he talks about his kids.

But three in a row? That's just too much coincidence.

I think Blogger's just fucking with me - all those posts bitching about Blogs of Note are finally starting to push some buttons... I could probably force them to move me quite easily - a few full-frontal shots should get their attention.

I've got them just where I want them.





Later.

Change of Thanks.

We had Thanksgiving dinner last night - or, if you're an American reader, we had Columbus Day dinner - either way, turkey was consumed, gravy was treated like a beverage, and I slipped into a tryptophan-induced coma sometime around 9pm.

Good times.

As much as I like turkey in the first few weeks of October, I think that we should follow our American brethren and change the holiday to one that celebrates the discovery of our country. They can keep Columbus for themselves, because I think we should have a holiday to celebrate the first people to come to our shores - The Vikings.

(I know I'm totally skipping over the First Nations people here, but really - come up to Canada - they have lots of stuff named after/showing support of them, so I think they're covered -  the Vikings deserve a little something too.)

It's been documented that the Vikings were here around 1000 B.C. - waaay before Columbus came and carried Pocahontas off to Mount Doom (I'm a little fuzzy on American History) - so we should acknowledge that fact with a day dedicated to the Viking way. We could have parties, drink mead, go wenching, read Astrix books, and watch Thor on blue-ray - just the way our Viking ancestors would have celebrated.

We can still have our Thanksgiving Turkey Day, but we'll do it closer to Christmas like the Americans do, crushing the two holidays together into one big clusterfuck that lasts for a month. (Sounds good, right?)

I think it's time the Vikings got a day of their own - too long have they been cast aside for cooler stuff like Pirates and Ninjas, and suffered for it. They are pictured as ill-mannered barbarians, when in actuality they were quite well mannered barbarians who were known to use napkins and had doily's to rest the skulls of their victims on. (I get my Viking information from a lot of different places - who knew Martha Stewert was a big Viking Fan?)

I know that pushing something like this through on a national level will take years, but we can implement it ourselves one piece at a time. Have mead next year. The year after, roast a chunk of mutton. The third year, pillage your neighbors - it's a good way to get the whole community involved.

Just something to think about.





Later.

Half of a Half.

The Royal Victoria Marathon is today.

I'm supposed to be running the Half Marathon. (I'd be finishing as I type this, actually.)

But because of how my foot was this summer I wasn't able to train properly, and decided not to race. I could probably have gone down this weekend and muddled through the distance, but I wouldn't have finished with any time that I would be proud of.

But I still wanted to run.

So today I headed out - and while I didn't do the full distance, I did do a distance - 6.55 miles - exactly half the distance of a Half Marathon.

It was as good as I could do for just getting back in shape.

Have no fear, next year I'll be posting my actual finish time - and bragging my ass off,






Later.

Digital Competition

At my house we have an Xbox 360, a Wii, PVR, DVD player, and probably some other items that can be abbreviated in ALLCAPS.

And only one TV.

Sammy, my 42' Plasma that I've had since way back when such things were really expensive, certainly gets a lot of attention, and sometimes this can lead to problems.

I come home from work expecting to have some de-stress time blowing up Zombies/winning the Stanley Cup/ being Batman, and my Wife is catching up on watching her mind-bogglingly inane reality shows?

Problem.

There's a really sweet documentary coming on and it's the same time we promised the Boys they could watch Rio or some other kids crap show?

Problem.

I want to stream a movie on the Xbox and the Wife is playing Super Mario Bros Wii instead?

Problem.

We work through most of these issues with compromise and because I am the Greatest Husband/Father Ever, but it can be a pain in the ass. Sure, we could solve this particular dilemma by just getting another TV, but these same type of conflicts pop up even on other devices like laptops, computers and even phones. (As I type this now, the oldest Boy just asked if he could go on Club Penguin at least 3 times.) and there is no way in hell that I'm hooking everyone in the family up with their own digital paradise.

It always seems that whatever it is that I want to do, there is always someone else using the device that I want.

I think we need to get outside more.

Or maybe I should just send them outside, and that way I can enjoy myself.






Later.

iThink....

- I know I'm a nerd, but I'm amazed at the amount of people in my neck of the woods who don't know who Steve Jobs is.

- Best quote I heard about Steve's passing: "Looks like heaven is getting a design upgrade and will be more user friendly now."

- I'm on the first of my last two days in OR - (does that make any sense at all?) People keep telling me stuff for the weekend and I keep reminding them I'll be gone by then. The blank stare I get, followed by the "Already?" is amusing.

- Coffee and recording a podcast with the Sidekick was fun yesterday. I could totally see doing that for a living. If people would pay to listen to me ramble on about shit it would be a dream come true.

- It's the first day of the NHL season tonight - or as I like to call it, the one day my team has just a good a chance as anyone else of winning the Stanley Cup. (Go Avs!)

- Just noticed that I seem to be doing more list-type rants now. It's either that I can't hold on to a coherent thought longer than two minutes, or my mind shuts down if there hasn't been enough coffee consumed.

- Had a girl comment that the Ryan Kesler nude photo was going in her "spank bank" - not to be sexist, but isn't that a guy thing? Wouldn't girls call it the "Clit Pit" or the "Finger File"?

- I appreciate the fact that the initial baseball playoffs are a best of three -  but just because it means the whole thing is over that much sooner. I only find the last games of the NLCS and the ALCS, as well as the World Series, exciting - the entire season up to then means shit to me.

- ....which is exactly how most Americans feel about Hockey.

- Status update: Still creeped out by the overtly friendly, extremely gay guy at the gym. It's not me, it's him.

- Today someone was compelled to tell me a story about the horrible case of diarrhea they had last night. You need to understand that there is virtually NO social filter where I work. (Sometimes I long for one..)

- Only I can go from a comment about Female Masturbation to a shit story in the same blog post - isn't that why you're here?

Later.

Itinerant Thoughts.

Waiting around for the Sidekick to show up, (We're going to record another podcast today) so I thought I'd fire off some random thoughts:

1. I'm stuffed up (head cold) so I can't taste anything. Life sucks. However, lack of flavor just means you notice texture more. Somehow this is even less appetizing - Muffins lose all their appeal.
2. The gym is a funny place. We go there to be healthier and look better, but we get creeped out when someone looks at our new, improved form. (Ok, maybe the staring creeps me out.)
3. On that note, I'm assuming it's my new, improved form that's being checked out - could be that my underwear is showing, or I put my shorts on inside-out (again).
4. I think that people treat each new iPhone announcement like a proclamation from God - Pretty soon it will be Tim Cook coming down from the mountaintop in Cupertino with a tablet in each hand. The fanboy fervor will be the same.
5. It really bugs me when I'm out of the loop on something - I don't know much about the Amanda Knox thing or what's going on with Occupy Wall Street - that's what happens when you only watch the Sports channels for a week or so.
6. I'm curious to see how my voice sounds on today's podcast - will the head cold add to the deep richness of my voice, or will a nasally wheeze be all you hear?
7. I get a lot of traffic from a site called jobsforsmartpeople.com - I somehow find that incredibly ironic. (And that's actual irony, people - not the Alanis Morrissette definition.)
8. Just noticed that in that video, only Driver-Alanis is wearing her seatbelt - I guess clones deserve to die if there's a crash?
9. I start holidays in two days - you could be jealous, but it's October and it's raining, so you probably won't be. 
10. But right after Holidays is the Sam Roberts concert - you can definitely be jealous of that.

Later.

Criminal Geenius.

I got to witness a crime today.

In fact, I got to watch it over and over again.

The Liquor Store beside work was robbed last night, and since our security cameras cover the entire parking lot, it was my job to scan through our video footage and locate what I could for the Police.

What I saw made me realize that it doesn't take brains to be a criminal. The two gentleman who perpetrated the robbery were quick and efficient at what they did, but they got lucky a couple of times and it was hilarious to watch in a morbid sort of way.

They backed up to the door and used a pry bar to get it open. I give them credit for driving fast enough in the dark that our cameras couldn't make out the plate, but later events lead me to believe the truck was stolen anyway. They were smart enough to bring a chain as well, and their plan to hook up and drive away with the safe seemed to be going off without a hitch.

Until the chain broke, that is. (Comedy of Errors #1)

They were a little too eager on the gas, and the chain snapped in two. Unfortunately it had already done it's primary job and dislodged the safe from it's floor-bolts.

They then proceeded to struggle and roll the safe towards the truck. I guess the Redneck Adrenaline must have kicked in, because they were able to lift it and throw it into the back. (It's not like these guys were superhuman, it's kinda a small safe.)

And that's when the truck started to roll away. (Comedy of Errors #2)

These two geniuses had forgot to set the parking brake. (That's what makes me think the truck was stolen.)

Once they caught the truck and cleaned up the tools, they took off. Again, I admire their enthusiasm, but they were lucky because the video shows the safe allllmost bouncing out the back not once, but twice.

Looking at it over and over while I compiled the DVD made me realize that they were more lucky than smart. There were so many things that went wrong that it was more amazing that the crime succeeded.

Well, kinda succeeded - the safe they got wasn't the main one, and they only got enough to maybe buy an Xbox. (But no games.)

...and they didn't even grab a bottle on the way out,

Like I said - reeeaal smart.







Later.

Ramble On.

*This is the tired and hungry version today - don't expect it to make any sense.*

- Having just worked and warehoused an entire pallet of 2L pop by myself, I am perplexed as to why Pop merchandisers aren't the fittest people on the planet.

- Word to the wise : When sending an elderly person into the store to ask for directions, please don't send the one that doesn't speak English and has just had a stroke. I'm not very good at giving directions to "Saammmoonpount".

- Having someone go on about how good I'm looking now that I'm back running again is like the mental equivalent of Viagra.

- I have a impossible mission for you: Try calling a major telecommunication company's service line and get directly through to a person. I don't think they exist anymore. I swear the numbers I punched in were a Fibbonacci sequence, and I somehow helped unlock the mysteries of the Holy Grail.

- Why is Peanut Butter & Nutella acceptable on a bagel, but if you cram some Reeses cups in there instead, people look at you weird?

- I'm so tired right now that I would choose a nap over a full-body massage from the Swedish Bikini Team.

- The previous statement made me feel old not just because of the mention of needing a nap, but by the inclusion of such an.obvious 80's reference. Watch - next I'll start quoting "Mr. Belvedere."

- Someone shoot me if that happens.

Later.

Forewarned.

Dear Legs:

I'm writing this letter for a couple of reasons:

The first reason is to say thanks and offer congratulations for the nice run you did today. You haven't ran 10K in quite some time, and even though you were nowhere near your best time for that distance, you finished strong and looked good.
I'm almost tempted to say that I can see glimmers of your former greatness - but I don't want to gush to much. You've done well, you've made progress, and with some hard work and dedication you'll be churning out the miles in no time.

About those miles: They are the other reason I'm penning this letter to you. You better get ready to do a lot of them, because your crazy bastard of an owner has delusions of grandeur for beating his best time in the Comox Valley Half-Marathon. He's got a program ready to go in about 3 weeks, so that means you've got to keep up those steady runs you've been doing, because after that, shit's going to get hard.

He just wanted to make sure you knew so that you didn't think he was picking on you when he starts piling on the miles. You know him - Legs that bitch and moan after 10 or so miles really irk him, and we want to keep the big guy happy, right?

So keep up the good work, and for God's sake, get some rest - you're going to need it.

Thanks,
The Brain.

Later.

Beat-ing a Dead Horse.

I hate early Beatles songs.

Can't fucking stand them.

The radio at work is having a Beatles #1 weekend, and while I can appreciate hearing "Let it Be" and "Hey Jude", I want to switch the station the minute they play any of the early Beatles tunes.

Shit like "Please Please Me" and "I Wanna Hold Your Hand"? I'd like to go back in time and discourage Paul, John and the boys from ever recording that crap. The music and lyrics, while cutting edge at the time, really don't age well. Early Beatles are as painful to listen to as Justin Beiber.

(Yeah, I said it - I'll give you time to light torches and form a mob.)

I know that some music doesn't stand the test of time. Kid Rock's "Summertime", that everyone was singing 3 years ago, sounds crappy now. People can accept that. Why can't they acknowledge that there are Beatles songs that aged the same way?

Sometimes we have to accept that our heroes weren't great all the time. Musicians make music that doesn't age well, Artists paint things that lose relevance, and even awesome, cool, middle-aged bloggers produce the occasional shitty post now and then.

Just sayin'

Later.

Scrambling.

- I've decided Poker doesn't like me anymore. I'm basing this on the shitty cards I got and the money I lost, not because I sucked and made stupid mistakes.

- The fact that I have one week until my holidays, and two weeks until my transfer, means that I've temporarily disconnected from giving a shit about this place.

- Except for Casual Friday - I'm very connected to that. (Visually, at least.)

- Just heard a girl call her ass her "dirtbox" - Classy. I'm going to miss Oyster River.

- It's time to change the radio station here, I think. I make that design because the sound of the DJs voice makes me want to reach through the speaker and strangle him.

- It's hard to focus on one of these lists when the breakroom is full and people are talking to me, yet somehow I would be the bad guy if I stabbed them all with a pencil.

- The last two observations make me realize that I miiight have some anger issues to deal with. The best tool? Gin.

Later.

Daily Caffienation.

Today is National Coffee Day.

While I'm normally not a fan of all the made-up celebratory days that are scattered around the calender, this is one of the ones that I can get behind. (Another personal favorite - Steak and a Blowjob Day - even though it's not celebrated at my house.)

Coffee is a staple of my existence. I drink around 5 huge mugs a day, and since I gave up smoking and rarely drink, it's my only vice. (That I'm willing to openly admit to.) A day without coffee is a sad day indeed.

I like my coffee in a variety of ways:

1. XL - 2 Cream, 2 Sweetener. This is my rock, my usual, my standard of being. If I am ever in need of a transfusion of any sort, this is what they should put in instead of blood. There's a cup beside me right now, and God himself couldn't pry it from my hands. (And don't bitch to me about the Sweetener part, either - I know it's horrible and shit, but after all these years, I like the taste. - I wish the Wife would say the same thing.)
2. Venti White Chocolate Mocha. This is what Fat Me used to drink. Fat Me would pound back a couple of these every time he went out for coffee with the Sidekick. (Seems like Fat Me had more money, too - at $5 a pop, he was paying almost a penny a calorie.) When Fat me decided to become Skinny Me, this was the first thing to go. Which put me on to....
3. Skinny Vanilla Sugar-Free Latte. Not nearly as decadent as the coffee above, but I had to wean myself down to something. The Sidekick and I would battle regularly on who's coffee sounded Gayer - my Vanilla, or his Venti Hazelnut Machiatto, Extra Hot, No Foam. (I think he won.)
4. Iced Coffee. While I don't go out and order iced coffee on a regular basis (I drink hot coffee in the summertime, yo - I'm a badass), I do occasionally sneak a sip of the wife's Iced Cappuccino every once in a while. The only reason I include it on this list is because I also include Cold Coffee in this category. Yes - I'm that guy that will drink his coffee even after it's chilled to what seems like less than room temperature.

...So let's just say I reeeeeeeaaalllly like coffee.

(No shit - a search of my blog reveals 139 posts with "coffee" in them. Out of 1400+ posts. One in 10 posts about coffee? I'm almost scared to search for the words "My Penis".)

Anyway - enjoy the day, snag a free cup if you can, and relax and do something you love (May I suggest reading old Midlife Rambler posts?) while drinking one of the world's greatest beverages.






Later.

Dubious Partnership.

Let me just start by stating I just woke up from a nap, so I'm a bit groggy.

Why the nap at 10am?
Because I'm tired.

Why am I tired?
Because I've recently picked up a workout partner, and He's killing me.


As I've stated before, I'm trying to get back into shape. I want to be able to get back to my level of running that I was at before, as well as lose the spare tire that has seemed to wrap itself around my waist.

So for the past couple of weeks, I've been on my own workout schedule, alternating running and weights and having some rest days in there as well. So far, so good.

Recently a guy I used to work with (and will be working with again, after my transfer) has come back to my gym. We used to workout together all the time, and old me was always able to hold my own. I wasn't benching 3 plates a side like this guy, but I was comfortable with my progress. He's glad to be back in my gym, and we've done a couple workouts/runs together - and that's where I think he's trying to kill me.

See, he's still in shape - always has been - and I'm a guy who's coming back. therefore, there are different levels for each of us.

• While he's thinking about how good his post-workout protein shake is going to be, I'm fantasizing that donuts have no calories, so there's no need to lift this heavy bar.
• While he says that he beat me in our 5K run yesterday,(He recalls the old, faster me.) I remind him that he's the pinnacle of fitness, while my ass is the reason spandex was invented.
• He's the guy that the women in the gym drool at as they walk by. I'm the guy they assume is the accountant, who must have free membership as a perk.
• When I woke up this morning, my shoulders were so sore that I winced putting my jacket on - I assume he had no such issues, except for maybe ripping his jacket Hulk-style when he flexes.

I know that he's only trying to help, and I do appreciate it - the motivation to stay committed really helps when you have someone counting on you to be there. (The Sidekick and I both had great progress when we worked out together eons ago.) He's really positive and keeps telling me that in a couple of weeks, I'll be back to how I used to be.

I figure either that or I'll be dead.

If you're looking for my corpse, it'll be either on the treadmill or under a tremendous stack of weights. ( probably 45 pounds?)





Later.

Ramblin'.

- I'm not sure if having the Gay guy at the gym so excited that I'm working out in the mornings again is a good thing or not. That level of enthusiasm is creepy.

- The miles that used to fly by in a blink seem to drag a bit more now. Getting back to my usual pace/speed is going to be a bitch.

- I seem to always wake up at 5am now. Does that mean I'm old? Or does that only count when it's because you have to pee?

- My phone still confuses me - doesn't try to autocorrect "clitoris" - but didn't like me typing "pee".

- Ahhh, clitoris. I can spell it, and I also know where it is. Ladies, tell your friends.

- I wish that the healthiest food on earth was peanut butter. If that was the case, my body could be considered at temple to fitness and nutrition.

- Sometimes I want to send the Kids to school with Peanut Butter Sandwiches, just to see if the school calls in a Hazmat team.

- I always sleep closest to the door - it either signifies I'm a protector, or that I don't want to jump over anyone if I have to bolt for the exit.

- Have I ever stated how much I hate Dire Straits? I'd like to dick-punch every member of the band. If any of them are dead, dig 'em up - I'll dick-punch their rotting corpse.

- The contestants on the Biggest Loser always suprise me. They are amazed that they've lost weight - but isn't that what happens when you remove your head from the KFC bucket and get some exercise?

- If we get more and more bitter as we get older, does that mean by the time I'm 50 I'll be able harm people with my withering glare? 'Cause that would be neat.

- Puppets are a dying art form. Thank God. Pieces of felt that move and talk? That's the devil's work, people.

Later.

Manual Destimulation

I'm the Tech guy at work.

(I know it's the grocery business, but being the guy who deals with anything computer-related is just another hat I wear.)

Because I'm going to be transferred to another of our locations in two weeks, my boss has as job for me to do before I go: dumb down all the tech stuff I know how to do and put it in a book.

It doesn't matter that there's setup and operations manuals for all those scales, debit machines, terminals, security cameras, etc (you know, the ones I read when we installed the stuff?) - they're too hard - so I have to type out manuals of my own for them to use when I'm not around.

It's fucking boring, tedious, & harder than you think.

Taking something that I can do in minutes and breaking it down step by step is boring. Making sure that it is understandable - to someone who doesn't normally deal with the stuff - and that you haven't missed a step is more challenging than doing the job itself. Imagine you're writing a manual telling someone how to wipe their ass and you forget to explain grabbing toilet paper. Shit can get really messed up if your directions aren't correct.

So I'm having to either mentally walk myself through each step as I write it down, or actually do the job again and stop at each step to make notes. A 15min job takes 3 times as long to document. And I can't use proper terms, either, as "Insert disk drive cable into Modnet port." has to be switched to "Plug silver end of flat beige cable into the 3rd opening on the side of the scale. It will only fit in one, and only one way." - to me, the second one sounds worst than the first, but as long as they understand it, it'll work.

It's probably going to take a small part of each shift over the next two weeks to do it, but when its done I'll look like a hero. (And them being able to do the job without having to bug me will benefit me in the end.)

Just one thing I haven't figured out yet:

Should I type it out, or write it in crayon? Do you think they'd get the hint?

Later.

Rhythmic Ideas.

There are reasons that I write,
Communicating bits of my life -
The things I see from day to day
And whatever thoughts join the fray.

One reason is I think I'm funny
My outlook's bleak but also sunny
I try to tell what makes me laugh
And I publish all my social gaffes.

I'll tell you all about the gym
How running goes, sink or swim
I'll talk about work or drugs
Or if that lady has sweet jugs.

I'm middle aged, but a kid at heart
I don't want to get old, don't even start
Going on about your daily grind
I'm still fretting my receding hairline.

I like to vent and ramble and bitch
And blogging scratches that particular itch
Having others enjoy is a perk for sure
My sense of humour they must endure.

I talk of dicks, and boobs and ass
You'd think I didn't have any class
You may be right my friend indeed
But its my words you're here to read.

And I may have days where I phone it in
My mind's so full of thoughts it spins
To sort them out is a chore, you see
And sometimes the tank's completely empty.

Those are the days that you get what's here
So sit back and have a beer
And read a rambling poem, my friend
Which started well but now must end.

Later.

Coolest.

People say that kids are tough - I agree. (No matter how much you marinade them, they always are stringy and chewy.)

Now that I've grossed you out with some cannibalistic humor, lets get to the meat of the matter (bad pun): Kids.

As troubling as they can be, there are some positives to the entire experience from a "Dad" point of view. These are mine. (Of course, my kids are 5 & 8, your teenager may think you're the biggest dick ever - not my problem.)

1. You are the epitome of "Cool". - It doesn't matter how cool or uncool you were in High School or College, to your kids, you're Joe Fucking Cool and everything you do is to be admired and copied.
2. You can fix anything. - Once you fix one thing for your kids, they automaticlly assume you can fix anything else in the world. Fix a busted Optimus Prime toy? Your child now thinks you can repair a damaged Nuclear reactor. My kids think the only reason I have other people fix things (ie: roof, car) is because I want to spend time with them instead. "Dad could have welded that strut back on, but he'd rather take us to the park."
3. If you know one thing, you know everything.  - I answered a question on Jeopardy once before anyone buzzed in, and got it right. According to my kids, I'm now the smartest man alive, and can answer any question they have - from "Why is the sky blue" to "Why do some dogs squat and some lift their legs"? (Thanks for backing me up, Wikipedia.)
4. You are the best at any game, any time. - My kids saw me complete a season on NHL 11 and win the Stanley Cup, so now they think that I can finish any level on any game in less than 30 seconds. They also think that I rule at Snakes and Ladders, but that's because they don't catch me cheating.

Basically, my kids think I'm the shit.

And I'm quite alright with that.




Later.

Fblabergasted.

Today seems to be a day of rage.

I hear people howling for blood, demanding change, threatening boycotts and legal action.

You're probably thinking Libya, Egypt, or the fact that the U.S. isn't backing Palestine's application for statehood, right?

Wrong.

It's Facebook.

Facebook decided to revamp their layout again - this time it's more like a news page, with "Top Stories" and "Recent news" (I think I even Tweeted about it)- and everyone in my neck of the woods is losing their shit over the changes.

I'm almost ashamed to call some of them "Friends". (I use the apostrophes because their is a huge difference between Facebook friends and Real Friends - If you haven't figured that out already, stop reading, go grow up, and come back and read this blog when you have your big-boy pants on.)

The most impressive display of intelligence that I've seen is that people are doing one of those "Copy this into your Status" things to show Facebook their hatred for the changes. So let me get this straight - they are protesting their displeasure with the site by using it even more and encouraging others to do so as well? I'm sure these people don't understand the word "boycott". If that's the case it means you can show your Boss how much you hate your job by working harder and for less money - that'll show him.

Personally I don't care about the changes - except for the fact that Facebook thinks someone updating about their breakfast is a "Story of Interest to You" - so for now I'll just check in every once in a while until the rage dies down and people forget there ever was a change.

Just like they did last time.





Later.

Nemesis.

I encountered an old Nemesis today - one I hadn't seen in quite some time.

Every encounter between the two of us is extremely unpleasant, usually painful, and leaves me generally frustrated. There's precautions I can take so the two of us don't come across each other, but I forgot about them today - next thing I know, Bam! Nemesis.

My Nemesis?
Chafing.

Don't laugh - I went for a run today, and was wearing the wrong kind of shorts. That, coupled with my chubby-ass legs means that there's some friction going on down in the neather regions. (Not the good friction, either - that I could handle.)

I shrugged off the irritation and kept running - no pain, no gain, right? It wasn't until I jumped in the shower afterwards that I regretted my choice.

Just so you know, water hitting a chafed area is like getting an Indian Burn (do we call them First Nations burn?) from someone whose hands were soaked in kerosene and set on fire.

So my day went to shit from there.

Right now I'm shuffling around at work, trying to prevent my thighs from touching each other. (Its quite a challenge.) I'm waiting until I can go home, put something loose fitting on, and just relax.

Thanks for listening - I  just wanted to share my pain.

Later.

State of the Union.

- Today is the type of Monday that takes other Mondays, bitch-slaps them, and then sodomizes them while eating their lunch.

- When I can wake up late it throws my whole day off - I do not believe there is any amount of coffee that could get me back on track. What is the Starbucks snotty name for a half gallon cup - I'll start with one of those.

- Just heard on the radio that Trooper has 3 sold out shows in Victoria this weekend. My guess is that maximum room capacity is 14 people.

- I'm not one to make light of anyone's injuries, but I do give a dirty chuckle whenever a girl says she has bad knees.

- Quiet people bother me. It's either they don't have anything to say, or they are planning my imminent demise.

- My wife had the audacity to ask me if I play Left 4 Dead (Zombie killing game) with the kids. They're 5 and 8, for chrissakes - they'd be useless, so I only use them as spotters.

- Speaking of the Kids, I'm waiting for the first round of school sickness to occur. They are usually great until they have to hang out with other people's dirty, filthy children. And the wife won't let me wrap them in Saran wrap.

- My phone tried to autocorrect "Saran" to "Satan". I think Satan wrap would be a big seller. The KKK could wrap up the leftovers from the last cross burning.

- Saw a Gif on Reddit - had Alderann shooting first before the Death Star blows it up. Waiting for George to incorporate it into the newest raping of my childhood.

Glad I finished with the nerdiest sentence I've ever written.

Later.

To Cap It Off.

I'm a guy who wears a baseball cap practically every moment he's not at work. I'm the only person I know who thought "Sandwich Artists" have a great job because they get to wear ball caps while working, so you have to take this list with the understanding that I'm a bit biased.

I think that when making a first impression, the way you wear your hat says a lot about you. What's on it (logo, team, etc) says even more, but I'm not going to even get into that right now.

This is what I think when I see someone wearing there baseball cap any one of the following ways:

-  Curved Brim - You're casual, relaxed, and just an average guy being yourself. You could even be a cool motherfucker with his own blog and everything.

-  Bent Brim - You're a redneck. The sharpness of the bend is just a measure in degrees of your redneck-ess - the sharper the bend, the more likely you are to have multiple gun racks in your pickup, and keep trying to invite me to watch NASCAR. You're probably nice, but I will automatically label you as "Cooter" in my mind.

- Flat Brim - In this case, race pays off. I know it sounds bad, but Black guys pull this look off effortlessly. White guys? My first thought is that you're a douche. Second thought is that you're a wannabe douche, and if you have your hoodie unzipped and the hood up over your flat brim hat it will be all I can do to restrain myself from slapping you.

- Backwards - If you are doing something that requires the hat to be backwards (Jetskiing, parasailing, cliff diving) I understand. If you're just walking around with it on backwards I'm going to assume you're a narsisstic bastard who wants everyone to see his face because he thinks he's 20 times prettier than the average guy. (See: Fred Durst)

I know this only covers a few variations, but you get my point. How you wear your chapeaux (if you wear one) says just as much about you as the rest of your outfit. (Unless you're not wearing pants, then that says enough on its own.)

I could probably ramble on more, but I think you get my point. I'm sure there's those out there who disagree or think there's something I missed - but hey, that's what comments are for, right?

Later.

I Feel:

- That having 3 days off in a row is a blessing and a curse.

- That, next to masturbation, blowing away Zombies on the ol' 360 is the best stress relief ever.

- That having my kids in School allows me the time to do stuff for me.

- That not having them around for 6 hours makes me appreciate the time I do get with them.

- That true love is when you purchase shitty music for someone because you know they'd like it - even though it shames you to be seen holding the CD.

- That you know a Hockey game isn't great when you're hoping the puck flies over the glass and takes someone out just to liven things up.

- That reading the review of the Pearl Jam concert in Hamilton makes me want to see them even more.

- That I could post a link to the review, but I'm nobody's bitch.

- That when people talk to me about how fat other people are, it makes me feel skinny.

- That the reason old couples should stay together until death is because her overpowering perfume smell covers up his old man stank. (I work in retail - trust me.)

- That at times, I feel just as stupid about cars as most people do about computers.

- That because I've won the Cup in "Be a Pro" Mode in NHL11, I should just get NHL12 for free. That makes sense, right?

- That I'm not ashamed to say I don't own any R.H.C.P. albums - do I have to turn in my "cool" card now?

- That next to "Yay boobies" too much is being made of Scarlet J's leaked photos.

- That I'll admit I looked, but only because the link was there.

- That I would try to record a solo podcast, but I'm afraid it would come off as half Pee-Wee Herman, half Ted Kasinsky.

- That finding a way to end one of these is almost more difficult than hand-washing a cat.

Later.

Total Cop Out.

No Blog post today - unless this counts as a blog post, and in that case, Welcome!

I thought I'd just leave you with something I stumbled across the other day - it made me laugh, and who doesn't like to laugh? (Okay, maybe people with out tongues because they sound funny - but next to them, everyone likes to laugh.)

Nudity Probable from the irregulars on Vimeo.

See, that's some funny shit right there.

Don't get used to it, because my regular crap will be back tomorrow.



Later

Gaseous Deception.

I stopped off to get gas today, and I'm pretty sure they're fucking me over - and I'm not just talking about my wallet.

I wanted to make sure I had enough gas to last until payday, so I only put $25 in. At $1.23 a litre, it doesn't take long to complete the transaction.

Except tonight it did.

I'm at the pump, nozzle jammed in the gas tank (get your mind out of the gutter), looking around aimlessly as the tank fills. I can hear it running through the hose same as ever, and after a moment or two, I glance over to see where the total is at. (Should almost be done, right?)

I'm only at $13.

I check the dollars/liters total and it seems to line up. But it took almost another 2 minutes to hit $25.

Now either I have the fastest sounding/slowest pump ever,

OR

They're trying to hide how fast put money is going into the tanks by slowing down the whole process without making the pump seem slower. If $25 of gas only took 30 seconds to fill, we would all realize how fast they are sucking us dry. (Once again, get your mind outta the gutter - that's not the sucking I'm talking about.)

Genius, right?
Can't slip anything by me.

I've got my eye on those fuckers.

Later.

To-Done

It's the first day that both The Boys are in School full time.

It's also my day off.

I'm used to always having at least one of The Boys around on my days off, and having to feed, entertain, monitor, play with, and clean up after them. The most I ever get is an hour and a half alone while the oldest was at School and the youngest was in Preschool - I'd usually just head to the gym and get a coffee after - not much time to do anything else.

But now I have from 8:30am to 2:30pm completely wide open. It's a staggering amount of time to fill. Just today I have:

1. Gone to the Gym and worked out.
2. Ran for half an hour.
3. Made myself breakfast. (Mmm eggs.)
4. Unloaded and loaded the dishwasher.
5. Cleaned the Kitchen Counters, Cupboards, & Floors.
6. Three loads of Laundry.
7. Cleaned both bathrooms.
8. Dusted and Vaccummed.
9. Listened to Hollywood Babble-On on Smodcast.
10. Had 2 cups of coffee.

...and now I'm Blogging - and I still have two and a half hours left.

I'm contemplating going out and mowing the lawn, which means I'll still have time to shower before I have to go pick up The Boys. But if I do that now, what am I going to do tomorrow? All this free time is going to drive me mad. (I mean, really - how much masturbation can one man take? Notice I didn't put that on the "done" list - you're welcome.)

I'm sure I'll find some way to fill it. There's always pressure washing the house or staining the deck - or I could go the lazy route and get caught up on all the movies and TV shows The Sidekick is always going on about. (Who has that much free time? I'd have to watch 3 movies a day for an entire year just to break even with the shit he watches.)

I think right now I'll just flip a coin.
Heads - Mow the Lawn, Tails - it's "special time".





Later.

My Phone Thinks I'm Bilingual.

If you've read this blog before, I've made reference to the fact that I blog on my lunch quite a bit. I just pull out my phone, fire up the Blogger App that I have, and merrily type my rambling thoughts into a tiny, tiny digital keyboard.

Sure, like everyone else, I've had autocorrect bite me in the ass and replace "communication" with "condom" - but I'm not a complete retard, so I proofread before I post. (And don't blog drunk, kids - that's just silly.)

Where I have a issue with my phone is in its ability to switch to French at the push of a button - I'll be typing out a thought in English, hit the wrong key (right next to the space bar) and all of a sudden its suède école somethings thaïlandais I Fidj't intendant fo type.

(That is supposed to read "suddenly become something I didn't intend to type".)

The difference between that and the autocorrect mistake is that autocorrect is usually just one word, but hitting the French key fucks up whole sentences.

If it turned my shit writing into the suave words of a French poet, I could handle it - but it makes me sound idiotic, and I can do that all on my own.

Thanks for the help, phone, but no thanks.

Au Revoir.

Lack of Progress.

We have put men on the moon.

We can travel across the country in hours instead of days.

We can power our homes with the sun and wind.

We control the brightness of our world with the flick of a switch.

We can communicate across thousands of miles almost instantly.

We've created virtual worlds in cyberspace.

But if I want to keep paper stored neatly in book like form, I still have to put up with this:

What the fuck is up with up with that?





Later.

Unfunny Papers.

I know it's September 11th.

Like everyone else, I've been talking with other people all week long and the subject always comes down to each of us relating our "Where I was" story.

We remember those who died in the attacks, those who perished trying to help others in the hours that followed, and those who were left without a Dad/Brother/Mother/Sister/Friend.

That being said, I turned to the comics today looking for something to lighten my mood.

14 of the 21 comics were all September 11th related. Morbid, depressing stuff.

I'm not asking for a lot, just something to put a uplifting spin on life. Leave the depressing stuff to the rest of the paper - believe me - the coverage was there.

I'm just of the opinion that the comics are there to bring a bit of brevity to the paper, and not just sink us deeper into gloom. If they weren't supposed to be funny, they would all be Family Circus.

And nobody wants that.

Later.