Things I've Learned From The Grocery Store - or Why We Won't Survive The Zombie Apocalypse.

Reading the Comments from yesterday, and Tinderno's words got me thinking. I've been in Customer Service for about 25 years now, (the last 9 have been in the Grocery Industry) and the things I've seen don't give me any hope for humankind if there ever is a Zombie Apocalypse.

For Example:

Nobody Plans Anything. - The people I see on a day-to-day basis can't figure out what they want for dinner - forget planning on what they need to survive a Zombie outbreak. These are people who rush into the store Halloween night at 8:30pm wanting pumpkins to carve. Same for Christmas, Valentine's Day, Thanksgiving, whatever. Even when they know it's coming they aren't ready.

People Can't Follow Directions. - This could be the biggest downfall. We have people come into the store and ask where the bathroom is - I tell them it's at the end of asile 1, second white door, marked "Washroom". Guess how many walk into the closet (first white door) or leave out the back exit (third door)? Trust me when I say whatever you guess, it's higher. When the Undead are roaming your neighborhood and you tell another survivor to get the ammo from the 3rd drawer down, are you going to be happy when they throw you a pair of socks? I don't think so.

People Blindly Follow Anyone. - When I worked at the Arches, dressed in my Managerial best, I sometimes had to go to the Grocery store to get extra stuff. Because I kinda looked like I worked there (it's the shirt/tie combo) I'd have tons of people asking where stuff is - and I would give them what I knew were complete bullshit directions. Even though I was in the wrong colored shirt, the fact that I had a tie on was enough to have them believe me and go merrily on their way like Lemmings. After the Minions of Evil start to roam the land, the average guy is just going to follow whomever looks to be in charge, even if it's to their own doom.

People Have No Common Sense. - The amount of people who come up to me and ask (by my judgement) really stupid questions is amazing. Asking if we sell lottery tickets makes sense - some stores don't - however, asking if we sell milk (what grocery store doesn't?) is just sad. As well, coming into a small, 6 aisle store and asking if I have a kids clothing section boggles my mind. Trusting these people to make the right decision when there's rotting corpses walking around? Not likely.

People Can't Handle Change. - Seeing how the average person completely loses their fucking mind when the Debit Terminals aren't working, when they can't get their favorite ice cream (because it's not being made anymore) or when there's no newspaper because of the holiday makes me wonder how bad it will be when the global economy comes crashing down due to World War Z. People shit their pants when it's a Jersey Shore rerun, they'll go crazy when the banking/monetary systems are all gone. And because we've established how little common sense people have, the barter system will have tons of people who traded a goat away for 2 bullets.

Those are just the examples I could come up with today - and it took me longer to type it out than it did to think it up. Weep for humanity, people, because when the movies turn out to be right and everything goes to shit, the people I just described will be the first ones joining the shuffling herd.

Me? I'll be working on my cardio and picking who I'm going to trip while running away.

Later.

First World Problems.

- My alarm went off 30 minutes early because I hit the wrong button when setting it last night.
- Jumped in the shower, shaved, washed, and realized I forgot my towel - had to do the damp naked run to the linen closet.
- Made coffee, took a gulp, burned my mouth. (Not bad, but about the same level of pain as eating Capt'n Crunch.)
- Even with getting up early, left later than I like to and got stuck behind a guy who's previous occupation I assume was a tank driver in WWII - I judge this by age and speed of travel.
- The CD player in the car skipped during the whole drive.
- I forgot to bring my coffee to work. (If you know me, this is a MAJOR malfunction.)

I know in the grand scheme of things these are all "First World Problems", (ie. Compared to the starving child in Africa, my burnt mouth is nothing.) but having a day that's just continually full of shitty little things is quite maddening.

(As I type this, I know I'm sure to read a tweet later from the Home Office in Ontario saying how much he's enjoying the beer on his back deck.)

But now I've vented and moved on - the great thing about First World Problems is that they are easily solved. As for the kid in Africa, he'll have to wait until after my coffee.

Later.

-

I Feel:

- That checking my blog stats and seeing I've gained repeat visitors makes me feel warm and fuzzy.
- That if they keep coming back here, the rest of the Internet must suck ass.
- That the 10,000th repeat visitor will get a night with the Sidekick, no questions asked. (Buy him a snobby beer and anything's possible.)
- That having one of the kids who works for me point out that they can't read an analog clock makes me weep for humanity.
- That being told by another co-worker about the fantastic lunch-time sex they had makes me wish I didn't live 20 minutes away from home.
- That the previous comment is irrelevant - we all know I could do the drive there, the deed itself, and the commute back and still have time for a snack.
- That reading about the Westbro Baptist Church wanting to picket a Foo Fighters concert saddens me, Because even religious nutjobs will get to go to a concert, and I won't.
- That the creator of Lulemon deserves the Nobel Prize for Libido Stimulation.
- That I don't Tweet as much as I should, but I refuse to live-tweet my bathroom breaks.
- That although the most important person in your life should be your spouse, in reality it's the best friend who deletes your History and Porn Stash upon your death.
- That as much as I like the Beatles, I'd rather put a nail in my ear than listen to early stuff like "I Wanna Hold Your Hand".
- That immediately after reading that, the Sidekick disowned me.
- That if you call in to a radio station on a all-request weekend, are one of the lucky ones to actually get through, and ask for Nickelback - your call should be traced and a truckload of music critics sent out to curb-stomp you.
- That slowly but surely, I'm giving in to the Dark Side - but without the angsty whining about sand and my Mom.

Later.

Inception.

After my shitty work day/feel good donut binge last night, I crashed and went to bed.

Rule #1 - That much sugar before bed is NOT good for my mind. (Caffeine is the bomb, though - I drink coffee like snot-nosed kids drink NyQuil.)

I had the weirdest dream - I was working, and was losing it on some guy who was late for his shift (repressed rage, anyone?). As I was leaving the store after chewing this guy out, I walked into the sunlight - and woke up.

When I looked up, it was 7:05 - I work at 7:30, and it's a 20 minute drive away. I jumped up, started coffee, had the fastest shower/shave in history and busted my ass getting to work.

I made it to work by 7:35.

Thank God I'm the boss today, because otherwise I'd have to explain to someone that the reason I'm late is because I was dreaming about giving someone shit for being late.

And that would have made me sound like more of a nut than I am.

Later.

Pastrinomical Relaxation.

Today at work, I walked into a Clusterfuck.

None of the issues were work related, except for the fact that they happened at work. Most of it was people's dramatic bullshit and the main frustration was just having to deal with it all. The added bonus of having a guy blow off his shift and having to do his job as well as mine was just the icing on the cake.

...and it's funny I mention icing, because after I ranted my frustrations to the wife, I come home to find a freshly made coffee and donuts.

Let's just say that the donuts may not have been good for my waistline, but they were good for my soul. Each delicious bite took me juuust a bit further from my shitty day - and that can only be a good thing.

So I'd like to give props to the Wife - she somehow knew what would make my day, and came through with flying colors. (Considering the only other option to ensure my cheerfulness would have been a blowjob, I guess I should be disappointed, but whatever..Donuts!)




Later.

Smore Than Expected.

People look at me strange when I say I don't like S'mores. They stare at me like I just told them I torture puppies on my days off.

Then they always say, "Really?", like it's also something I lie about for shock value.

Why is it so hard to understand that the sickly-sweet taste of marshmallow simply turns my stomach? Or that I hate them because when you do try to eat them, they crumble and fall apart into a gooey, nasty mess? (The same reason I hate eating Tacos - Pink Taco aside - that I'm a big fan of eating.)

Graham Cracker? I like it - crush it, make a crust, put cheesecake on it, and I'll demolish it like a fat guy eating...well, cheesecake.

Chocolate? I'm a huge fan - as anyone who's seen me and a box of Reese's Pieces can testify to.

And that leaves the Marshmallow as the deal-breaker. I can't get past it. To me, the only reason marshmallow was created was to make Rice Krispies consumable by humans. (Get it? Otherwise they suck!)

Until they somehow figure out a way to make marshmallow not taste like the inside of a Smurf's asshole, I'll just keep my fireside camping treats contained to throwing puppies on the fire.

What? I never denied anything - I just said they look at me strange.




Later.

Smartphoney Pants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

MidlifeRamblings.

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

I'm a techno genius, yo.

Later.

Scrabble'd

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bring it.

Later.

Start and Stop.

Seriously - I had a post here.

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

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

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

Later.

Fasten-ating Situation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later.

I Feel:

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

Later.

Paternal Realization.

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

My Dad is Grandpa Simpson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later.

Momentary Comeuppance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Later.

Of Note.

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

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

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

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

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

I need answers, people.




Later.

Afternoon Delight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





Later.

Midlife Ramblers Episode 8 : Weekend Recap - Hangover Edition.

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

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





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





Later.

The Unusual Suspects.

The Place:
Victoria, British Columbia.

The Time:
2:30 am

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

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

Here's how it went down:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Yeah, that last pun was intentional.)





Later.

Shenanigans.

Victoria

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

Drinks

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

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

Pho

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

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

Blueberry Girl & Santa Claus

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

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

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

John Butler Trio

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

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

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

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

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





Later.

Sidekicking It.

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

The plans?

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

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

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

See? I knew you'd be jealous.

More to come.

Later.

Preempted.

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

Gotta respect the free lunch, y'all.

Later.

App-titude

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

Why, do you ask?

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

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

This could be interesting...

Later.

I Feel:

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

Later.

Tea-Totalled.

I'm really picky with my coffee.

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

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

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

Enter: Tea.

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

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

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

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

Let that thought steep for a while, eh?

Later.

Flip Flop

Holidays.

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

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

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

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




Later.

Astronomical Letdown.

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

Fuck them all.

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

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

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

What a fucking letdown.

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

Goddamn fucking clouds.

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

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

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

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




Later.

Nerd Beach

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

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

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

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



Later.

Ring of Fire.

I like spicy stuff.

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

Wrong.

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


Later.

Directional Disagreement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Later.

Shock & Awe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later.

Change it Up.

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

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

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

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




Later.

I Feel...

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

Later.

The Whole Story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that's the whole story.

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

Kinda hoping they do call...

Later.

Customer Service Can Suck My Dick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later.

Questionable Content.

So far today I have eaten:

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

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

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

Later.

Long, Green, and Lean.

..and I'm not talking about the Green Giant's dick.

I'm a huge fan of cucumbers. They are my go-to vegetable when it comes to pretty much anything - salads, sandwiches, even just plain snacking. Crisp, light, tasty - cucumbers have it all.

And yet the first guy to see me eating a cucumber sandwich on my lunch makes dick jokes about it. Now if I was dipping it in mayo and trying to cram it down my throat, I could see the joke - but really, where do you get a dick joke from a sandwich?

I would have pulled out my leftover cucumber and smacked him with it, but that would have just perpetuated the stereotype.

Much like Randall from Clerks 2, I've found a cause I believe in, and I'm taking it back. Persecute a cucumber eater at your own peril.

Viva la Cucumber!

Later.

The Grocery Store has a Dirty Mind.

After all my years in the Grocery business, I've come to realize that companies don't really take common slang into account when naming their products.

I know it's probably just my twisted frame of mind, but I always chuckle when I'm working some of these products:

- Stand 'n Stuff Tacos - This one pretty much explains itself.
- Cock Brand Sauce - Really? At least it's not white.
- Clam Nectar - I imagine this tastes nothing like I think it would.
- Mixed Nut Butter - And what do you spread it with? (ewww)
- Power Stick (Pepperoni) - Meat that gives you energy? I've been trying to sell the Wife on that concept for years!
- Dutch Crunch (sounds kinky) - I'm tempted to type this into Urban Dictionary, just to see if something's there.
- Manwich (kinda Gay) - I'm surprised the can isn't packaged in rainbows.

There's way more than that, but that is all I could recall on short notice.

So next time you see some guy chuckling to himself in the can foods asile, come up and say hi - it's probably me.

Later.

Swinging My Stick.

I got a chance to go out golfing the other day.

It's been over a year since I last golfed, and I jumped at the chance to go with some of the guys from work when it was offered.

Here's some of the things I noticed after being away from the links for a year:

- My game is still pretty much the same - shitty. I lose more balls than a group of lepers at a men's club.

- Used to be that beer cart girls were about a 10 or 11 - the economy must be killing the course, 'cause ours rated about a 4. Buck teeth, acne, and a voice like a screeching owl did make me want to drink more to dull the pain, so maybe their plan worked...

- The best part of being out is enjoying the pristine beauty of nature - and tearing it up doing donuts in the cart.

- Next to Poker, golf is the only game when you can openly and immediately mock your friend's performance. Out-driving another guy is almost as sweet as taking their money.

- Golf is one of the only sports where no one understands why you laughed because a guy is wearing a sunvisor.

- If I sold one of my children, I could almost afford a membership at the local course. (He's a ginger, so I wouldn't get much.)

- Beer just tastes better on the course.

All in all, I had a great time, and realized how much I miss getting out on a regular basis. (I miss the game too, not just the drinking.) The Sidekick and I used to go hit the links quite a bit - it was a pleasure to text him and rub it in when I was out this time.

His envious replies were almost as satisfactory as sinking a putt. (Almost.)

Later.

Dirty Mind Marketing.

I was talking to someone yesterday at work, and out of the blue, they turned to me and said "You've seen that new banned Skittles commercial, right?" .

When I said that I had seen something about it on Reddit, (a site I waste waaay to much time on) but hadn't actually seen it, they went on for the next 5 minutes about how much I'd like it.

( I would link it here, but it kept getting pulled off YouTube, so just go find it yourself - I'm not your Mom.)

I went home and checked it out, and they were right - I laughed my ass off. As we were chuckling about it this morning, someone said they were amazed that Skittles even let that commercial be made, seeing as they couldn't air it.

Now I'm not sure if Skittles did make it or not, but if they didn't, they should have. The copy that I saw was over 200 thousand views, and it hadn't even been up that long. That's a huge number of people who sat down and actually watched the commercial for your product. With having a Pvr at home, I can barely recall the last time I even more than glanced at a commercial. (Fast forward, y'all.)

So that commercial served its purpose completely. People who probably don't watch commercials actively seeked it out, just to see what the hubbub was about. (Just to say, the dialogue was great, and the Skittles money shot is fantastic.) I don't even like Skittles, and now I'm writing about them.

So kudos to Skittles, (or whomever made it) and even though they weren't the first to use sex to sell something, at least they were fresh and bold with what they did. I'm sure that other companies will soon follow suit.

At least I hope so - I'm dying to see someone sexify Paper Towel. (Don't ask why.)

Later.

Thank You.

Dear Sunshine, Dear Inventor of the Bikini top, Dear Lulemon, Dear Cut off Jeans Girl, Dear G&T, Dear Internet, Dear Running Shoes, Dear Sundress Girl:

I just wanted to say thanks. Can't get into specifics right now, but I'd like you to know I appreciate everything you do/are. The enjoyment you bring to my life is immeasurable.

Later.

Fab Recognition.

My job is like a Beatles fan club meeting.

Some days you're like John, admired for your wit and talent.

Some days you're like Paul, praised for your creativity and sincerity.

Some days you're like George, and lauded for your technical expertise and focus.

And every other day you are Ringo.

Sucks, eh?

Later.

Hero.

Let me tell you about Hero.

Hero (not his real name) is a guy I work with, and although you can't see the cape, I'm pretty sure he believes it's there, streaming majestically behind him as he goes about his day.

What irritates me about Hero (and the reason for the name), is that he will do or say practically anything to be viewed as the "good guy" at work. Need a day off and there's no one to cover? Hero will let you have it, even if it means the rest of the staff are fucked in your absence - as long as he looks good to you. He'll even tell people, after the fact, what he could have done for them if only he had known.

Hero always plays it casual. (Nothing bothers Superman,right?) He plays like getting upset about any work-related thing is waaay out of line, and that nothing ever bothers him. This blasé attitude really hasn't endeared him to myself or others. (Fuck, dude, at least Batman gets mad sometimes.)

I've realized that there's no point in calling Hero on his bullshit either - he just slips the Hero cape on, tells you what he thinks you want to hear, toes the line for a couple of days, and then resumes his retarded behavior. The powers that be choose to let it happen because "That's just how he is". (I guess they think he's from Kyrpton, so it's fine.)

As a person, I have no problems with Hero - we're actually alike in a lot of ways - it is just the "wanting to please everyone" attitude that bugs me. With the job and responsibilities we have, you just can't everyone what they want.

I know that short of kyrptonite, there's not much that can be done to change the behavior, and since I haven't seen any meteors crash near here, I'm shit out of luck.

I guess I'll just be patient and be grateful that it's just an imaginary Hero cape, and that he's not busting out the tights as well.

That would be too much.

Later.

Dear 18 Year Old Me:

I'm sending this to you from THE FUTURE!

Right now, I'm 39, and I thought I'd reach back into the past and give you some tidbits of advice that might make your life a bit easier in the coming years. I can't tell you anything that's incredibly life altering (Skynet won't let me.), but you can help me out now by following these instructions:

•  As tasty as they are, put the donut DOWN. Seriously - believe me on this.
• Quit smoking - Both you and I know that you look incredibly cool with a smoke and a beer in your hand, but I can tell you that eventually you'll be quitting anyway, and in 2011 everyone thinks smokers look like idiots.
• Don't buy anything on cassettes or CD's - mooch off your friends if you have to. There's going to be a couple of format changes coming down the pipe, and why buy it all again?
• As crazy as it sounds - start running. You'll find that you like it, and if you get a good foundation now, my times will improve. I'll be the fastest 39 year-old around.
• Stretch - those dirty hippies talking about yoga? They're onto something.
• As soon as you can, get High Speed Internet. Don't ask me what the fucking Internet is - just remember and get it when it's available. P.S. Dial up is not high speed.
• Don't give up on Pearl Jam - you'll regret it.
• What did I tell you about that fucking donut? DOWN, dammit!
• Go see more Movies. Good movies - and Firefox doesn't count as a good movie.
• Make friends with a nerd. if he tells you he's thinking of writing software for a startup in California or being an engineer for gas companies, he's your new best friend.
• I can't remember if you're wearing them now, but switch to boxer briefs. Sooo much more comfortable, and way better than that silk boxer-thing ya got going on now.
• Don't quit hockey - go back.
• Learn to type. I know it sounds gay, but do it. You would have received this letter way earlier if I had learned to type properly. (That grade 8 typing class we got kicked out of? Who knew?)
• Those vegetable things on the side of the plate? Eat 'em. 
• If I have to mention the Donut again, I'll spoil what happens to your cat.

I know your sitting scratching your head through that luxurious mane of hair that you have, but as strange as it seems, I do know what I'm talking about. There's going to be a lot of shit going down in the next 21 years, and hopefully this will make it a lot easier on both of us. I'd love to give you stock tips and hints on the next 21 Hockey seasons (The Jets are back, baby!), but it would be too much change and we'd both be fucked.

Do what I said, don't be lazy, and keep wrapping it up.




Later.


...and quit with the donuts, already - I wasn't fucking kidding.

p.s. Totally kidding about that Skynet thing.

Over Rambled.

I seem to be a pretty popular guy - at least today, that is.

It seems that since I've come to work today, I've had more people wanting to talk to me about random shit than anything even closely work related.

Some of the things I've had people talk to me about today:

- Holiday plans.
- Gardening (and I have the blackest thumb EVER)
- Ripped pants.
- Monkeys (Dont even ask)
- Government of Canada letting Vancouver Island be its own Province. (Complete nutjob had this idea.)

I'm not sure why these people chose to talk to me about this shit, but even with cutting each conversation short and putting on my "scowl" face, listening to their crap seemed to drain valuable seconds off my life.

I should make note that these topics weren't short and quick, either, they were painful. The "Holiday" one, for instance, wasn't just "I'm going on Holidays!", it was an extended explanation of the itinerary for what appears (at least to me,) to be the most boring vacation ever.

But still, this person felt the need to to tell me.

Maybe it's phermones or something. Maybe I was giving off the "I give a shit" vibe.

..I'm going to have to work on that.

Later.

Run, Fatboy, Run.

These are the things I learned on my run today:

• With the amount I sweat, there's no chance of any headphones staying securely in my ears unless I use Superglue and clamps.
• A five-year-old on a bike is not the best choice to pace you.
• The attention span of said five-year-old is about the same as an teenager with ADD after 6 energy drinks.
• After not running for weeks, that first mile is painful.
• So is every other mile after the first.
• After not running for weeks, you notice things that jiggle - things that didn't jiggle the last time you ran.
• These jiggles distract you from the pain of running - hopefully, by the time the jiggles are gone, so is the pain.
• Dog shit is everywhere.
• The track sucks.
• There is nothing greater after a run than a hot shower.
• I just realized I'm crazy enough to do it all again tomorrow.

Later.

I Feel:

- That no matter which way the rest of this summer plays out, be it drought or downpour, Al Gore will sit back and say "Told you."

- That since I just faxed a blank piece of paper to an order desk, I should be less judgmental on who I call a "retard".

- That I want to compete in the Tour de France - just because blood doping sounds so neat.

- That I would look much like the Michelen Man if you squeezed me into bike gear.

- That if I were to win the lottery, a good portion of my life thereafter would be spent attending concerts. (Would Dave Grohl consider that stalking?)

- That instead of typing "my", my phone autocorrected to "KY"... which means I'm either texting about Kentucky or lube more often than myself.

- P.s. I don't know anyone in Kentucky.

- That some people's Social Filter are either set to "Low" or "Off", and the rest of us suffer the consequences.

- That the previous statement doesn't apply to me of course.

Later.

Shore 'Nuff.

Why would you watch Jersey Shore, when you could just go to the zoo and watch monkeys fuck and throw shit at each other?

Someone please explain it to me.

Or maybe I'd rather not know.

Later.

Caffeinated Disaster.

- Ode to my spilled cup of coffee.

Your passing was a shock,
One I care not to repeat.
You've left me feeling empty,
And staring at my feet.

I see you everywhere I look,
There's no escaping you.
Looking at the shattered remains,
I'm lost without a clue.

I had such great plans for us,
Together through the night.
But now that's been ripped away,
And all that's left is blight.

A blight upon the counter,
And all over the door -
Oh curse my clumsy elbow,
That knocked you to the floor.

I didn't mean to do it,
I just couldn't stop.
There's no way to replace you,
Short of wringing out the mop.

I know they just won't get,
Just what you meant to me.
Where I see hope & joy & love,
They just see coffee.

- I think we should have a moment of silence and contemplate what could have been.

.........

Thanks.

Later.

MidlifeRamblers Episode 7: Mastery of the Geek Haiku.

Oh yeah, we ramble on about Transformers too. (And everything else in our worldview, too.)




Later.

I ♥ Dave Grohl.

....just another reason to show the Foo Fighters (and by inclusion, Dave) some love.

Best Line Ever - "You don't come to my show and fight - you come to my show and fucking dance, you asshole!"




He can do no wrong.



Later.

Calling an Audible.

When you call the Workplace, you will generally be greeted by 1 of 3 ladies who work in the office area and handle the majority of calls.

They will then get on our intercom system and announce who the call is for and what line to pick up.

These women each have a very distinct sound to their voice, and I can only describe them as The Wheezer, The Nazi, and The Porn Star.

The Wheezer has the most nasal voice I've ever heard. That, combined with the fact that she holds her mouth so close to the phone that you can hear the exaltation of each breath, makes it seem more like an obscene phone call from the Geek Squad than an announcement.

The Nazi, believe it or not, is actually a French-Canadian woman. Unfortunately her accent and incredibly abrupt and bitchy tone make it seem like she'd be more comfortable paging Mr.Goebbels to the camp gate than me to Line 2.

The Porn Star is my age, and I believe that she believes she could possibly be the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe. It's the only reason I can find that she would answer every call and announce each page in the same sultry tone as Marilyn singing "Happy Birthday" to JFK. She sounds like a retired phone sex operator who's just doing it to keep busy on the weekends.

Needless to say, everytime I hear the telltale "ping" before an announcement comes over the speaker a part of me looks forward to see who it's going to be and the other part covers it's ears and wishes for the peacefulness of public radio to return.

....and we all know how I feel about public radio.

Later.

Shameful Eating.

What I had on lunch today:

- Coffee
- Pepperoni Cheese Puff
- Chicken Salad
- 2 Mini Donuts
- 1 piece of Pepperoni.
- Handful of Cashews.

Don't fucking judge me - I feel fat enough on my own.

Later.

P.s. Cashews autocorrected to "Cashiers" ...that would be a COMPLETELY different lunch.

Sunday Observance Pt 2.

To continue with my rant about the Sunday Funnies:

- Zack Hill: This is the comic that made me want to write this in the first place. The art sucks, the story is horrible, and it seems to have just become about what witty shit the dog says. (And it's not clever-funny, either - it doesn't even register on the scale.)

- Dog Eat Doug: Attention Zack Hill - this is how you make a comic with a dog as a central character. While not always incredibly entertaining, at least I don't feel number for having read it.

- Rudy Park: Coffee, technology, and bitchy old people complaining about not understanding society? Works for me.

- Hagar: Really? They still draw this one? I figured they just reprinted it over and over because almost every joke is the fucking same! It get it - he's a Viking who's a slob..uh, ok? Today was special because it ended with the wife a daughter realizing they belong in the kitchen. (Thanks 1940!)

- Luann: Dear Luann: Please read Zits and learn what funny is. Dear Luann Artist: For chissakes, learn to draw a face.

- Garfield: Enough already - just stop. Hasn't been funny since I was 3.

- Dilbert: I used to hate this comic. I found it utterly inane and pointless. Now I visualize Bish workin in the sweatshop, and I laugh my ass off. (Sorry Bish.)

In closing this rant, you can see that there is some good and some bad to be had in the Sunday Funnies. Okay, mostly bad - but I must be a glutton for punishment, because I keep coming back. I guess when you're raised on them, its hard to break the addiction. (Just like heroin!)

Later.

P.s. Please kill Zack Hill - seriously. My 8 year old could draw, and my 5 year old could write, better material.

Temptation.

As usual, I'm on lunch at work right now, and there's trouble brewing.

What trouble could happen on a lunch hour, you ask?

First, get your mind out of the gutter, I'm not talking about that.

The trouble I'm referring to involves the fact that there's chocolate cake in the fridge right now.

CHOCOLATE FUCKING CAKE.

And there's even a note attached to it - "Help Yourself".

What kind of sick individual would do something like that? Why would they mess with my head?

Do you realize how tempting that is? That's like putting water in front of a duck, except there's acid in the water, and the duck knows there's acid, but he still wants to swim in that cool fucking water, and flap his little ducky wings and enjoy himself.

You see what I mean? (Re-reading that, even I don't know what I meant.)

I'm just going to pretend it isn't there. I'll just ignore it. I'll ignore every sugary slice, every morsel of tasty chocolate.

After all, it worked for the duck.

Later.

Poetry at Work.

I think that I should never work,
With midgets, clowns, or random jerks.
I know that I would rage away,
And not do any work those days.

The rage would not be at the clowns,
Who tumble, bumble, and sometimes frown.
Those merry makers are kinda neat,
With ugly hats and floppy feet.

And midgets, if I can call them that,
Certainly deserve no flak.
And they would not get any from me,
Less they hurt me at my knees.

But it's the random jerks you see,
Who fill me up with rage daily.
They are such goddamn fucking pricks,
That I would punch them in the dick.

A dick-punch, you say? How rude, how crass,
But easier than kissing ass.
For these jerks do not seem to see,
That retail is not slavery.

Mine is not the part to play,
Granter of their wish-per-day.
I have a service that fills a need,
And it isn't to do their shallow deeds.

I wish the day would come to soon,
That someone would please make me swoon.
And take the random jerks away,
To somewhere far from my gaze.

But I'll be patient and I'll wait,
Until that very special date.
And I'll hold back that special dick-punch,
Because my story is over, I'm back from lunch.

Later.

Fourteen Hundred.

1400 posts.

That's a lot of bullshit over the last 7 years. (I'm not saying it's all shit, but the amount of times I talk about my penis is rather startling.) When asked what I write about, I find it difficult to describe - I'd say that it's the contents of my mind filtered only by my limited vocabulary and the time needed to write it down.

It just occurred to me that digitally, I'm like Jack from Fight Club - except instead of my ramblings taking up hundreds of paper journals in a run down house on Paper Street, it would all fit neatly on a USB drive that could be flushed down a Campbellton toilet. (That doesn't say much for what I think of the quality of my writing.)

It's always nice to hit a milestone - but I only noticed when I logged in and saw the post count number, and decided to write about that.

What was my other topic, you ask? Take a guess - it's either extensionalism or my dick - with this place, you never know.


Later.

Cinematic Recollection.

I watched "National Lampoon's Vacation" last night, and there were moments when the 1983 classic took me back to being a 12 year old boy again.

Sure, there was Christie Brinkley - the car, the hair, the strip tease with Chevy Chase by the pool - all great scenes. But the part that takes me back the most is Beverly D'Angelo in the shower - pretty sure they were the first pair of boobs I ever saw on the big screen.

My reaction to them wasn't what it was back then (boner alert!), but I enjoyed the memory nonetheless.

The other scene that amazed me was Chevy's f-bomb laced rant to his family in the car. The younger me must have blocked it from memory, but the older me can certainly relate.

Later.

Sunday Observance, Pt. 1

Dear Sunday Funnies:

Having been a loyal reader of yours for years, I've become accustomed to a certain level of quality in your product. As of late, I have noticed a distinct drop in what I would consider "funny".

If I may, I'd like to give you a rundown of the paper, and give you some general feedback to do with as you wish:

- Zits: This is a great way to start the funnies section - good comic, sometimes not 100% on the laugh-o-meter, but relevant to many generations of readers.

- Get Fuzzy: Fucking brilliant - never change this comic or I will hunt you and possibly commit some sort of painful...thing, something that I'm not willing to describe right now.

- Grand Avenue: Today's comic was about back pain. Let me repeat that - BACK PAIN. What's next in this Grandmother comic? Something funny about gout? Maybe a rib-tickler covering menopause?

- Sherman's Lagoon: I have to admit that I kinda like this one. There's something about dumb sharks, greedy crabs, and passive-aggressive turtles that just works.

- Heart of the City: If you could get this comic to just be about the funny/nerdy friend, and skip all the single mom/eccentric girl bullshit, it would be good.

- Baby Blues: As a parent, I find this comic amusing. Also as a parent, I find that if these were my kids there would be a lot more comics about smacking the kids around.

- One Big Happy: What? Another parent/kid/grandparents comic? How original! And look! This one is just like the others - shitty! Lippy girl, snarky boy, absent parents - where's the humor again?

- Rose is Rose: This comic tries to be so feel-good and cutesy that the only way I can even glance at it is to imagine that what we are being shown is all the random imagined realities of the title character as she is locked away in some asylum. (At first I thought Meth-head, but then realized anyone that messed up would probably be locked away.)

- The Other Coast: You know that comic that tries to hard and fails? Sometimes, you can appreciate that. This is not that comic. The fail is there, alright, but I don't think the try is even on the map.

- Mutts: This comic has two gears - stupid and even more stupid.

- Rhymes With Orange: I have to give this one credit - it tries very hard to fill that "Far Side" void. It doesn't do it very well, but at least the effort is there, right?

- Tina's Groove: The guy-who-deals-with-customers in me loves this comic - purely for being able to relate. However, the guy-who-knows-what's-funny in me hates every mind-numbing moment.

- Pearls Before Swine: I'll give the Sidekick credit - he was onto this way before me. Sometimes it falls flat, but mostly it's gold.

- Tundra: Tries waaaaay to hard to be "Far Side". Good thing there are 3 comics in its group, because 2 of them usually suck.

And that's only half the section - there's sooooo much more to get into - but since its God's day of rest and not mine, I have to go back to work. But believe me, I'll cover the other half next Sunday.

Later.

-

Prophetic Disagreement.

I'm calling it now.

I'm making a prediction, and I'm sticking by my guns.

The radio station at work is playing their "Canada Day Long Weekend Countdown" of the 500 greatest "hits" of all time, and while I can't predict what song they will have selected to lead the pack, there is one thing I can predict:

Whatever song they have as #1, I'll pretty much disagree with it - just based on the fact that public radio doesn't no what the fuck they are talking about.

My one joy would be the off chance that they pick U2, for the simple fact that I know the Sidekick would lose his shit if Bono was picked first in anything.

Thanks in advance, public radio, I know you won't let me down.

Later.

Freedom.

As much as I love my kids, last night/this morning was a shock.

The Sister-in-Law had the boys for a sleep-over last night, and while that's nothing new, it usually happens when I work early the next day, so I don't get to reap the benefits of a morning to myself.

This morning was different.

Got up, had coffee, shower, etc, and then got to actually sit and watch the morning news without anyone climbing all over me or demanding my attention. It was a teasing reminder of what life was like before kids.

I'm glad I got to enjoy it, because they will be back tonight.

....and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Later.

Driving Me Crazy.

Fuck me, summer's here.

I know the weather outside doesn't show it, but to many people, once the kids are out of school it's summer.

I can sure tell it's here, based solely on my drive to and from work.

I know the Sidekick and those of you who live in the big city may scoff, but for it to take me more than 15 minutes to drive to work is absolutely retarded.

Today was almost 25.

Now in the city, I can understand that traffic problems are caused by simple volume and time of day, and I can accept that. Here, however, the main traffic delays are just because some idiot is driving along looking at the ocean or almost anything else but paying attention to what he's doing.

It's maddening.

I really think that the time has come for every vehicle to have a hands-free phone, and said phone could be called by dailing the licence plate.

That way I could call the asshole in front of me, tell him to fucking pay attention, push that little pedal on the right, and maybe I can get somewhere TODAY.

See? Problem solved.
All it would take is a bit of communication. (With extreme prejudice.)

I know - imma fkn genius.

Later.

Blank.

Since I can't really think of anything to write about right now, I'll just leave you.with this sweet clip of the JBT.

Did I mention it's less than 2 months until the concert?

Watch "Funky Tonight - JBT - Official Clip" on YouTube

Oh yeah....

Later.