Lip Service.

I have a cold sore.

You know, that sounds a lot better than saying "I have an outbreak of Herpes Simplex Virus (Type 1) on my lip." (What did Eddie Murphy say? - "You keep that shit like luggage.")

I get cold sores occasionally. They usually arrive in times of stress, or when my body is run down. Right now, I think it's mostly the former. (Fuckin' Christmas - this time of year drives me nuts.)

They don't usually get that bad or even really noticeable, but I always feel like I look like that kid from Mask.

I normally stock up on the ol' Blistex here and just keep that baby moisturized. (If only all of life's issues could be solved by keeping them moisturized.) It normally goes away in a day or two. I hope that it's not too prominent in any of The Boy's birthday photos tomorrow.

Nothing I can do but wait it out.

And drink from a straw.

(Timmy's Coffee through a straw! It'll be all the rage!)

Later.

Talent's In The Jeans.

(A little wordplay in the title - hope you don't mind.)

The Boy had his first Christmas pageant the other day.

His preschool has been teaching the kids two songs for about the last month. Yesterday was the the day that they got to show off their stuff. I wasn't able to go because I had to work, but I did get to see the Videotape. (Normally the only video I see is porn-related, so seeing a Christmas pageant was a new experience for me.)

The Boy is a total ham.

I'm watching this on T.V. while The Boy is sitting on my lap. The tape starts up and shows the children lined up getting ready to sing. The music starts, the kids are singing, and I notice that The Boy's mouth isn't moving in time to the song. (He looked like bad Japanese Dubbing - I was almost expecting subtitles.) He wasn't even singing. Oh, he was going through the motions, and if he had been in sync it would have looked like he was leading the troupe. I turned to him and asked if he was singing in the video. He looks at me and says "Not this song, Daddy." He goes on to sing the next one wonderfully. When I asked he said he didn't really like the song, but he liked being up there on the stage, so he faked it.

My Son - The Milli-Vanilli of preschool.

I'm not sure if I should be outraged or not.

Seeing him up there was excellent. He does actually have a lot of talent in that area.
He can remember some lyrics to songs almost instantly. (Even the crappy stuff other people expose him to.) He doesn't know it, but he's getting a guitar for Christmas. He'll use it's power to score chicks, I just know it.

And thus the seed of my lions starts to bloom.

Later.

Workaholic.

Today was a Bad Day.

Not for any particular reason, but for a multitude of little ones.

I found almost everything that I had to accomplish at work today was dogged by tiny, annoying setbacks. No matter what task I was involved in, I was sure to come across something that would either slow it down or make it just that much more of a pain in the ass to do.

I usually voice my displeasure, but today I didn't. If you looked at each thing that was pissing me off, it would seem like I was being a whiny bitch. It's only when you look at it as a whole and its effect on my day that the reason for my displeasure is clear and understandable.

Every day that I work I like to accomplish a set number of tasks. I list them out and prioritize them. If I don't get that list done by the time my shift is supposed to be over, I'm pissed.
Call me crazy, call me anal, but it works for me.

I saw a cartoon once that said:

"God put me on Earth to accomplish a certain number of things. Right now I am so far behind that I will never die."

That pretty much sums it up.

Back to it tomorrow.
If it's bad again I just might have to stab someone with a pencil.

A dull pencil.

Later.

10 Things....

I want to do before I die.

1. Skydive. - Really. I mean it. It'll probably be the way I go out- but what the hell- you've got to try it once, right?
2. See Europe. - I'd really like to see some of the sights and just get a feel for the history. I don't live in a young country, but compared to Europe Canada is barely a teenager.
   
3. Have Coffee with Kevin Smith and Dave Grohl. - You know it would be bitchin'. I would start smoking again just for that time period. So we could all smoke together..like brothers.
   
4. Drive a Hot Car. - Porsche, Lambo, Aston Martin, whatever. Just something that is insanely expensive and fast. I'll try not to hit anything with it.
5. Go to Disneyland. - Yes I have never been there. I'd like to go twice. Once for me and once for the kids.
6. Go Backstage. - I'd like to party with the band. What band? Well it would have to be a personal favorite. I really don't want to sit around and watch Metallica cry and then have a circle jerk.
7. See the Playboy Mansion. - I've been to Vegas. The Mansion is the only other hedonistic center I know of in North America. The others? Why do you think I want to go to Europe?
8. Fire a Bazooka. - I'm a man. Loud boom very funny. Me like make mass destruction.
9. Write a Novel. - If you add up all the words I've typed in this blog since I've started, I bet I have a novel already. Maybe I should just print and bind it all together. We could call it A Steaming Piece of Shit: One Man's Thoughts on the Internet. (Just a rough working titlte, but still....)
10. I do have a Tenth thing, but it's a sexual one, so I'm not going to put it out in the public eye. Take a guess, I think you just might know what it is.

Later.

Mobile Madness

I like my cell phone.

I thought I'd get that out front, before I go off and rant about the things that piss me off about cell phones. (There are a couple - I thought I'd share them with you.) I just don't want anyone to accuse me of being a hater and start screaming "Luddite!"

1. I know it's been addressed so many times, but do people really believe that by talking loudly throughout their whole conversation it must improve the signal reception? There's no expectation of privacy when I can hear you talk about your day from 30 feet away. (I'm sure your Mom's goiter will clear right up.)
2. I think I've said it before, but I believe that cell phones have robbed 50% of the population of their ability to make any decision. If they come up against something they are not sure of, they just phone the other 50% and have them make the choice. I've personally witnessed someone call another person 3 times in the course of 15 minutes to decide what to have for dinner. Thank God it's not a life or death situation.
   
3. Ringtones. - Forget first impressions. You can have a stellar first impression with someone, but the minute they hear your "Tickle Me Elmo" ring tone, you are back to being a freak. People seem to look at a ring tone as another way of expressing themselves. Let me tell you - if your ring tone is "My Humps" - You're a slut.

That's it. That's what frustrates me about cell phones right now. Forget dropped calls and roaming charges, I'm pissed about all the retards out there that have access to cell phones.

Until the cancer eats away their brains, there is nothing I can do.

Later.

Hit The Wall.

I've been trying to think of something to type.

Nothing's happening.

The lights are on but nobody is home.

You keep on knocking but you can't come in.

I could post shitty catchphrases all night, but you only come here for the good quality stuff. If I just meandered on, you'd think I was crazy.

I'll take a night off and let all the semi-coherent thoughts I have simmer and bubble. Tomorrow you all might just get a big helping of brain stew. Yum!

Betcha you are looking forward to that, aren't ya?

Later.

I'd Love To Be A Weatherman.

You don't even have to get it right.

Last week we had some pretty huge storms. Wind, rain, huge gusts and lots of damage. Pretty wild.

They've been saying for the last two days that we are going to be hit tonight with a storm bigger and harder than the last one. Be prepared and stay indoors - the radios and all T.V. news programs were saying it. Storm of the year material.

Tonight?

I just got in from shoveling my driveway.

There wasn't snow called for in any forecast that I saw.
The wind? Non-existent.
Good job picking up on that one, Geniuses.

I'd kill for a job where I didn't have to be correct about anything.

Show up, stand in front of a green screen, and just say whatever comes to mind.
People have become so used to inaccurate weather forecasting that they just assume that the guy is going to be somewhat wrong and plan accordingly.

People counting on me to be wrong at my job?

I'd be the star of the show, Baby.

Later.

Fucked Up Fairy Tale.

So tonight before I put The Boy to bed, I'm reading him a story.

Normally we read Disney stuff, or something from Dr. Seuss, but tonight we went with a classic: Rumpelstiltskin.

(The boy is the one that picked it out - I was glad that he wanted to read something that's been around for a while and not some contrived, modern, wish-washy politically correct book that is so boring it's putting me to sleep as well.)

What a fucked up story.

I haven't read this thing since I was a kid; I know the generalities like everyone else - straw into gold, guess the guy's name - pretty standard stuff. But to read this thing again out loud just makes me realize how messed up it is.

1. The Miller has a beautiful daughter. He loves her so much. What does he do? Gives her to the King. He doesn't sell her - he gives her away. Like a piece of meat. (Or bag of flour. He is a miller after all.) Oh- as an incentive he makes up a lie that she can turn straw into gold. If that was true, do you think he'd be giving her away?
2. The King takes her, locks her in a room and tells her to make gold out of straw or die. (I bet she's soooo glad her Dad put her in that situation.) In order to escape death, she makes a deal with a mean little troll-man. (Haven't we all made a deal with a mean little troll-man at sometime in our life?) She offers him her first born. She really sucks at negotiating.
   
3. When the King finds out she was able to do it, he marries her. (Two traits you want in a wife: Straw into gold and Swallowing.) She accepts. This guy was going to KILL her, and now she's going to marry him? What if he asks her to drink milk and piss a chocolate shake?
4. The new Queen is already breaking deals. When Rumpelstiltskin comes for the first born, she cries and complains and asks for another chance. He tells her if she can guess his name she can keep her child. Who goes from first born to "guess my name"? I thought the chick was a shitty negotiator, but this guy is retarded.
5. Proof of retardation: Not only does he give her three days to guess his name, but during those three days he goes around singing his name out loud. Turning straw into gold must be his only talent, because it sure isn't common sense.
   
6. In the end, after she guesses his name, he stamps his feet and falls through the floor never to return. Death by tantrum? I appreciate the lesson we are trying to teach the kids here, but couldn't the author have come up with something a little more spectacular?
   

The whole story basically revolves around imprisonment, extortion, and selling people into slavery. What wholesome reading for my child to learn from. I'm sure I'll find him trying to trade his Little Brother for half of a day-old cheese sandwich. (Did I mention that the book teaches shitty negotiating?)

I'll have to start re-reading some of these old "classics".
Someone has to think of the children.

Later.

My Friends Car.

I'm in the Sidekick's Ride.

Not right now, but I've been using it lately.

The Sidekick is away in the Frozen North right now, and he's letting me drive his car while he is gone. It's a nice little car, handles well, gets good mileage, and overall it is a very nice ride.

But it's got a funky smell.

I'm not sure if it's something that's gone bad or if it's the cumulative effect of the Burrito & Diet Coke farts that he lets out while he is in there. But something isn't right. (Anyone who's seen his apartment will understand.)

It's not like it's a bad smell. Not rotting corpse in the trunk or anything. (God I hope not.) I don't even notice it after a couple of minutes. It's only when I get in and out of the car. I'm going to get an air freshener and change the smell a little bit. (Lavender, anyone?) He'll love that.

I'm not dissing him. Really I'm not.
I'm grateful that he's letting me use the car.
(He'll never let me use it again after this, but I'm sure he'll forgive me in time.)
I think he'd be more offended if I critiqued the music he has in the car than anything else.

To the Sidekick:
Thanks for letting me drive your ride, brother. It'll be gassed up, clean and sparkly when you come back. If you want that back-home feeling, I'll drop a bomb in there before I pick you up at the airport.

Later.

Loud And Clear.

At work we use an intercom/page system.

It's handy to have is such a large area, and it's used for all types of reasons: notification of phone calls, calling for assistance, or looking for someone.

There is one girl who I work with who seems to use the intercom way more than anyone else.

She'll call for the slightest reason. She'll call looking for you if you are 3 feet from her. She'll call for other people, preempting their use of the system. It's like she figures she's the only one who can use the damn thing.

The main problem is that her voice sounds similar to two rabid cats fighting in a tin box. It's not a pleasant sound, it's a screeching caterwaul that wounds the eardrums and pieces to the depths of your soul. The minute I hear the first few syllables come out I want to rupture my eardrums with a pen, just for a moment of sweet silence.

I don't think she knows how all of us hate it when she uses the intercom. I've tried to tell her to tone it down a bit, and not to use it all the fucking time, but I just don't think she understands. I think I'll have to say something really mean just to get her attention, after which she'll call my boss - using the intercom.
(It's a no-win situation.)

I'm hoping that she will eventually learn to ease up; but until then I'll just stick with letting the homeless guys lick her coffee cup. (That will give her laryngitis, right?)

I'm willing to try anything.

Later.

Trim The Tree

I must have missed a memo.

Maybe there was an e-mail I missed while looking at porn.

I didn't see anything in the local paper.

There has to be a reason why everyone looks at me strange when I tell them I don't have my Christmas Tree up yet. They look at me like I just stepped out from the Dark Ages, or maybe I'm speaking Martian or some gibberish they don't understand.

So what if my tree isn't up yet?

Why people put so much idealism into a dead tree (or a hunk of plastic resemblimg a dead tree) is beyond me. If you want somewhere to stack the presents - just put them in any free corner that isn't full of rotting flora . (The tree just takes up valuable present space anyway.) Or put it on a table, on the floor, does it really fucking matter?

Yes, the tree is a focal point and provides a nice backdrop for photos, but it's still one of those traditions that just doesn't make sense when celebrating Christmas. (Jesus and lumber didn't get along at the end if I recall correctly.) So why do we honor it so?

I think I'll save myself a lot of grief and just go chop one down and let it rot where it is. It can drop all the dead needles it wants on the Forest floor - it's a much better choice than my living room carpet.

Later.

#@$%* Computer.

I should just Nuke it from orbit.

I got the printer problem solved, and then it seemed like my 'puter hiccuped and said "Fuck It." As punishment, it wouldn't let me connect to the Internet. (It wasn't a cable or box problem, I checked - it seems it was a Windows issue.)

Now seeming as it was letting me connect this morning, and seemed to be working while I was updating the printer drivers, you think that it would work now.

Not so.

Nothing would work - I even went so far as to try System Restore!
No dice.
Eventually I could get it connecting through Safe Mode, but as everyone knows, working in safe mode is like juggling with mittens on.
I'm still not 100% sure what I did to get it working again, although I'm sure that my numerous curse words had to have some effect. I was almost ready to perform CPR if all else failed. (CPR = Computer/Pudding/Revolver. Not a pretty sight.)

But I got it working, and that's what counts.

I can Bank, Play Poker (Yay!) Blog, and Illegally Download music.
I'm (re)connected to the world.

All is Good.

Later.

@#$%& Printer.

I just spent fifteen minutes fucking around with my printer.

(And not in a good way, either.)*

I never use the damn thing.
I can't recall the last time I printed anything, but I need some documents for work. So I fire the old beast up, (that's it, pictured on the right) and it proceeds to tell me it's out of Black ink.

Fine.

I go to get the ink cartridge refilled at one of those discount filler places, and it turns out they weren't able to do it. So I get a generic cartridge at the office supply store. I get home and put it in, and then for some reason the whole thing freezes up. It slows my whole computer down. I un-install and reinstall the printer, and even when I'm doing that it's a bit funky. (Everything else on the computer is okay and running at lightning speed.)

Finally, by the grace of God, I get it installed.

Now it tells me it's out of Color ink.

I just about put it through the wall.

Piece of shit. (I'll deal with it tomorrow.)

Later.

*Is there a good way to fuck around with a printer? I don't think so, but I'm sure that somewhere out there there is a guy with a printer fetish. And probably pictures too, if you looked hard enough. Ewwww....

Before I Had Kids...

1. Meals at restaurants were a relaxing occasion. Now they are efforts in damage control.
2. Shopping was simple. Pick stuff up, go to checkout, pay and leave. Now it's a effort not to have have the store pulled into the buggy. Strap them down? Seems reasonable, but then people look at you funny.
   
3. Waiting in any line was not an issue. Now it is a challenge of mental endurance and creative distraction.
4. The "Quick run to the store" was actually quick. Now it's like an expedition into Darkest Africa. See you in six weeks.
5. Sleep was not a long-forgotten memory. Waking up at noon was not uncommon. Now - I can't recall what real sleep is anymore. Sleeping in means 8am - If I'm lucky.
   
6. I had disposable income. Now every time I look at an XBox 360 I see my child's future, hanging on the edge of the toilet. DVD's? No thanks - these diapers I got will have to do instead.
7. I only had to have the answers to things I cared about. Now I have to have the answer for everything. "I'm not telling you why poo is brown, okay? It just is."
8. I would Rock & Roll all night and Party every day. Now I find rocks in pockets and party PG-style.
9. I never knew what other peoples mucus looked or felt like. I can't say that anymore.
10. I could walk around the house naked all day long. Now I can only do it during naptime.
    

As you can tell by the above, it's been a trying day.

It's amazing how sometimes going to work can feel like time off.

But the minute I hear "I love you, Daddy." - It's almost worth it all.

I'm out of here - I meed my nap.

Later.

Changeover.

As I mentioned before, I won a new cell phone at the Staff Party.

(Once again, Yay for me!)

I've switched my service over and it's all good. That seemed to be the easiest part of the job. The biggest pain in the ass is reprogramming all the numbers and shit that I have for everyone.

(Oh I wish that it was like the iPod - just hook it up and sync everything. I'm sure there are phones out there that do this, but this isn't one of them.)

So I'm stuck taking a half an hour re-keying everything in via the phones lovely interface. It's better than the phone I had, but it's still a pain. Then I had to re-grab the ring tones and wallpaper that I liked. (And had on the previous unit.) I think that the extra sales I generated for Telus in downloading that stuff again should entitle me to some kind of rebate.

The cool thing about this phone is my ability to check websites on it. I had wireless web on the other phone, but the graphics sucked. This one actually shows some of the web page, which is neat. Of course watching it download is like watching paint dry. I feel like it has a 14.4 modem in it, and it's running at 50% capacity. Still, it's nice to have. (Gmail from my phone? Bitchin!)

I'm almost done the programming, and I've only had four finger cramps so far.
By the time I'm done, I 'll be too cramped up to flip it open.

Later.

And when I said Gmail, I meant it. I wasn't thinking Porn at all, until right now. But that would be kinda Bitchin, right?

Rinse Cycle.

Of all the things I hate doing around the house, Laundry is my most favorite.

(If that doesn't make any sense, read it again - it means I don't mind doing it.)

It's not like it's a challenging, constant task. You throw the stuff in the washer, dump a random amount of some cleansing stuff in, and walk away. Later on, when you finally remember that it's there, you throw it in the dryer for an even longer period of time.

(Don't look at me like that. I sort it out first. I'm not a complete idiot. Whites/reds, yellows/blues, right?)

The worst part of laundry is putting it all away. I never realize how many clothes I or the Kids have until you are folding and putting it back. I always end up with a few stray socks and such, but those are just the spoils of war. (I've heard about "washer's wages"- money found while doing laundry - but I think it's a myth put out there to catch my interest.)

Oh - I gotta go - I think it's time for the fabric softener.

Gotta have it, 'cause static build up from my short and curlys is not my idea of a good time.

Later.

Deposited.

Let me get this straight - I'm not a hippy.

But I know someone who is even less of a non-recycler than I am.

This guy throws out pop cans.

(He also drinks more pop than most third world countries., just so you understand the scale that I'm talking about.)

I think with the pop/water this guy drinks in a month, he could by a new DVD every time he turned in his empties. (I have to say DVD, it's the only currency he understands.)

Why not just take them in? How hard is that? It can't be too tough, you see lazy homeless people picking them up all the time. I think he's got more energy than a homeless guy.

Sure isn't that social conscience wearing him down.
(Burn!)


Later.

Party!

I'm about to go to our Annual Staff Christmas Party.

It's either going to be very good or very bad.

I'm posting early, because with any luck I won't be in typing condition later on.

I love the social aspect of the Christmas Party. In fact it's one of the few things I like about Christmas. The camaraderie, the music, the dancing, all the things I like about the bar, but none of the assholes associated with that place. The fact that we usually get some sweet prizes helps to some degree as well.

The fact that there is Karaoke means I'll get to bust out my wicked rap skillz. (Dope-a-lope. Fo' Sho.)

Wish me luck though, I have to work early the next day.

Maybe I just won't go to sleep.....

Later.

Decorations.

As I go to and from work, I'm amazed at the different levels of decoration that people go to in preparation for Christmas.

Forget the fact that there is a guy on my street who has had his lights up and on since November 16th - That fucker is in a whole other world. For arguments sake we'll exclude the crazies.

As for everyone else? Here's what I see:

1. No Decorations - This is where my house is right now. I'm just putting it off until I find the time. I think most are like me, where they are just waiting for the right day to do it. Some don't decorate at all, and that's just fine too. What's the point of putting all the shit up, just to take it down again?
2. Basic Lights - Three strings, tops. You know they don't really have their heart in it, they just do it because by the 24th it looks strange if you are the only one without something up.
3. Creative - Some of these people might have even thrown some lights in an outside tree, or maybe had those fake lighted reindeer going on. (I would forgive any fake reindeer in erotic positions.)
   
4. Enthusiastic - Window decorations start to appear. Fake snow, stickys, pictures of elves frolicking with Santa. The crazier ones go up right in the front window. These are the people who make their own wreaths and hang them until January 17th.
5. Psycho - Lighted Blow Up shit abounds. More lights than any three houses on the street. As I walk by I can hear the hydro meter ticking round and round. Think Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation. (The November man? He's like this.)

It'll only get worse as we get closer to the Big Day.
I swear the first place to play Christmas Carols gets egged on a nightly basis. (I have access to eggs, I can make this happen.)

With my luck I'll fall of the roof putting the lights up.

Oh, the Joy of the season.

Bah-Fucking-Humbug.

Later.

Conflicted.

I just had the best haircut ever.

Not in terms of excitement or anything, but it was done right, the way I liked it, correct length, proper styling, attention to detail around the ears and neckline - an all around perfect haircut.

The only thing bothering me is that the guy who cut my hair was so obviously gay that I'm wondering if he was trying to turn me with his attention to detail. Was he taking his time out of personal pride in a job well done, or was he just viewing me as a luscious piece of man-meat?

I could understand it either way.

I still tipped him, 'cause that's how I roll.
I just didn't make eye contact when I did it.

Later.