From The Container...

"Imperial Cinnamon Spread"
"Delicious on Toast, Pancakes and Waffles"
"May be used as a Tart or Cake Filling"



Or injected straight into my veins.

This shit is like crack. Surgery sweet, flavorful crack.
Forget cocaine. I would do lines of this stuff off the stripper's ass instead.

The containers are tiny. Like a dime bag of tasty delight. They are airtight, but I swear I can smell that stuff from a mile away. Ladies? Forget whatever shit Calvin Klein has pumped out for perfume. Dab a bit of this behind your ears (and knees) and it'll drive all the guys crazy.

I'm going to stop now, I'm starting to scare myself.

Later.

Overtime.

There are some days that I think I'll never understand people.

We had someone phone in sick at work today. No big deal, right?

Wrong.

It's my job (as the man in charge at the time) to fill the shift. I looked at my options and I was going to have to move some people around and extend some hours to ensure adequate coverage. (We normally schedule six-hour shifts for most employees - extending them to eight would cover all my needs and still keep them in regular time.)

As it's January and business is a bit slow, we have been cutting back the staff hours a bit. Nothing too serious, but we do have staff asking for extra hours or shifts. (It's a good problem to have.) I thought that it would be easy to fill this shift - I wasn't calling anyone in from their day off, I was just giving people who were already working longer hours.

I started phoning.

I only had to make three calls. What blew me away was that each person I called acted like I was totally ruining their day. What's the big deal? You were coming to work anyway. I'm just asking you to stay two extra hours. It's not like I'm asking you to come down and blow me. (For that, the line forms to the left.)

The frustrating thing was that each of the people I talked to are ones that had been bugging me for hours. I called them because they had asked before. The response I got was akin to "I know I asked for more hours, but I didn't mean today." I could have happily slapped someone.

Maybe it's just me. It seems that most people seem to treat a job as a right instead of a privilege. They make it seem like they are doing you a favor just by showing up. I do appreciate them being here, but they do have to recall that they are being paid for their time. If the two extra hours was only going towards paying more taxes to the government I might understand the reluctance - but that wasn't the case here.

Don't saddle me with 37 employees who would rather be somewhere else. Give me 5 who want to work and do a good job and I'll work miracles.

Miracles, I tell you.

Later.

ReCharge.

I like my coffee break.

I don't normally drink coffee on it; by that time of the day I've usually downed at least a couple of cups of java, so I use that time to have a snack so I can go to the gym on my lunch.

It's also great just to step back and relax for a bit. Read the paper, check my horoscope, maybe even scratch a testicle or two if nobody else is in the break-room. Whatever I want to do for fifteen minutes.

But I work with a couple of guys who think coffee breaks are for "pussies". These are big manly men who don't want people to think that they even relax. They must be important and busy if they can't even step away for a quarter of an hour. It's not like I'm taking a nap or something, I'm eating, dammit.

I'm not going to be hypocritical - I normally skip my last coffee break. By that time of the day I'm trying to make sure I have everything done so I can go home on time. Add to that the fact that if I did go and sit down I probably wouldn't get up again. The gravitational pull between my ass and a chair is at it's apex at that time of the day. It's best not to mess with things beyond our control.

The coffee break is a sacred time when a man (or woman) can stop, recharge, re- focus and get going again. It is not to be trifled with or frowned upon.

So if you see me in the coffee room, (scratching or not) just give me my space, and no one will get hurt.

Later.

Shuffle.

Sometimes surprises can be good things.

When I use my iPod, I tend to just go with the playlists that I have made. Depending on what I'm doing, I'm usually doing it to a playlist.

But today I hit "Shuffle" and was rewarded.

I tend to just throw music on the 'Pod and forget about it. There is a mishmash of songs on there that I forgot I had. With all the up-tempo stuff I have for my workout playlist on there, who would have thought that I'd stumble across some Counting Crows? (Don't roll your eyes Joe.) And to stumble across New Way Home by the Foo? I forgot that I had it on there!

It was nice to break out of the mold.

Don't get me wrong - Playlists are great and a wonderful part of the iPod experience. But it's great to be surprised with your own music. I recommend that people get their shuffle on maybe once a week.

I'm tempted to hit that button one more time....

Later.

And The Categories Are...

I just tried out for a game show.

Moments ago I finished taking an online quiz to see if I have what it takes to play Jeopardy on T.V. - I know I've got the looks, they just have to see if I have the brains.

If I did well enough, (they don't tell you) then I go into the pool of possible contestants who then tryout for actual tapings.

I've always been full of useless information, so I might as well try and make money at it. If I did make it on, I would hope that the categories would be "Star Wars", "80's Hair Metal", and "Chicks With Huge Racks" - I'd be the next Jeopardy Millionaire.

It's a tough test - 50 questions, 15 second time limit per question, typed response. Thank God spelling didn't count. I was a bit handicapped with the U.S. President questions, but I think I did okay.

Worse case scenario: They'll think a monkey somehow got online and banged away on the keyboard.

Best case scenario: "You think you're pretty smart, don't you, Trebek? What with your Dago mustache and your greasy hair! "

Later.

No Fortune Cookie For You!

So I attempted to make Wonton Soup tonight.

I've always wondered why I had to pay 8 bucks for soup. It seemed to be mostly broth, with the wontons just floating around. I thought I could make it for half the cost and probably do a better job of it.

Sometimes I seriously overestimate my culinary skills.

Those little fuckers are tough to make.

It's a pain in the ass folding them all up into their own little wrappers and then boiling them until they are just right. Mine turned out okay - not Iron Chef okay, more like Tin Chef or Pewter Chef. (They were pretty good, but I'll admit the restaurant ones are better.)

There has got to be some trick to wrapping those little buggers. Some Ancient Chinese Secret or something. I tried to use my ninja-like donut abilities, but pastry does not transfer well to soup.
My fingers are cramped from all the wrapping and folding. I'd rather wrap fourteen Christmas presents than fold up ten wontons again.

But like I said before, it all turned out well.

And if I learned anything,I at least came away with some different ideas for next time:

1. Try some shrimp mixed in with the pork. It should add to the flavor, give it a richness that this batch didn't seem to have.
2. Buck up and pay the eight fuckin' dollars for real soup.

Later.

Telecommunication Breakdown.

My phone hates me.

I think it's physic, psychotic, and out to get me.

It only seems to direct calls to me when I'm least able to get them. If I'm in the bathroom with my hands full (don't think dirty thoughts) it then chooses that time to ring. It can't wait until I'm done.

It doesn't want me to get any messages either. It seems to sometimes cut messages off just over halfway through. It waits until there is some pertinent information forthcoming, and then it shuts off.

I'm still it's slave though. I scamper and scramble every time I hear it ring. I dance and weave like a puppet to it's bell-like tones. It never occurs to me to make it wait - to come to it on my terms.

I'll break it's spell on me yet.
I need an old priest and a young priest....

Later.

2 Hawt 2 Handle.

How much heat can you take?

I used to hate eating spicy foods. I was one of those who would scream that the heat was unnecessary, that it covered up the flavor of the food. I avoided the hot stuff like a fat kid avoids exercise. (The only exception was Cappicola ham on a pizza - mmmm.)

But lately in my life I've been turning up the heat.

I find that I enjoy it more now. Be it marinades, curries, anything - I like it hot.

My digestive system? Well, I normally treat it pretty well, so it can take the hit every once in a while. A little rumble in the jungle is sometimes worth it for the flavor.

My main problem is that sometimes my version of hot differs from other peoples: I had a taco salad today (with hot salsa) that damn near burned my face off. After I finished breaking out in a sweat, the rest of the meal was fine. (The heat of the salsa was fine, it was the amount of salsa on the salad that killed me.)

I'm still not crazy like Dana in the Home Office - I don't put tabasco on my eggs. I think it must be an Ontario thing. But almost every other food can be spiced up. (Except Peanut Butter.)

So how hot do you like it?
Can you take the heat or do you stay out of the kitchen?

Later.

New Releases.

It used to be a chore for me to rent a movie.

(I'm about to use the term " Back in the day" - if you find this term offensive or boring, stop reading. I'm reliving my youth.)

Back in the day, my friends and I would go to the Video Store and try to find something that none of us had seen. Between my brother and I we had seen almost every movie in any store that we went to. Settling on something meant that one or two of the group would have to sit through something that they had already seen before. Remember, this was long before widespread use of the Internet and when buying a movie on VHS cost about $35. For guys who didn't even work at at theater or rental place, that's kind of an accomplishment.

Once I started owning and collecting DVD's it just got worse. I'd almost seen everything. Then, for some reason, I just stopped renting movies. I'd only watch them when I bought them, and I'd only buy them if it was something I really wanted.

I never realized until now how much this has put me out of the loop.

As I walked into the Video Store tonight I was surrounded by all these titles I've never seen. I knew about them, basic plots and such, but hadn't watched a single one.

Examples? You want examples? Here's some of the choice ones:

• Pirates of the Caribbean 2
• Da Vinci Code
• Chronicles of Narnia
• Jackass 2

I know that most of these aren't classic must-see movies, but they are ones that I would have at least expected to have seen by now, considering they have been out for a while. It somewhat bothers me that I'm falling behind on the pop culture highway.

I'm usually the guy who makes the witty pop culture references - if I fall behind, there will soon come a day when someone else makes a crack and I find that I'm the one who doesn't get the joke. That will be a sad day indeed.

I'm going to have to try and get back in touch with my movie-watching self. (I'm not talking porn, so don't even laugh at the "back in touch" comment.) It will take me some time to catch up - but if I sacrifice work, family, friends and health I should be able to do it.

I'm coming for you Blockbuster!

Later.

Place in line

People can't seem to understand the simple concept of a line.
How it works, where it starts, and their role in the line.

It it so hard for some to just keep pace and help the line move along?
There is always someone who is either not paying attention and not moving forwards when they should , or inversely, is so close to the person in front of them that they can achieve maximum anal penetration with minimal effort (if they so chose.)

I find this very frustrating and disruptive to my orderly world.

I think that if you can't use the line as it is supposed to work, you should be excluded from it. Cast out and made to fend on your own in whatever chaotic group you find yourself in. Have fun getting anything done then, assholes.

Really, it doesn't take all that much intelligence to figure out.

The next time some asswipe in the Tim Horton's drive-thru can't follow the simple yellow arrow on the ground, I'm going to yank them out of their vehicle and just tell them to go home. They obviously don't belong here.

And that cellphone he's been nattering on?
I'll shove it so far up his ass he'll have to check his voice-mail by means of his pancreas.

Follow the rules of the line.
Don't deter me from my coffee.
That is all.


Later.

Dodged A Bullet.

A long time ago, I made a bet.

A Co-Worker and I were debateing on weather or not you can drink 4 liters of milk in a hour and keep it down for another hour. I said you could, and he was telling me that it's not possible. He said your stomach cannot hold that much.

I bet him I could do it.

We had set up a date last week, but then my Poker Night was scheduled for the same evening. I told him we'd reschedule and do it another night. We picked today, but now Poker has been scheduled again.

I was going to try and do the bet and still make Poker. So I decided to use my friend The Internet to see how I can best accomplish this task.

After reading for an hour and checking many sites, I have come to this conclusion:
It can't be done. (Not without throwing up at some point.)
There are people who can drink it and keep it down, but eventually they do hurl.
I'm not going to spray the felt at the Sidekick's so I'm going to man up and call the bet off.

I just don't like puking all that much.
Oh the Co-Worker will razz me and try to get me to do it, but with the information I have, I'm not going to try the attempt.

The money I give up for not doing the bet?
I'll win it back at Poker, naturally.

Later.

Toe-tally Sucks.

Life is funny sometimes.

Today I was all over the place, driving around town, doing errands, basically being out and about in a world full of crappy weather and bad drivers.

No Issues.

Tonight I decide to run home from the gym after my workout. It's just over a kilometer, the road isn't well lit, I have to cross a busy intersection, and I'm wearing dark clothes. (I did mention the crappy drivers earlier, right?)

No Problems.

I make it home and have a shower. There's lots of fog, I'm lathered full of soap, and the stall is slippery like it's been wiped down with bacon fat. (Add to the fact that at times I'm only using one hand and the situation is quite precarious. Don't look at me like that - I was shaving.)

No Trouble.

So it's when I'm playing with The Boys, running around the living room that I cram my baby toe into the leg of the couch while running at top speed. (Top speed in the house that is. About as fast as I run to get a Donut.) Searing pain shoots up my leg, I grab my foot, and as I take my hand away I see the blood. Yup - I've mangled my toe.

It's not too bad. I don't think I've broken it, as I can walk and move it a bit. It hurts like a son of a bitch, but that's what drugs are for. I've got a band aid on it to stop the bleeding, and it seems to be holding back the rushing tide of red blood cells.

I believe I'm going to pull through.

It's just strange how I can go for so long doing so many things that are potentially more dangerous and then damage myself in my own home playing with the kids.

Go figure.

Later.

Laser Scanning Device.

I've got a new keyboard/mouse combo.

It has a LASER!, or so the packaging says.
I think it might have came from the Death Star office supply department.
The Dark Side is tempting with all it's extra features and wireless capabilities.

It's so much quieter than my previous keyboard. It's like ninja-stealth typing.
(If I type a paragraph, and no one hears it, did I really type it?)
I think it's also increased my typing speed.
It feels like I'm typing at warp velocity.
I'm busting out sentences in hyperspace. (Hit it Chewie!)

It's tough getting used to a new keyboard.
The keys are more sensitive than the previous one, so I find that I do a lot of double letters sometimes. I'm just such a hard typer I guess. Just pounding away on the keys. (I did say in a previous post that I type like I fuck, so I guess it still makes sense.)

With the mouse, the cordless part is great, I can move it anywhere and it still functions fine.
I have yet to see the true benefit of a wireless keyboard, as when I move more than three feet away from the screen, I can't see what I'm typing. There's nothing really wrong with that, if you don't mind a garbled mess instead of an actual blog. (If you don't mind that, can I direct you to the Sidekick's blog? You'll see what I mean.)

I could go on more, but I think I'll go see if I can type something coherent from the garage.
I'll either write the next great Canadian novel or inadvertently format my hard drive. We'll see how it goes.

Later.

Crack In The Armor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later.

Poker Night.

I had my ass handed to me at Poker tonight.

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

The worst was the two bad beats I had.

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

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

(Which I guess makes it hurt even more.)

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

Except when I'm losing.

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

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

Later.

One Man's Trash...

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

Would eating garbage out of the trash Qualify?

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

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

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

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

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

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


Later.

Helter Skelter.

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

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

Tiredcoffeehungryfoodtastyyumshowerhotwatercoldoutworkwhatnottodaydownaislethreehangou
tindairycoolernotthesameasitwaslunchtimefoodnogotogymsweatipodwhatsthatboobiesimpressiveb
ackworkkeepbusycheckphonenothingworkmoregohomeeatmailchecktypeblogthink.

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

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

Later.

With The Legs...

My Legs are killing me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too much information?

Later.

Really Fucking Cold.

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

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

My God - I'm cold.

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

But today I just couldn't get warm.

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

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

Life's little discomforts, eh?

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

Someone turn up the heat, okay?

Later.

Five Hundred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Later.