Conversatiated - to have reached your fill of conversation, usually in a positive sense, so that you no longer feel a need to socialize for the present.
Conversatiation - when two or more people converse, not for personal growth or the development of a relationship, but simply satisfy a need to talk.
These definitions are really a weak attempt at beefing up my posts before the end of the year. I'll never make the 100 mark. I have less than 24 hours and exactly 24 posts to post if I'm to make it.
Perhaps I'll put my resolutions for the new year up. That'll kill a post.
man, if the term 'to suck' hadn't already been invented I could invent it right now to describe myself.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Perfect
My kids are at my in-laws until Wednesday. So my wife has rented a movie for each night and planned dinners that I like and the kids hate. And tonight, for dessert, we have Sticky Cinnamon Buns.
This is why my wife is perfect.
This is why my wife is perfect.
Evil in Candy
Chocolate Mint is an abomination; an unholy coupling of good and evil. Why? Why would anyone ever combine these two things. It's like mixing milk and mud. Pizza and used diaper. And it's totally unholy.
Don't pretend you don't know.
Don't pretend you didn't learn it in Sunday school.
Licoricicus 9, verse 3:
And the Lord said to his people, it is unholy and an sin for chocolate to combine with mint. Mint is an unclean whore. With pustules and boogers. And filthy, nasty drippy places. But chocolate is good wholesome yumminess. It has antioxidants like oranges and should be eaten at every opportunity. And just as it is wrong for whores to lie with delicious oranges. So also should not mint be never mixed with chocolate neither too.
(it loses something in the translation).
Don't pretend you don't know.
Don't pretend you didn't learn it in Sunday school.
Licoricicus 9, verse 3:
And the Lord said to his people, it is unholy and an sin for chocolate to combine with mint. Mint is an unclean whore. With pustules and boogers. And filthy, nasty drippy places. But chocolate is good wholesome yumminess. It has antioxidants like oranges and should be eaten at every opportunity. And just as it is wrong for whores to lie with delicious oranges. So also should not mint be never mixed with chocolate neither too.
(it loses something in the translation).
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Gas
Am I the only one out there who doesn't want to fill his car up with gas because I could be in a bad car accident, total out the car, and then all that gas will go to waste? I'm sure I'm not. Drop me a line if you have this problem too.
About three or four months ago my breaks failed on the interstate and slammed my car into the back of another. That morning I had filled my tank up, and that was when gas was in the neighborhood of $4 a gallon. The car was totaled.
Anyway, I filled my car up a month ago and the darn thing started over heating. I wound up having to replace the water pump. It actually turned out pretty cool. The estimated cost by two local garages was around $300 to $350. My brother-in-law and I replaced it for just the cost of the pump and some antifreeze. Total cost including complimentary lunch for my brother-in-law, $78.00.
So Friday I filled the car up and now the transmission is giving me trouble. I know my brother-in-law doesn't have the skills or the time to replace a tranny.
-When I was thinking of this post I assumed it would be all about cars, but since I have entitled it GAS and we are talking about things crapping out on you at the most inopportune moment, here's a new one for you:
MERRY CHRISTMAS! You Furnace is broken!
Yeah, it's gonna drop into the 20s tonight and my furnace won't cut on. Earlier this week the Gas company for Buford (City of Buford) cut our gas off because we made the mistake of letting our bill go four or five days late. So a $70.00 bill became $150.00. Apparently there is a $75.00 service charge to have someone treat us like a dick. Well, this past week it has been in the 70s so it hasn't come on since our gas was restored. But it was working three weeks ago when it was cold. Well, not now.
The only good news is that we have two furnaces, one upstairs, one down. So at least our bedrooms have heat.
***My loyal readers will recall that my upstairs A/C went out this past summer. No A/C upstairs, no Heat downstairs.
About three or four months ago my breaks failed on the interstate and slammed my car into the back of another. That morning I had filled my tank up, and that was when gas was in the neighborhood of $4 a gallon. The car was totaled.
Anyway, I filled my car up a month ago and the darn thing started over heating. I wound up having to replace the water pump. It actually turned out pretty cool. The estimated cost by two local garages was around $300 to $350. My brother-in-law and I replaced it for just the cost of the pump and some antifreeze. Total cost including complimentary lunch for my brother-in-law, $78.00.
So Friday I filled the car up and now the transmission is giving me trouble. I know my brother-in-law doesn't have the skills or the time to replace a tranny.
-When I was thinking of this post I assumed it would be all about cars, but since I have entitled it GAS and we are talking about things crapping out on you at the most inopportune moment, here's a new one for you:
MERRY CHRISTMAS! You Furnace is broken!
Yeah, it's gonna drop into the 20s tonight and my furnace won't cut on. Earlier this week the Gas company for Buford (City of Buford) cut our gas off because we made the mistake of letting our bill go four or five days late. So a $70.00 bill became $150.00. Apparently there is a $75.00 service charge to have someone treat us like a dick. Well, this past week it has been in the 70s so it hasn't come on since our gas was restored. But it was working three weeks ago when it was cold. Well, not now.
The only good news is that we have two furnaces, one upstairs, one down. So at least our bedrooms have heat.
***My loyal readers will recall that my upstairs A/C went out this past summer. No A/C upstairs, no Heat downstairs.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Sadness Sadness
I fell asleep on the job! I wasn't even a semi-pro Radio Station Contest Winner for 24 hours and I've already failed to complete my first gig. It seem the B98.5 $10,000.00 give-away was won last night while I was quite literally asleep.
I bet it was that jerk off Rene Belloq who won. He's always stealing my ideas.
Oh who am I kidding? I broke rule number 3. I didn't deserve to win. I will not be elevated to the rank of full PRO Radio Station Contest Winner.
I hope that my dear readers can forgive me for this horrible misfortune. Trust me I have suffered. I have had to listen to Simple Having a Wonderful Christmas Time 29 times this Christmas.
I bet it was that jerk off Rene Belloq who won. He's always stealing my ideas.
Oh who am I kidding? I broke rule number 3. I didn't deserve to win. I will not be elevated to the rank of full PRO Radio Station Contest Winner.
I hope that my dear readers can forgive me for this horrible misfortune. Trust me I have suffered. I have had to listen to Simple Having a Wonderful Christmas Time 29 times this Christmas.
Space Shuttles for Sale!
Hey everyone, the Space Shuttles are going up for sale! That's awesome, we can collect some money and buy one. The article I read today said they will cost a minimum of:
$42,000,000.00.
Honestly, that's a shitload less than you were expecting, right? I was expecting a huge amount more.
I was seriously considering it for a while (I have one millionth of the total saved up), but then I learned they have stipulations for any buyer. You have to keep the thing in a climate controlled environment. That could be a deal breaker for me because I don't think my garage is considered climate controlled. If it is we're golden, but I don't think it is.
Here is what I will propose to the committee. Every morning in the winter I can go to the garage, crank the shuttle up and let it run for twenty minutes or so with the heat on. I bet the Smithsonian wouldn't be so doting.
I really hope that I get one. I need a Space Shuttle for when the world economy finally collapses beyond repair and I need to get out of Dodge. I don't know where I'll go, or even how to get there, but my kids are pretty smart. We'll load the thing up with Chicken McNuggets and be outta here.
There's probably room on it for one or two other families. So if you are smart and really good looking I'll let you share my shuttle.
$42,000,000.00.
Honestly, that's a shitload less than you were expecting, right? I was expecting a huge amount more.
I was seriously considering it for a while (I have one millionth of the total saved up), but then I learned they have stipulations for any buyer. You have to keep the thing in a climate controlled environment. That could be a deal breaker for me because I don't think my garage is considered climate controlled. If it is we're golden, but I don't think it is.
Here is what I will propose to the committee. Every morning in the winter I can go to the garage, crank the shuttle up and let it run for twenty minutes or so with the heat on. I bet the Smithsonian wouldn't be so doting.
I really hope that I get one. I need a Space Shuttle for when the world economy finally collapses beyond repair and I need to get out of Dodge. I don't know where I'll go, or even how to get there, but my kids are pretty smart. We'll load the thing up with Chicken McNuggets and be outta here.
There's probably room on it for one or two other families. So if you are smart and really good looking I'll let you share my shuttle.
My new Job
Ok, I have thought of a new job. And the best part is that I don't have to send out resumes for it or interview. I just do it. That's awesome!
The job is Radio Station Contest Winner.
Duties: To listen to the radio and win whatever contest is currently running.
This job is a little more difficult than it seems, I think. First of all, it's contract work, so there's no security. And you don't get paid until the job is done. And you have to listen to a lot of really bad music and really bad jokes and some seriously arrogant and personality free "personalities." In addition to all of that you have to find the station with the best contest at the time and then you have to actually win it. So it clearly isn't "lazy," or "a giant dodge from responsibility," or "you gotta be f-ing kidding me," like your wife will say.
On the plus side there are a lot of really good contests out there, you just have to look for them. Also, you can do it while you moonlight at another job.
If you choose this profession here are some tips I've learned thus from. And yes, you can consider me a semi-pro, so this is mentoring:
1. If you are going to listen to the radio at work, and you really should if you are serious about this career, you need to have already thought of an excuse for when you have to get up in the middle of a meeting with your idiot boss. You CANNOT wait five minutes to call the station if the secret song plays. YOU HAVE TO GET TO A PHONE!
2. Sit close to the exit at church.
3. Learn to look like you are paying attention.
4. Teach your kids how to listen for the contest clues in the afternoon while you catch a nap. YOU CAN'T SLEEP AT NIGHT OR YOU'LL LOSE!
5. Respect yourself. No one else will.
The job is Radio Station Contest Winner.
Duties: To listen to the radio and win whatever contest is currently running.
This job is a little more difficult than it seems, I think. First of all, it's contract work, so there's no security. And you don't get paid until the job is done. And you have to listen to a lot of really bad music and really bad jokes and some seriously arrogant and personality free "personalities." In addition to all of that you have to find the station with the best contest at the time and then you have to actually win it. So it clearly isn't "lazy," or "a giant dodge from responsibility," or "you gotta be f-ing kidding me," like your wife will say.
On the plus side there are a lot of really good contests out there, you just have to look for them. Also, you can do it while you moonlight at another job.
If you choose this profession here are some tips I've learned thus from. And yes, you can consider me a semi-pro, so this is mentoring:
1. If you are going to listen to the radio at work, and you really should if you are serious about this career, you need to have already thought of an excuse for when you have to get up in the middle of a meeting with your idiot boss. You CANNOT wait five minutes to call the station if the secret song plays. YOU HAVE TO GET TO A PHONE!
2. Sit close to the exit at church.
3. Learn to look like you are paying attention.
4. Teach your kids how to listen for the contest clues in the afternoon while you catch a nap. YOU CAN'T SLEEP AT NIGHT OR YOU'LL LOSE!
5. Respect yourself. No one else will.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
So Daggum Frustrating and a review.
Ok, I'm not going to say who it is, but someone who sits at my boss's desk has a head like a box of rocks.
This person looks and acts like my boss and she's stupid as a cow's ass. And I don't like her. And in case I didn't mention it, I don't think she's very smart.
I used to have a pretty high degree of respect for the Commissioner, but then I found out that this chick was mentored by him. My lord. No vetting process.
People give the DOL a lot of flack because we rarely hire management positions from outside of the department. The reason for that is our business is relatively unique. And most instances where we have taken the risk have proved unfortunate.
Sadly, I'm afraid this woman will be considered an exception to that rule. But if you ask me she takes the cake. And it's a dim, thick headed cake, that has no clever idea of her own, parrots what I say to the Commissioner, bitches as me for giving my own opinion, and, when called on the carpet by the Commish in a meeting last month stared at the wall and gave the most nonsensical answer. Everyone in the class knew this kid didn't read the chapter. Even the Commissioner said that she would be held responsible.
REVIEW:
TRYING TO HIDE YOUR FAILINGS
F- for F-ing BAD MANAGEMENT
I made a spreadsheet that showed exactly how our section was doing well, and how it was, in some cases, not measuring up to its requirements. I was told in specific terms to 1. get rid of the columns that show where we have failed, or 2. change the title of the column so that it is not clear what this column displays or 3. change the data in the column so that it looks like we have done better than we have done.
booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
This person looks and acts like my boss and she's stupid as a cow's ass. And I don't like her. And in case I didn't mention it, I don't think she's very smart.
I used to have a pretty high degree of respect for the Commissioner, but then I found out that this chick was mentored by him. My lord. No vetting process.
People give the DOL a lot of flack because we rarely hire management positions from outside of the department. The reason for that is our business is relatively unique. And most instances where we have taken the risk have proved unfortunate.
Sadly, I'm afraid this woman will be considered an exception to that rule. But if you ask me she takes the cake. And it's a dim, thick headed cake, that has no clever idea of her own, parrots what I say to the Commissioner, bitches as me for giving my own opinion, and, when called on the carpet by the Commish in a meeting last month stared at the wall and gave the most nonsensical answer. Everyone in the class knew this kid didn't read the chapter. Even the Commissioner said that she would be held responsible.
REVIEW:
TRYING TO HIDE YOUR FAILINGS
F- for F-ing BAD MANAGEMENT
I made a spreadsheet that showed exactly how our section was doing well, and how it was, in some cases, not measuring up to its requirements. I was told in specific terms to 1. get rid of the columns that show where we have failed, or 2. change the title of the column so that it is not clear what this column displays or 3. change the data in the column so that it looks like we have done better than we have done.
booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Reality
I wish I lived in my son's world. It has it's problems, but for the most part I think it's the place to be.
I mean, at this time of year it would be great to jump into the head of kid again. All that belief. All of that ability to assimilate every magical thing into their daily lives. The feeling that Christmas if forever away, whether it's October 1st or December 20th.
When I was a kid I would sit on my couch in the dark listening to Christmas music and looking at the lights on the tree. I would dream I was one of the ornaments and that I lived in the tree. Every now and then I catch a whiff of something that brings back that old magic. That old feeling that I can slip into another reality. But mostly it is manufactured. Mostly I'm stuck here with the rest of us.
Not my son.
About three weeks ago he was picked to be a shepherd in the Nativity at church. When we got home I asked what the kids were going to be. My daughter said that she was going to be Mary and my son said that he was going to be a German shepherd. You know the German shepherd from the nativity. It's the one who sniffed out the cocaine hidden in the tunic of the fourth wise man.
Then, after we had established that he wasn't going to be a dog, he said that at the end of the Nativity play he and the other shepherds would get their shepherd powers. I really wish I had quizzed him as to what, exactly, those powers would have been. Flying? Laser vision? Tap Dance? I can see the next Marvel Comic, THE SHEPHERD! WAR JOURNAL. The first issue would be worth a mint, but the rest would blow.
There have been several incidences like this. They always make me laugh. We saw a TV show with a birth scene recently. The lady was sweating and grunting and clearly in pain. Rebecca and I were casually watching and not disturbed by her pain. And of course we explained to him that she was giving birth. Well last night as my brother-in-law and I watched Ronin, a much bloodier movie than I expected, we got to the scene where Robert Deniro is having a bullet removed from his side without anesthesia. My son came downstairs and saw it and said, "Is that man having a baby?" "No, he's not," I said and shooed him back upstairs. Then upstairs I heard him tell his mother that the guy on TV was having a baby. And then he asked her how old he had to be before he could have a baby.
And last, but not least, we were decorating for Christmas, because it is that time of year, and he was singing, "La la la la and the gifts for the king kong la la la la." And his sister says, "The song is about the wise men and Jesus. King Kong was not in the Nativity!"
And then, just like every other time when the truth was revealed to him, he said, "Oh." And a little bit of magic fizz bubbled out of his world. Leaving it just a little bit flatter.
I mean, at this time of year it would be great to jump into the head of kid again. All that belief. All of that ability to assimilate every magical thing into their daily lives. The feeling that Christmas if forever away, whether it's October 1st or December 20th.
When I was a kid I would sit on my couch in the dark listening to Christmas music and looking at the lights on the tree. I would dream I was one of the ornaments and that I lived in the tree. Every now and then I catch a whiff of something that brings back that old magic. That old feeling that I can slip into another reality. But mostly it is manufactured. Mostly I'm stuck here with the rest of us.
Not my son.
About three weeks ago he was picked to be a shepherd in the Nativity at church. When we got home I asked what the kids were going to be. My daughter said that she was going to be Mary and my son said that he was going to be a German shepherd. You know the German shepherd from the nativity. It's the one who sniffed out the cocaine hidden in the tunic of the fourth wise man.
Then, after we had established that he wasn't going to be a dog, he said that at the end of the Nativity play he and the other shepherds would get their shepherd powers. I really wish I had quizzed him as to what, exactly, those powers would have been. Flying? Laser vision? Tap Dance? I can see the next Marvel Comic, THE SHEPHERD! WAR JOURNAL. The first issue would be worth a mint, but the rest would blow.
There have been several incidences like this. They always make me laugh. We saw a TV show with a birth scene recently. The lady was sweating and grunting and clearly in pain. Rebecca and I were casually watching and not disturbed by her pain. And of course we explained to him that she was giving birth. Well last night as my brother-in-law and I watched Ronin, a much bloodier movie than I expected, we got to the scene where Robert Deniro is having a bullet removed from his side without anesthesia. My son came downstairs and saw it and said, "Is that man having a baby?" "No, he's not," I said and shooed him back upstairs. Then upstairs I heard him tell his mother that the guy on TV was having a baby. And then he asked her how old he had to be before he could have a baby.
And last, but not least, we were decorating for Christmas, because it is that time of year, and he was singing, "La la la la and the gifts for the king kong la la la la." And his sister says, "The song is about the wise men and Jesus. King Kong was not in the Nativity!"
And then, just like every other time when the truth was revealed to him, he said, "Oh." And a little bit of magic fizz bubbled out of his world. Leaving it just a little bit flatter.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Review: Simply Having A Wonderful Christmas Time
Hands down, "Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time" is the worst Christmas song in the history of tonal music. It's the kind of song your friends sing loudly and obnoxiously just to tick you off.
I wouldn't be surprised to find out that it has been banned from being sung in heaven. I'd even go so far as to say that song, retroactively, is the reason Lucifer was kicked out of heaven. I bet Lucifer is one of those pranksters that pushes a joke that one step too far.
Lucifer: What do you mean I have to go live in a sea of fire?
God: Jesus tells me you won't quit bothering him.
Lucifer: Oh come on. It was a joke. You coddle that boy.
God: Don't tell me my business Luci. Jesus! Jesus, come here.
Jesus: What is it, pop?
God: Why am I banning Lucifer?
Jesus: Dad, I told you. He sang that song again.
Lucifer: Oh come on. Learn to laugh a little.
God: Lucifer. Jesus asked me to ban that song and so I did. And frankly I was glad to do it. That song is for shit and all humanity knows it.
Jesus: I could take the titty twister Lu, but that song. I hate it.
Beelzebub: What song?
Lucifer: Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time.
Beelzebub: Oh I love that one.
God: That's it. You're both out.
Beelzebub: What'd I do?
****
REVIEW:
SIMPLY HAVING A WONDERFUL CHRISTMAS TIME:
for shit - and all of humanity knows it
I wouldn't be surprised to find out that it has been banned from being sung in heaven. I'd even go so far as to say that song, retroactively, is the reason Lucifer was kicked out of heaven. I bet Lucifer is one of those pranksters that pushes a joke that one step too far.
Lucifer: What do you mean I have to go live in a sea of fire?
God: Jesus tells me you won't quit bothering him.
Lucifer: Oh come on. It was a joke. You coddle that boy.
God: Don't tell me my business Luci. Jesus! Jesus, come here.
Jesus: What is it, pop?
God: Why am I banning Lucifer?
Jesus: Dad, I told you. He sang that song again.
Lucifer: Oh come on. Learn to laugh a little.
God: Lucifer. Jesus asked me to ban that song and so I did. And frankly I was glad to do it. That song is for shit and all humanity knows it.
Jesus: I could take the titty twister Lu, but that song. I hate it.
Beelzebub: What song?
Lucifer: Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time.
Beelzebub: Oh I love that one.
God: That's it. You're both out.
Beelzebub: What'd I do?
****
REVIEW:
SIMPLY HAVING A WONDERFUL CHRISTMAS TIME:
for shit - and all of humanity knows it
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Coffee
Should coffee taste like pureed cardboard? I don't think it should.
The new secretary in our office makes the worst coffee in the world. I used to not really think about it. I thought coffee was coffee and the only way to make it taste better than horrible was to buy it at Starbucks. But when you do that you are not just paying with dollars. You are paying with calories.
Well, I was wrong. Apparently when one person puts coffee grounds into a filter and boils water over it, they do not necessarily get the same results as when someone else does the exact same thing. For example, when I make coffee it is a pretty typical hard dirty water flavor. But it is appreciable as coffee. When the new secretary makes it you would think you are drinking the boiled sweat of a dirt golem.
This coffee is the worst worst worst ever.
I personally would never consider firing someone for making horribly bad coffee. But I'm starting to think it might be a good reason to add to a list.
Department of Labor dude: Mr. Fleming, why did you fire Ms. Smith from her secretary position?
Me if I ever own my own company: Well, she couldn't alphabetize to save her life. She was always late for work. I warned her on three occasions. She routinely yelled at customers that they were talking too loudly when they were sitting quietly in the waiting room. She spoke to spirits. She kicked my father in the nuts. She stole $1000.00 from petty cash. And she made horrible coffee.
Department of Labor dude: Bad coffee? Really? Sounds like a bad apple to me.
The irony: I don't really like coffee. I only drink it because drinking a coke every morning was killing my teeth and making me fat.
The new secretary in our office makes the worst coffee in the world. I used to not really think about it. I thought coffee was coffee and the only way to make it taste better than horrible was to buy it at Starbucks. But when you do that you are not just paying with dollars. You are paying with calories.
Well, I was wrong. Apparently when one person puts coffee grounds into a filter and boils water over it, they do not necessarily get the same results as when someone else does the exact same thing. For example, when I make coffee it is a pretty typical hard dirty water flavor. But it is appreciable as coffee. When the new secretary makes it you would think you are drinking the boiled sweat of a dirt golem.
This coffee is the worst worst worst ever.
I personally would never consider firing someone for making horribly bad coffee. But I'm starting to think it might be a good reason to add to a list.
Department of Labor dude: Mr. Fleming, why did you fire Ms. Smith from her secretary position?
Me if I ever own my own company: Well, she couldn't alphabetize to save her life. She was always late for work. I warned her on three occasions. She routinely yelled at customers that they were talking too loudly when they were sitting quietly in the waiting room. She spoke to spirits. She kicked my father in the nuts. She stole $1000.00 from petty cash. And she made horrible coffee.
Department of Labor dude: Bad coffee? Really? Sounds like a bad apple to me.
The irony: I don't really like coffee. I only drink it because drinking a coke every morning was killing my teeth and making me fat.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
My Job
Last week I was in the office all the live long week. I had meetings here and there and everywhere, but mostly I was a good little troglodyte, sitting in my cave.
Three meetings of note:
Tuesday I was in a meeting with the Commissioner, Beverly (my boss) and Bill (my lesser-boss). I don't remember the time (or the day for that matter) but it was seriously profound.
Wednesday I had a Maximo meeting in our conference room at the 2 pm. It was totally cool (the meeting, not Maximo).
Thursday I conducted training in room 560. If that training had been a basketball game I'd have been Larry Bird. He's pretty good. I wouldn't have been Michael Jordan because, frankly, it wasn't a slam dunk. But I was pretty good. I'm sure there are other basketball players I could mention who are better than (and perhaps more contemporary) than Larry Bird, but who aren't quite as awesome as Michael Jordan. But I don't really like basketball, so I don't know them.
This week I will spend way too many daylight hours in my office. Unless I'm in the Call Center. So actually I'll be back and forth between here and there (next door - where the Call Center is).
On Thursday, according to my calendar, I have a LEx meeting which begins at 9:30 and an O*net meeting that begins at 9:30. This is a bit of a pickle that I haven't exactly consumed yet, as I'm not certain I can pallet it. (translation: I don't know if I can go to just one of them ((on account of the Call Center having just been born)) let alone both of them ((which I really can't do because I'm just one guy))).
Later I have yet another LEx meeting from noon until forever. And then, just after forever, I have a 2 o'clocker.
My job might not be "hard," but it takes some serious stamina to survive the mega-suck.
Three meetings of note:
Tuesday I was in a meeting with the Commissioner, Beverly (my boss) and Bill (my lesser-boss). I don't remember the time (or the day for that matter) but it was seriously profound.
Wednesday I had a Maximo meeting in our conference room at the 2 pm. It was totally cool (the meeting, not Maximo).
Thursday I conducted training in room 560. If that training had been a basketball game I'd have been Larry Bird. He's pretty good. I wouldn't have been Michael Jordan because, frankly, it wasn't a slam dunk. But I was pretty good. I'm sure there are other basketball players I could mention who are better than (and perhaps more contemporary) than Larry Bird, but who aren't quite as awesome as Michael Jordan. But I don't really like basketball, so I don't know them.
This week I will spend way too many daylight hours in my office. Unless I'm in the Call Center. So actually I'll be back and forth between here and there (next door - where the Call Center is).
On Thursday, according to my calendar, I have a LEx meeting which begins at 9:30 and an O*net meeting that begins at 9:30. This is a bit of a pickle that I haven't exactly consumed yet, as I'm not certain I can pallet it. (translation: I don't know if I can go to just one of them ((on account of the Call Center having just been born)) let alone both of them ((which I really can't do because I'm just one guy))).
Later I have yet another LEx meeting from noon until forever. And then, just after forever, I have a 2 o'clocker.
My job might not be "hard," but it takes some serious stamina to survive the mega-suck.
Horns
I got an e-mail at work today from a Susan Wormwood. She was whining with her mock niceness about how I wasn't doing my job correctly and if I had she'd have the certificates I'd promised her weeks ago.
I don't even know who Susan Wormwood is. She's probably a daemon. I should have quit this job the day they started allowing them to work here. The EEOC makes no provisions for hiring hoary hosts. I don't care that their knack for clerical work and bureaucracy is beyond compare. By hiring those devils (they smell of sulfur if you ask me) we are just inviting more to come here. MORE!!! Do we want that? This place is already crawling with their kind.
The next thing you know the Commissioner will be sending our good paying jobs to hell. No good will come of it.
When was the last time you saw an angel working for the Department of Labor, I ask you? This damned place.
...
ps. Turns out I do have an archived e-mail where I "might" have told Wormwood I'd have those certificates for her. I don't care. I don't need her fat, devil "pleases," and "I-hope-I'm-not-bothering-yous." Cloven hoofed baby.
I don't even know who Susan Wormwood is. She's probably a daemon. I should have quit this job the day they started allowing them to work here. The EEOC makes no provisions for hiring hoary hosts. I don't care that their knack for clerical work and bureaucracy is beyond compare. By hiring those devils (they smell of sulfur if you ask me) we are just inviting more to come here. MORE!!! Do we want that? This place is already crawling with their kind.
The next thing you know the Commissioner will be sending our good paying jobs to hell. No good will come of it.
When was the last time you saw an angel working for the Department of Labor, I ask you? This damned place.
...
ps. Turns out I do have an archived e-mail where I "might" have told Wormwood I'd have those certificates for her. I don't care. I don't need her fat, devil "pleases," and "I-hope-I'm-not-bothering-yous." Cloven hoofed baby.
Santa Wishes
Did you make your list for Santa yet? If you send your wishes to Santa, and you are good, he'll give you what you want.
I've never made a wish list for him because I know he won't give me anything. He told me a long time ago that I was bad and he'd never give me what I wanted. I was in fifth grade and it happened at school. Santa came walking into my class. He looked a lot like my teacher, and I thought he had boobs, but he was wearing red and had a beard so I knew it was him. Everyone got to sit on Santa's lap. Some boys got to sit longer than others. Anyway, I went to sit on his lap and he said, "Forget it, fat boy. You are a bad student and your heart is dead. You will never get anything out of me. Ass." The "ass" part was just cold.
I cried a lot. One of my friends tried to comfort me, but it was no use. I knew that life would suck from then on. That's actually how I learned that my parents didn't believe in Santa - because I got presents that year. Santa had cut me off, that part was clear. So the giant, bounteous haul I got that year must have come from my heathen parents and their non-believing ways. That's when I started peeing on their pillows once a week or so.
Shortly after that my dad gave away our dog to a farm in upstate Georgia. He said that the police had discovered Scruffy's true owners and that he didn't have a choice but to give him away. I remember it like it was yesterday because I had to help dad plant a really large tree seed in the back yard pretty deep. I think we planted it too deep because that tree never grew.
Dad was pretty upset, later, when the pillows continued to smell like pee. He went out and bought new pillows. And when those smelled like pee a week later we moved to a new house. He kept saying he was haunted by Scruffy's ghost. I told him that it was impossible because Scruffy was in a farm in upstate Georgia. He stuttered that I was right and he laughed a humorless laugh. But he grew increasingly paranoid and jerky. Over time he quit shaving, gained a lot of weight and grew out his beard. Eventually his hair turned white. Now he looks exactly like my fifth grade teacher.
I've never made a wish list for him because I know he won't give me anything. He told me a long time ago that I was bad and he'd never give me what I wanted. I was in fifth grade and it happened at school. Santa came walking into my class. He looked a lot like my teacher, and I thought he had boobs, but he was wearing red and had a beard so I knew it was him. Everyone got to sit on Santa's lap. Some boys got to sit longer than others. Anyway, I went to sit on his lap and he said, "Forget it, fat boy. You are a bad student and your heart is dead. You will never get anything out of me. Ass." The "ass" part was just cold.
I cried a lot. One of my friends tried to comfort me, but it was no use. I knew that life would suck from then on. That's actually how I learned that my parents didn't believe in Santa - because I got presents that year. Santa had cut me off, that part was clear. So the giant, bounteous haul I got that year must have come from my heathen parents and their non-believing ways. That's when I started peeing on their pillows once a week or so.
Shortly after that my dad gave away our dog to a farm in upstate Georgia. He said that the police had discovered Scruffy's true owners and that he didn't have a choice but to give him away. I remember it like it was yesterday because I had to help dad plant a really large tree seed in the back yard pretty deep. I think we planted it too deep because that tree never grew.
Dad was pretty upset, later, when the pillows continued to smell like pee. He went out and bought new pillows. And when those smelled like pee a week later we moved to a new house. He kept saying he was haunted by Scruffy's ghost. I told him that it was impossible because Scruffy was in a farm in upstate Georgia. He stuttered that I was right and he laughed a humorless laugh. But he grew increasingly paranoid and jerky. Over time he quit shaving, gained a lot of weight and grew out his beard. Eventually his hair turned white. Now he looks exactly like my fifth grade teacher.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!
How could I have let it come to this? What kind of writer am I ever going to be if I don't practice writing every day?
I tell you what kind....
A technical writer.
Oh, God, the horror. What kind of legacy is that?
Teacher: Ok, kids, what did you learn about your family history?
My descendant: Teacher! My dad told me that my great, great, great, great grandfather wrote the instruction manual for the Georgia Department of Labor Call Center.
Teacher: Well, that's nice.
Some other kid: I found out last night that my great, great, great, great grandfather was Admiral Awesome and he lead the humans in the northern attack against the first alien invasion of 2016! It turned the tide of the war and we were all freed from slavery.
Teacher: That's magnificent Joey!
My descendant: Awe man. My history sucks.
Some other kids: It really does. You suck too.
*******
See how horrible a legacy that is? That's pretty much all I have so far. A stupid manual. Barf.
But I can turn it around with this blog. This one right here!
So far this year I have 62 posts. That is insufficient. I need to have at least 100 if I'm going to be a person who doesn't suck.
So that means I have 38 posts to go. Wish me luck!
I tell you what kind....
A technical writer.
Oh, God, the horror. What kind of legacy is that?
Teacher: Ok, kids, what did you learn about your family history?
My descendant: Teacher! My dad told me that my great, great, great, great grandfather wrote the instruction manual for the Georgia Department of Labor Call Center.
Teacher: Well, that's nice.
Some other kid: I found out last night that my great, great, great, great grandfather was Admiral Awesome and he lead the humans in the northern attack against the first alien invasion of 2016! It turned the tide of the war and we were all freed from slavery.
Teacher: That's magnificent Joey!
My descendant: Awe man. My history sucks.
Some other kids: It really does. You suck too.
*******
See how horrible a legacy that is? That's pretty much all I have so far. A stupid manual. Barf.
But I can turn it around with this blog. This one right here!
So far this year I have 62 posts. That is insufficient. I need to have at least 100 if I'm going to be a person who doesn't suck.
So that means I have 38 posts to go. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Wednesday
I am fairly certain that as I was pulling out of my neighborhood this morning I saw Daniel Radcliffe pulling in, riding in the back of a plain white church van.
He was wearing his big Harry Potter glasses and he waved to me.
He didn't seem unhappy.
He was wearing his big Harry Potter glasses and he waved to me.
He didn't seem unhappy.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Where are the complaints?
Come on people, we both know that you have been on the brink of suicide because of the lack of posts to my blog.
But before you commit hary-cary folks, I have to fuss at you for a moment. Why on earth did you not complain that I have taken so blasted long to post a new post?
It's not like there is no one out there reading this blog. It's not like nobody cares what I have to say. You all care. YOU ALL CARE!
ridiculous!
I post on October 1st, and then I don't post again all the way through October and the beginning of November, and you just sit back in your homes and suffer quietly.
FOLKS! You don't get what you don't ask for.
For my part I apologize for not posting. That was kind of bad. I was busy with something stupid.
But that's not important. What is important is the lack of ownership my readers have taken for their civic responsibility of keeping me writing. I haven't looked at the numbers yet, but there is a good possibility that your failure to complain that I waited so long to post may be responsible for the economic downturn in America.
shameful.
I can only do so much. I write the glorious blogs that hold the space-time continuum in check. But I cannot be held responsible for not writing the blogs. When I don't write, it is definitely all your fault.
I forgive you.
But before you commit hary-cary folks, I have to fuss at you for a moment. Why on earth did you not complain that I have taken so blasted long to post a new post?
It's not like there is no one out there reading this blog. It's not like nobody cares what I have to say. You all care. YOU ALL CARE!
ridiculous!
I post on October 1st, and then I don't post again all the way through October and the beginning of November, and you just sit back in your homes and suffer quietly.
FOLKS! You don't get what you don't ask for.
For my part I apologize for not posting. That was kind of bad. I was busy with something stupid.
But that's not important. What is important is the lack of ownership my readers have taken for their civic responsibility of keeping me writing. I haven't looked at the numbers yet, but there is a good possibility that your failure to complain that I waited so long to post may be responsible for the economic downturn in America.
shameful.
I can only do so much. I write the glorious blogs that hold the space-time continuum in check. But I cannot be held responsible for not writing the blogs. When I don't write, it is definitely all your fault.
I forgive you.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
October Treats
I do not consider candy corn to be a staple of life. I am under no delusions that it contains the same nutritive value as the corn that is not candy; which is to say, not much at all. For all of the heartiness that common corn lacks, candy corn lacks so much more than that that you would be certain that it must have a negative amount. I can neither confirm nor deny that suspicion. I can tell you, that I love candy corn. However, were it to be declared by the Surgeons General of every nation and state I would be ecstatic.
Candy corn does not make as good a tortilla as regular corn either. In truth, candy corn does not make a tortilla at all. If you smash it down to paste and then add water to aid in dissolving it and then shape the candy corn liquid into a round tortilla shape and then let it dry you do not get a tortilla. All you get is an orangish sugar wafer that is not at all flexible. If you forgive its lack of flexibility and proceed to eat the faux tortilla with meat and lettuce and beans and cheese anyway you will be shocked at how unlike a regular tortilla it tastes. You may even be moved to spit it quickly from your mouth.
If you could get your hands on some Candy Carne, Chandy Cheese and Bandy Beans. I’m sure you could make yourself a yummy candy burrito. Enjoy the sugar coma.
Candy corn does not make as good a tortilla as regular corn either. In truth, candy corn does not make a tortilla at all. If you smash it down to paste and then add water to aid in dissolving it and then shape the candy corn liquid into a round tortilla shape and then let it dry you do not get a tortilla. All you get is an orangish sugar wafer that is not at all flexible. If you forgive its lack of flexibility and proceed to eat the faux tortilla with meat and lettuce and beans and cheese anyway you will be shocked at how unlike a regular tortilla it tastes. You may even be moved to spit it quickly from your mouth.
If you could get your hands on some Candy Carne, Chandy Cheese and Bandy Beans. I’m sure you could make yourself a yummy candy burrito. Enjoy the sugar coma.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Gas Woes
Holy crap. In case you don't believe the talk on the news about the South East's gas woes, let me tell you... BELIEVE IT!
Unless you heard it on Fox News. You shouldn't ever believe anything you hear on that station. If Fox News started reporting that I was a white man, I would stop believing it.
But yeah, there's not any gas down here. Actually, there is, but not much. I mean, I was able to get gas Friday night in my wife's car. But I had to wait in line for about 15 minutes. And I had to pay $3.99 a gallon. Then yesterday I filled my car up without waiting a bit. I did have to pay $4.09 a gallon, which hurt a bit, but I didn't have to wait.
Now, I will grant you that I don't live in Atlanta proper. I live in Gwinnett county. Our county only has about 1 million residents, so that small number might indicate why I was able to get gas. I'm sure inside Atlanta it is much worse. Of course, I work inside Atlanta and it does appear to be the same, but it probably isn't.
***
Ok, all joking aside. There are lines at the pump. Friday night I did have to wait about 15 minutes for gas, which was surreal and unusual. And there are A LOT of stations that simply have no gas. And I have heard stories of people getting into fights over this, though I have not witnessed anything.
There is a gas shortgage, but there isn't a gas deficit.
If you don't wait until your gas light goes on, and you plan your gas search well, you should be able to get gas.
Here is my advice if you live in Georgia:
1. Think of all of the gas stations you know of, not just the ones where gas is cheepest, but all of them.
2. Plan a route that goes to all or most of these stations with minimal back-tracking.
3. Set your alarm for 2am and drive that route until you find a station that has gas and is open.
- Just kidding. Go out to get gas around 10 or 11pm, driving your route, until you find a station with gas. If you find none, DON'T WANDER. One of those stations will have gas tomorrow. Wake at 5:30ish and try again.
4. Be willing to pay 10 - 20 cents more per gallon. If you don't pay the extra money you will regret it. And tomorrow when you are on fumes you will wind up paying 50 cents more a gallon and you'll cuss out loud. Try explaining that to the kids.
Just don't be afraid to go out at night and get gas. Sure there are crazy people out at night, but when have you ever heard of a crazy person running out of gas? Never! That's because the 24 hour stations are empty. They don't have to wait in line.
Look, I've done the research and a majority of people who get gas at night are not abducted or assaulted by crazy people. It's over 50%.
Ok, fact check. I did just accuse Fox News of not being trust worthy, so I will come clean. I did not do any research on the number of people abducted or assaulted by crazy people while out at night getting gas. But I'm almost 50% certain of the fact that the number of people assault or abducted while getting gas at night by crazy people is under 50% is probably accurate. I will not go out on a limb and say the same thing about people who are assualted or abducted by non-crazy people while out at night getting gas. And I won't even mention the numbers of crazy people who are themselves abducted or assaulted by non-crazy and/or crazy people while out at night getting gas or some other fungible commodity whose availability fluctuates from time to time. There are just too many variables there.
Anyway, take heart. You may or may not be abducted and/or assaulted if you are not crazy and your attacker is crazy or not crazy. You need the gas, afterall.
Unless you heard it on Fox News. You shouldn't ever believe anything you hear on that station. If Fox News started reporting that I was a white man, I would stop believing it.
But yeah, there's not any gas down here. Actually, there is, but not much. I mean, I was able to get gas Friday night in my wife's car. But I had to wait in line for about 15 minutes. And I had to pay $3.99 a gallon. Then yesterday I filled my car up without waiting a bit. I did have to pay $4.09 a gallon, which hurt a bit, but I didn't have to wait.
Now, I will grant you that I don't live in Atlanta proper. I live in Gwinnett county. Our county only has about 1 million residents, so that small number might indicate why I was able to get gas. I'm sure inside Atlanta it is much worse. Of course, I work inside Atlanta and it does appear to be the same, but it probably isn't.
***
Ok, all joking aside. There are lines at the pump. Friday night I did have to wait about 15 minutes for gas, which was surreal and unusual. And there are A LOT of stations that simply have no gas. And I have heard stories of people getting into fights over this, though I have not witnessed anything.
There is a gas shortgage, but there isn't a gas deficit.
If you don't wait until your gas light goes on, and you plan your gas search well, you should be able to get gas.
Here is my advice if you live in Georgia:
1. Think of all of the gas stations you know of, not just the ones where gas is cheepest, but all of them.
2. Plan a route that goes to all or most of these stations with minimal back-tracking.
3. Set your alarm for 2am and drive that route until you find a station that has gas and is open.
- Just kidding. Go out to get gas around 10 or 11pm, driving your route, until you find a station with gas. If you find none, DON'T WANDER. One of those stations will have gas tomorrow. Wake at 5:30ish and try again.
4. Be willing to pay 10 - 20 cents more per gallon. If you don't pay the extra money you will regret it. And tomorrow when you are on fumes you will wind up paying 50 cents more a gallon and you'll cuss out loud. Try explaining that to the kids.
Just don't be afraid to go out at night and get gas. Sure there are crazy people out at night, but when have you ever heard of a crazy person running out of gas? Never! That's because the 24 hour stations are empty. They don't have to wait in line.
Look, I've done the research and a majority of people who get gas at night are not abducted or assaulted by crazy people. It's over 50%.
Ok, fact check. I did just accuse Fox News of not being trust worthy, so I will come clean. I did not do any research on the number of people abducted or assaulted by crazy people while out at night getting gas. But I'm almost 50% certain of the fact that the number of people assault or abducted while getting gas at night by crazy people is under 50% is probably accurate. I will not go out on a limb and say the same thing about people who are assualted or abducted by non-crazy people while out at night getting gas. And I won't even mention the numbers of crazy people who are themselves abducted or assaulted by non-crazy and/or crazy people while out at night getting gas or some other fungible commodity whose availability fluctuates from time to time. There are just too many variables there.
Anyway, take heart. You may or may not be abducted and/or assaulted if you are not crazy and your attacker is crazy or not crazy. You need the gas, afterall.
Gotcha Question!
You know, I wish I could get away with saying, "That was a gotcha question. So while I failed to answer it with anything remotely resembling intelligence, and while it contradicts points I have made in the past, it shouldn't count against me because I wasn't expecting the question."
Imagine sitting in an interview:
Interviewer: Mr. Fleming, do you seriously believe that the poor should be boiled down into fossil fuels to combat the growing energy crisis?
Mr. Fleming: No. That's absurd.
Interviewer: But Mr. Fleming, it's what you said. I asked, "What do you do in your spare time, and how has it made you a better person for the job which you are applying?" and you answered, "You know, Bob, this fuel crisis has everyone hurting. Especially the poor. Let's boil them down and use them for gasoline. Two birds - one stone."
Mr. Fleming: My answer was taken out of context.
Interviewer: No it wasn't.
Mr. Fleming: It was a gotcha question, so it doesn't count.
Interviewer: Oh, my bad. it appears that it was a gotcha question. Damn. We can't count it. I guess then you are hired.
Or how about sitting in an interrogation room with a couple of detectives:
Detective 1: Mr. Fleming, we need you to write up your confession for us.
Mr. Fleming: Confession? I didn't confess to anything.
Detective 2: Sir, we have you on tape confessing to the entire thing.
Mr. Fleming: No way.
Detective 1: Yes way. I asked, "Did you kill Joe?" and you said, "Yeah. I broke into his house last night because I needed some coffee and I was out. Joe tried to stop me so I stabbed him 430 billion times and buried him in his own back yard by the oak tree."
Detective 2: When we searched by the oak tree we did indeed find a body that had been stabbed 430 billion times.
Mr. Fleming: Yeah, but I wasn't expecting that question. It was a gotcha question.
Detective 1: Dammit. Detective 2, is this true? Is that a gotcha question?
Detective 2: I'm afraid it is, Detective 1. We'll have to let him go.
Mr. Fleming: Can I have Joe's knife back?
Imagine sitting in an interview:
Interviewer: Mr. Fleming, do you seriously believe that the poor should be boiled down into fossil fuels to combat the growing energy crisis?
Mr. Fleming: No. That's absurd.
Interviewer: But Mr. Fleming, it's what you said. I asked, "What do you do in your spare time, and how has it made you a better person for the job which you are applying?" and you answered, "You know, Bob, this fuel crisis has everyone hurting. Especially the poor. Let's boil them down and use them for gasoline. Two birds - one stone."
Mr. Fleming: My answer was taken out of context.
Interviewer: No it wasn't.
Mr. Fleming: It was a gotcha question, so it doesn't count.
Interviewer: Oh, my bad. it appears that it was a gotcha question. Damn. We can't count it. I guess then you are hired.
Or how about sitting in an interrogation room with a couple of detectives:
Detective 1: Mr. Fleming, we need you to write up your confession for us.
Mr. Fleming: Confession? I didn't confess to anything.
Detective 2: Sir, we have you on tape confessing to the entire thing.
Mr. Fleming: No way.
Detective 1: Yes way. I asked, "Did you kill Joe?" and you said, "Yeah. I broke into his house last night because I needed some coffee and I was out. Joe tried to stop me so I stabbed him 430 billion times and buried him in his own back yard by the oak tree."
Detective 2: When we searched by the oak tree we did indeed find a body that had been stabbed 430 billion times.
Mr. Fleming: Yeah, but I wasn't expecting that question. It was a gotcha question.
Detective 1: Dammit. Detective 2, is this true? Is that a gotcha question?
Detective 2: I'm afraid it is, Detective 1. We'll have to let him go.
Mr. Fleming: Can I have Joe's knife back?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Video
Hello, everyone.
My cousin (Taylor Dorris) e-mailed me yesterday to tell me he had finished a short film. It is 5+ minutes long. Please go have a look and vote on it. You don't have to tell me what you think. I didn't make it. Plus, I know you will like it.
http://www.chillertv.com/D2D2/Videos/?uv=281574
Take a look at some of the other flicks too. Good stuff!
My cousin (Taylor Dorris) e-mailed me yesterday to tell me he had finished a short film. It is 5+ minutes long. Please go have a look and vote on it. You don't have to tell me what you think. I didn't make it. Plus, I know you will like it.
http://www.chillertv.com/D2D2/Videos/?uv=281574
Take a look at some of the other flicks too. Good stuff!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Again
I don't know how many times I have to say this, but chewing gum does not cancel out body odor. Even if it is minty fresh.
So, dude who sat next to me on the bus this morning: When you go running to your friends whining about why Girly-girl didn't accept your proposal for a date, and they say, "Why not, dude?" It is not fair for you to say, "I don't know!"
Let me set the record straight. You smell like ass. The fact that your hot, wilting breath is slightly less than horrible thanks to Trident or Orbit or whichever company you employed this morning does not make you innocent of neglecting the arm pits.
Just some advice.
So, dude who sat next to me on the bus this morning: When you go running to your friends whining about why Girly-girl didn't accept your proposal for a date, and they say, "Why not, dude?" It is not fair for you to say, "I don't know!"
Let me set the record straight. You smell like ass. The fact that your hot, wilting breath is slightly less than horrible thanks to Trident or Orbit or whichever company you employed this morning does not make you innocent of neglecting the arm pits.
Just some advice.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Ow... It hurts. It hurts. Dear Lord...
Review:
ANOTHER BLOG THAT MAKES FUN OF PEOPLE!!!
A! for tHis "one" is - Actually FunNy.. (you'll get that joke after you read a few entries)
http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/
this site was sent to me as a pick-me-up. holy crap! I was reading it at work so I was trying not to laugh out loud. my sides were aching. at one point I read an entry that was so funny I couldn't contain the noise of my laughter. I quickly stifled the sound and put my head on my desk. I heard some people go walking by.
my wife has been sick lately. I've missed a few days of work. so now they hear muffled sounds coming from my office. "what could it be?" and as they walk by they see me facing the window, my head in hands, my shoulders shaking... I sniffle... I wipe tears away from my eyes. "That poor Michael. His wife must be really ill."
deception is a bad thing, right?
go to that website. try to keep the laughter quiet. it's good for about 50 calories, no lie. you may laugh off enough to warrant a piece of cake.
ANOTHER BLOG THAT MAKES FUN OF PEOPLE!!!
A! for tHis "one" is - Actually FunNy.. (you'll get that joke after you read a few entries)
http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/
this site was sent to me as a pick-me-up. holy crap! I was reading it at work so I was trying not to laugh out loud. my sides were aching. at one point I read an entry that was so funny I couldn't contain the noise of my laughter. I quickly stifled the sound and put my head on my desk. I heard some people go walking by.
my wife has been sick lately. I've missed a few days of work. so now they hear muffled sounds coming from my office. "what could it be?" and as they walk by they see me facing the window, my head in hands, my shoulders shaking... I sniffle... I wipe tears away from my eyes. "That poor Michael. His wife must be really ill."
deception is a bad thing, right?
go to that website. try to keep the laughter quiet. it's good for about 50 calories, no lie. you may laugh off enough to warrant a piece of cake.
Did you miss me?
OK, we have some catching up to do.
Where was I?
You know that Economic Stimulus Package that Congress and Georgie passed? Well, I've spent the last 3 weeks on a team whose sole purpose was to expedite claims for money based on that act.
Basically I, and about 60 other people, reviewed the claims of Unemployment Insurance recipients in Georgia to determine if they were still eligible.
ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
This assignment was about 15 to 20 miles north of my regular office. The bus doesn't go out there so I had to drive. And guess whose breaks failed on Interstate 85 while on his way to this new and wonderfully temporary assignment: Mine did.
And guess who totalled his car: Me.
And guess who did not qualify for a loan to get a new car: Me again.
So guess who gets to buy his sister's piece of crap car: Yep. Me.
Oh, and while I was at my temporary assignment the wonderful Governor Sonney Perdue decided that the economy was too bad to give the employees of the state of Georgia a raise. Not in 2008 and probably not in 2009. So instead of getting a 3% raise in 4% inflation I will get a 0% raise in 4% inflation.
Here's to working harder to earn a demotion!
Sigh. It's almost enough to make me talk politics.
Where was I?
You know that Economic Stimulus Package that Congress and Georgie passed? Well, I've spent the last 3 weeks on a team whose sole purpose was to expedite claims for money based on that act.
Basically I, and about 60 other people, reviewed the claims of Unemployment Insurance recipients in Georgia to determine if they were still eligible.
ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
This assignment was about 15 to 20 miles north of my regular office. The bus doesn't go out there so I had to drive. And guess whose breaks failed on Interstate 85 while on his way to this new and wonderfully temporary assignment: Mine did.
And guess who totalled his car: Me.
And guess who did not qualify for a loan to get a new car: Me again.
So guess who gets to buy his sister's piece of crap car: Yep. Me.
Oh, and while I was at my temporary assignment the wonderful Governor Sonney Perdue decided that the economy was too bad to give the employees of the state of Georgia a raise. Not in 2008 and probably not in 2009. So instead of getting a 3% raise in 4% inflation I will get a 0% raise in 4% inflation.
Here's to working harder to earn a demotion!
Sigh. It's almost enough to make me talk politics.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
money
Ok, most of you people probably already know that I'm not a big cussworder. I don't think I've ever cussed on this blog. You all probably also know that I'm not a great big liar-pants.
Anyway, today I feel justified in saying wtf?
1. About ten months ago I was promoted by my then boss to Ruby's position. When I inquired as to what my new duties were I was told that I didn't have any. I was told that I was too busy and that Ruby's job was going to be handled by someone else in the office.
2. About eight months ago my boss decided he was going to resign and come back to work as a contractor. And the job he was going to do as a contractor was my job.
3. After the meeting -that all of my co-workers attended- where I was told my job was going to be done by my recently formered boss I was called into my once-but-no-longer boss's office so that he could tell me that my new job was Ruby's old job; the one I had been told I would not have to do.
4. After I was given Ruby's shit job my once-upon-a-boss ask me exactly what I do. He was, after all, going to be doing it hence.
5. After my ex-boss regained his composure at learning exactly how much crap he had piled on to me over the years he decided that he was really only going to take one of my duties and that I could keep the rest. Along with Ruby's old job.
6. About six months ago, after my post-boss told me that I would still be doing all of my old duties along with all of Ruby's duties, my new boss informed me that I would also be doing Janet's duties.
7. About two months ago my new boss hired a new supervisor over me and two new co-workers to handle the overflow of work I had been given. To date they have taken one and a half of my duties.
8. Last night I kinda got in trouble for running over a toad in my driveway. I didn't do it on purpose, but my wife really loves when we come home and she sees it there. She's kinda into frogs and toads. It isn't job related, but I felt bad.
TODAY: My new boss, new supervisor and two new co-workers are meeting in the conference room for like the tenth time without me. What the hell are they talking about? They are f-ing supposed to be taking my f-ing duties? How the f- can I not be invited to any f-ing meeting they can possibly f-ing conceive of? WTF!
CURRENT MOOD: Not too confident about the security of my job... in a recession... with gas at $3.72/gallon.
New Word
*cussworder - one who cusses
org. cussworder is an Americanization of the British CURSEWORDER and from the medieval German die curseworderen, which comes from the Latin word: shitmouth.
**note: you know, based on the title of this post I can understand why one might think that I was going to talk about money ANYWHERE in it. I can only assume that at one point I was going to tie this post into a money discussion. For the life of me I can't figure out how I was going to do that. I think the past me was smarter than the current me. My intellect is like Merlin.
Anyway, today I feel justified in saying wtf?
1. About ten months ago I was promoted by my then boss to Ruby's position. When I inquired as to what my new duties were I was told that I didn't have any. I was told that I was too busy and that Ruby's job was going to be handled by someone else in the office.
2. About eight months ago my boss decided he was going to resign and come back to work as a contractor. And the job he was going to do as a contractor was my job.
3. After the meeting -that all of my co-workers attended- where I was told my job was going to be done by my recently formered boss I was called into my once-but-no-longer boss's office so that he could tell me that my new job was Ruby's old job; the one I had been told I would not have to do.
4. After I was given Ruby's shit job my once-upon-a-boss ask me exactly what I do. He was, after all, going to be doing it hence.
5. After my ex-boss regained his composure at learning exactly how much crap he had piled on to me over the years he decided that he was really only going to take one of my duties and that I could keep the rest. Along with Ruby's old job.
6. About six months ago, after my post-boss told me that I would still be doing all of my old duties along with all of Ruby's duties, my new boss informed me that I would also be doing Janet's duties.
7. About two months ago my new boss hired a new supervisor over me and two new co-workers to handle the overflow of work I had been given. To date they have taken one and a half of my duties.
8. Last night I kinda got in trouble for running over a toad in my driveway. I didn't do it on purpose, but my wife really loves when we come home and she sees it there. She's kinda into frogs and toads. It isn't job related, but I felt bad.
TODAY: My new boss, new supervisor and two new co-workers are meeting in the conference room for like the tenth time without me. What the hell are they talking about? They are f-ing supposed to be taking my f-ing duties? How the f- can I not be invited to any f-ing meeting they can possibly f-ing conceive of? WTF!
CURRENT MOOD: Not too confident about the security of my job... in a recession... with gas at $3.72/gallon.
New Word
*cussworder - one who cusses
org. cussworder is an Americanization of the British CURSEWORDER and from the medieval German die curseworderen, which comes from the Latin word: shitmouth.
**note: you know, based on the title of this post I can understand why one might think that I was going to talk about money ANYWHERE in it. I can only assume that at one point I was going to tie this post into a money discussion. For the life of me I can't figure out how I was going to do that. I think the past me was smarter than the current me. My intellect is like Merlin.
Midnight
I went on a midnight grocery run last night. Had to get a few things.
I don't know about you, but there is something about a woman with a penchant for talking to anyone in her vicinity while washing her car with wet towelettes under a parking lot street light - at midnight no less - that kinda puts me on my guard. So, Crazy-bug-eyed-lady, if you happen to read this blog, I am sorry my "new fangled door unlocker thing" spooked you as I walked back to my car. But I promise you, my haunted car was more afraid of you than you were of it.
I must have been getting tired too. On my way home I swear I saw part of the road get up and cross to the other side of the road.
I don't know about you, but there is something about a woman with a penchant for talking to anyone in her vicinity while washing her car with wet towelettes under a parking lot street light - at midnight no less - that kinda puts me on my guard. So, Crazy-bug-eyed-lady, if you happen to read this blog, I am sorry my "new fangled door unlocker thing" spooked you as I walked back to my car. But I promise you, my haunted car was more afraid of you than you were of it.
I must have been getting tired too. On my way home I swear I saw part of the road get up and cross to the other side of the road.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Shaving
You know, you spend 20 years shaving your face and you really think you have this whole shaving thing down. But in case you were planning on taking that next logical step, let me first offer you this word of warning: Your back is much bigger than your face. And harder to reach.
For this job you will need:
1. Extendo razors for those hard to reach places (not yet invented)
2. At least 3 mirrors to see what you are doing.
3. 3 blind servants to hold the mirrors.
4. Drano.
Estimated time: 1 hour.
In lieu of having the preceding list I would recommend the following:
1. At least one week of arm stretches before you begin. Flexibility is key.
2. A standing mirror placed strategically in back of you with your bathroom mirror in front.
3. Drano. Non negotiable.
Estimated time: 2 hours.
The key to finishing this job is suspending judgment. If you had made your own body then you certainly would have chosen a smooth back. For that matter, you would have given yourself a high speed metabolism and rock hard abs. And while we are on the subject, you'd be a few more inches taller and you'd have a full head of hair. Your teeth wouldn't be so crooked and you'd function best on 4 hours of sleep.
BUT, you didn't make yourself. You're stuck with what you got. The Lord God did his very best with the DNA your parents provided - you know it's true. You need to come to terms with that. You also need to do more sit-ups and you need to shave that back. That field of fur isn't going to shave itself.
OK, there are plenty of you out there who would suggest that to shorten this depilating job down a bit you should solicit the help of your significant other. S/he can shave your back much more quickly than you. I would not recommend this. In fact, I would highly unrecommend it. You see, love might be blind, but it is a willful blindness. Love won't see the things it doesn't want to see. But if you stick a razor in love's hand and tell love to shave away, love will regain its sight. And that is a miracle that no relationship needs. LOVE MUST REMAIN BLIND!
Love already knows you fart in bed, you pick your nose, your morning breath reaks, your love handles are creeping around the front and back, you spend way too much time watching cartoons, you would eat pizza at every meal if she didn't intervene and you are not getting up when the kids cry at night. Love bought some serious glasses last year, remember? Do you really want to tempt love? NO. Shave your back yourself. Trust me.
For this job you will need:
1. Extendo razors for those hard to reach places (not yet invented)
2. At least 3 mirrors to see what you are doing.
3. 3 blind servants to hold the mirrors.
4. Drano.
Estimated time: 1 hour.
In lieu of having the preceding list I would recommend the following:
1. At least one week of arm stretches before you begin. Flexibility is key.
2. A standing mirror placed strategically in back of you with your bathroom mirror in front.
3. Drano. Non negotiable.
Estimated time: 2 hours.
The key to finishing this job is suspending judgment. If you had made your own body then you certainly would have chosen a smooth back. For that matter, you would have given yourself a high speed metabolism and rock hard abs. And while we are on the subject, you'd be a few more inches taller and you'd have a full head of hair. Your teeth wouldn't be so crooked and you'd function best on 4 hours of sleep.
BUT, you didn't make yourself. You're stuck with what you got. The Lord God did his very best with the DNA your parents provided - you know it's true. You need to come to terms with that. You also need to do more sit-ups and you need to shave that back. That field of fur isn't going to shave itself.
OK, there are plenty of you out there who would suggest that to shorten this depilating job down a bit you should solicit the help of your significant other. S/he can shave your back much more quickly than you. I would not recommend this. In fact, I would highly unrecommend it. You see, love might be blind, but it is a willful blindness. Love won't see the things it doesn't want to see. But if you stick a razor in love's hand and tell love to shave away, love will regain its sight. And that is a miracle that no relationship needs. LOVE MUST REMAIN BLIND!
Love already knows you fart in bed, you pick your nose, your morning breath reaks, your love handles are creeping around the front and back, you spend way too much time watching cartoons, you would eat pizza at every meal if she didn't intervene and you are not getting up when the kids cry at night. Love bought some serious glasses last year, remember? Do you really want to tempt love? NO. Shave your back yourself. Trust me.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Review - Cat Alarms
REVIEW:
CAT ALARM CLOCKS
O for OUCH!
my wife's cat, Isis, decided at 7:30 am on Sunday that she wanted to be declawed. in the olden days, I was opposed to such things. I was under the impression that cats needed the defense, and I thought the process of declawing was mean. so then I got furniture and carpet, and suddenly cat rights seems thousands of dollars less important to me.
here is a lovely picture of how I started Sunday:
REVIEW:
THE EMOTIONAL EFFECT THE PREVIOUS PICTURE WILL HAVE ON YOU
F -for it doesn't look painful enuF
when I first bolted up to attention that morning it was clear what had happened. Isis was high tailing it out of the room and all kinds of nick-nacks were falling to the ground. oh yeah, and my ankle hurt like a muther. she had used my ankle as a spring board to get on top of the entertainment center.
there weren't any marks, though. I thought she would get away with her crime for lack of evidence. then, little bit by little bit the blood started to fill in. and what the blood failed to fill in the pain made up for. actually, it didn't hurt so much as it burned and itched like a little devil.
Rebecca was totally unsympathetic. I barely mentioned the scratch twenty three times before she made it totally clear that she wanted me to shut up about it. she said, "I'm sorry sweetheart. It does look pretty bad." that sounds nice, but it was the way she said it... then she said, "Perhaps if you trimmed her nails like I asked you to."
oh, so that's how it's gonna be.
Anyway, here is how my wound actually felt:
Rebecca will be crying when I die of cat-scratch fever.
REVIEW:
MY PHOTOSHOPPING SKILLS
D
I know, I know.
CAT ALARM CLOCKS
O for OUCH!
my wife's cat, Isis, decided at 7:30 am on Sunday that she wanted to be declawed. in the olden days, I was opposed to such things. I was under the impression that cats needed the defense, and I thought the process of declawing was mean. so then I got furniture and carpet, and suddenly cat rights seems thousands of dollars less important to me.
here is a lovely picture of how I started Sunday:
REVIEW:THE EMOTIONAL EFFECT THE PREVIOUS PICTURE WILL HAVE ON YOU
F -for it doesn't look painful enuF
when I first bolted up to attention that morning it was clear what had happened. Isis was high tailing it out of the room and all kinds of nick-nacks were falling to the ground. oh yeah, and my ankle hurt like a muther. she had used my ankle as a spring board to get on top of the entertainment center.
there weren't any marks, though. I thought she would get away with her crime for lack of evidence. then, little bit by little bit the blood started to fill in. and what the blood failed to fill in the pain made up for. actually, it didn't hurt so much as it burned and itched like a little devil.
Rebecca was totally unsympathetic. I barely mentioned the scratch twenty three times before she made it totally clear that she wanted me to shut up about it. she said, "I'm sorry sweetheart. It does look pretty bad." that sounds nice, but it was the way she said it... then she said, "Perhaps if you trimmed her nails like I asked you to."
oh, so that's how it's gonna be.
Anyway, here is how my wound actually felt:
Rebecca will be crying when I die of cat-scratch fever.
REVIEW:
MY PHOTOSHOPPING SKILLS
D
I know, I know.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Depression Sucks
Man, depression f-ing sucks.
On Mondays I eat fruit. Fruit because I'm trying to lose weight.
So anyway, I got this apple and I just can't finish it. I can't finish anything.
I'm such an f-ing loser and this stupid yellow delicious apple proves it.
Stupid teeth marks.
Stupid gap-teeth marks, slowly browning and becoming less savory.
Stupid sweet apple that grows more sour with each bite. And that still hasn't learned HTML or landed a job writing. And who is balding and day by day becomes less appealing. Stupid damn apple.
Stupid new job with a stupid new supervisor and stupid new co-workers who are stupid.*
*Dear Reader,
I may have forgotten to mention that recently my uber-boss hired a new office Supervisor. She is a dick with a penchant for delegating work on me when I'm already super laden. I am currently doing the work of 3 people and she casually walks into my office and tells me to build two new reports from scratch, and to please pick up this other report where this lady who is no longer with us left off three months ago.
"Ok, it's on the top of my list of things to pretend to do."
Anyway, so then the office Supervisor hires three new people; two at my pay grade and one just above me. And the one just above me is now my supervisor and I and the other two are now her team. And I have to teach them all what we do. At first I thought this would be fine because the lady who would be my team supervisor was a lot cooler than the office Supervisor - who is a micro manager deluxe - and the other two newbs would seriously lighten my load. Well, the team supervisor let the power go straight to her head in the four minutes it took her to walk from her old office a few floors up to the one next to mine. And the two co-workers keep wanting to come by my office door and say shit like, "Hello."
Stupid.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Review - e-mail from Yahoo
E-MAILS FROM YAHOO
D
dammit. one of the greatest feelings in the world is getting an e-mail. horray! someone was thinking of me! awesome!
it is especially great when you are sitting at your desk at work and you are bored off your butt. you look down to the information bar at the bottom of your monitor and there you see it: Y!(1 unread)...
oh man, you get so stoked! who could it be? who could it be?
oh.
it's just YAHOO!
... telling me about some business website deals.
well, who did you expect it to be, you loser?
the only thing worse would be spam. oh, wait... I just got some of that too.
D
dammit. one of the greatest feelings in the world is getting an e-mail. horray! someone was thinking of me! awesome!
it is especially great when you are sitting at your desk at work and you are bored off your butt. you look down to the information bar at the bottom of your monitor and there you see it: Y!(1 unread)...
oh man, you get so stoked! who could it be? who could it be?
oh.
it's just YAHOO!
... telling me about some business website deals.
well, who did you expect it to be, you loser?
the only thing worse would be spam. oh, wait... I just got some of that too.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Ha Yah!
Most people don't know about my lethal karate chop. One whack and you're dead. Bam! I've never even taken karate. I have no formal or informal training. It's just a natural gift. I swing my flat hand and woe to the people in its way.
I wouldn't say I'm a superhero. My power, if you can call it a power, is pretty easy to counter. Just stay out of the reach of my wicked hand. There's no need to kill me just because you want to be some kind of super villain.
I can't fly. I can't see through the future or into your underpants. All I got is this karate chop thing, which is pretty cool, but won't do you any harm. So... there.
I wouldn't say I'm a superhero. My power, if you can call it a power, is pretty easy to counter. Just stay out of the reach of my wicked hand. There's no need to kill me just because you want to be some kind of super villain.
I can't fly. I can't see through the future or into your underpants. All I got is this karate chop thing, which is pretty cool, but won't do you any harm. So... there.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Cats
Is there something innate in cats that compels them to beat people at feats of speed and dexterity?
It never fails that when I am going up or down the stairs one of my cats will race past me. Then, just before they reach the top (or bottom) they turn around and look at me, as if to say, "Four legs are better. I have four legs. You have two. You suck."
On occasion I have tried to stop them, but they always shoot right past me. Sometimes I'm able to get my hands on a tail, but the cats always pull through and leave me with nothing but a handful of hair. And then they get to the bottom and instantly sit and groom the place that I mussed. One time, it seems like years ago, I actually caught one as he rocketed up the stairs. Triumphantly I walked him up to the top of the stairs and set him down at my feet. He sat with his back to me and looked over his shoulder. "This proves nothing!" he glared. And I knew he was right.
It's not just the stairs either. It seems the cats refuse to allow any person into a room first. If I'm heading to a room that a cat did not recently come out of, one of mine will fly into that room ahead of me, turn around and look at me. I know what he's thinking:
I'm first. You're second. First is better. You suck... Two legger.
With dogs it's different. When a dog goes into a room ahead of you it's to protect you from the unknown. The dog is selflessly throwing himself in harms way. So if something evil lurks in the darkness he will get attacked and you can get away.
Not so with cats. Cats know there is nothing evil in the next room. Why? Because cats play the statistics. They know that chances are there is nothing in your house more evil than they. And if there is something terrifying in the next room, your cats know that they will beat you out of that room and up the stairs and under the bed. And they will leave you and the dog to deal with the problem.
It never fails that when I am going up or down the stairs one of my cats will race past me. Then, just before they reach the top (or bottom) they turn around and look at me, as if to say, "Four legs are better. I have four legs. You have two. You suck."
On occasion I have tried to stop them, but they always shoot right past me. Sometimes I'm able to get my hands on a tail, but the cats always pull through and leave me with nothing but a handful of hair. And then they get to the bottom and instantly sit and groom the place that I mussed. One time, it seems like years ago, I actually caught one as he rocketed up the stairs. Triumphantly I walked him up to the top of the stairs and set him down at my feet. He sat with his back to me and looked over his shoulder. "This proves nothing!" he glared. And I knew he was right.
It's not just the stairs either. It seems the cats refuse to allow any person into a room first. If I'm heading to a room that a cat did not recently come out of, one of mine will fly into that room ahead of me, turn around and look at me. I know what he's thinking:
I'm first. You're second. First is better. You suck... Two legger.
With dogs it's different. When a dog goes into a room ahead of you it's to protect you from the unknown. The dog is selflessly throwing himself in harms way. So if something evil lurks in the darkness he will get attacked and you can get away.
Not so with cats. Cats know there is nothing evil in the next room. Why? Because cats play the statistics. They know that chances are there is nothing in your house more evil than they. And if there is something terrifying in the next room, your cats know that they will beat you out of that room and up the stairs and under the bed. And they will leave you and the dog to deal with the problem.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Stupid Morning
Everyone probably already knows I'm not very much for morning people. I am not one myself. Life doesn't begin until 10 or 11am. But today I learned that not only am I not a morning person, but I'm even less of a morning person when it is 90 degrees in my bedroom. Then I am what is known as a Morning Bastard.
I'd like to take this moment to apologize to my wife.
Sorry, Sweetie.
Review:
BROKEN AIR CONDITIONING UNIT
D -for Dammit
yesterday I came home and found a notice on my door that my gas had been turned off because I apparently owned the gas company a spleen. (I really thought I gave them my spleen last month.) then to add insult to injury I walked upstairs to change clothes and as I rose up the stairs I very quickly became aware of a problem. when I hit stair six my head got warm; very warm. stair seven: my shoulders were warm and my head was hot. stair eight: belly warm, shoulders hot, head an inferno!
I didn't have to look to know that my upstairs AC unit had crapped out. it was 96 degrees in my bedroom. I need to repeat that. it was 96 degrees in my bedroom. as I stood there and puzzled over the thermostat it rose to 97 - just in case I hadn't noticed that it was hot as *&%$.
and in my growing tidal wave of sweat I had a vision of the future. here I share with you what is my first, and perhaps my last fatidic.
Prediction:
I predict that in the very near future I will be writing a Review about how f-ing expensive HVAC repairs are, and how there is no reasonable way that an air pump can cost 2 grand.
Review:
GETTING THE KIDS TO SLEEP IN 90 DEGREES
B -for Bribing doesn't work.
kids know it is friggin hot. they aren't afraid to tell you. and they aren't afraid to look you straight in the eye and say, "Did you pay the Air Conditioner bill?" they also know the number to the Department of Family and Children Services and they aren't afraid to use it either. as badly as things went last night they will not go so well tonight, I think.
Review:
APOLOGIZING TO YOUR WIFE FOR NOT HAVING ANY MONEY SAVED FOR JUST SUCH AN EMERGENCY
O.H. -for Old Hat
when you work for the state government this is kinda your schtick.
me: I'm sorry.
her: I know.
I'd like to take this moment to apologize to my wife.
Sorry, Sweetie.
Review:
BROKEN AIR CONDITIONING UNIT
D -for Dammit
yesterday I came home and found a notice on my door that my gas had been turned off because I apparently owned the gas company a spleen. (I really thought I gave them my spleen last month.) then to add insult to injury I walked upstairs to change clothes and as I rose up the stairs I very quickly became aware of a problem. when I hit stair six my head got warm; very warm. stair seven: my shoulders were warm and my head was hot. stair eight: belly warm, shoulders hot, head an inferno!
I didn't have to look to know that my upstairs AC unit had crapped out. it was 96 degrees in my bedroom. I need to repeat that. it was 96 degrees in my bedroom. as I stood there and puzzled over the thermostat it rose to 97 - just in case I hadn't noticed that it was hot as *&%$.
and in my growing tidal wave of sweat I had a vision of the future. here I share with you what is my first, and perhaps my last fatidic.
Prediction:
I predict that in the very near future I will be writing a Review about how f-ing expensive HVAC repairs are, and how there is no reasonable way that an air pump can cost 2 grand.
Review:
GETTING THE KIDS TO SLEEP IN 90 DEGREES
B -for Bribing doesn't work.
kids know it is friggin hot. they aren't afraid to tell you. and they aren't afraid to look you straight in the eye and say, "Did you pay the Air Conditioner bill?" they also know the number to the Department of Family and Children Services and they aren't afraid to use it either. as badly as things went last night they will not go so well tonight, I think.
Review:
APOLOGIZING TO YOUR WIFE FOR NOT HAVING ANY MONEY SAVED FOR JUST SUCH AN EMERGENCY
O.H. -for Old Hat
when you work for the state government this is kinda your schtick.
me: I'm sorry.
her: I know.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Wicked Awesome
My hair is wicked awesome today.
Most of you probably don't think hair makes a difference, but you are wrong. My hair, today, is Master of the Universe hair. And yes, that is taking into consideration that I am balding. If my hair were to fight your hair today I'm not sure you would survive. You've been warned.
I haven't written to the blog in a while. I apologize. Here are some things that have transpired since my last post that I have thought about posting, but... I don't know... I've been lazy I guess.
Sprinkles
So I was in the car with my kids and it was hot outside. We had the windows rolled up and the air conditioner on, waiting for my wife, who was in the drug store getting some medicine for my daughter. Then my son, who is 5, says, "Daddy, can I roll the window down?"
"No, Cole," I said. "It's hot outside. I want to keep the cool air in."
There was a pause and a sigh of frustration. "But I have something I want to throw outside."
"Well, I'm sorry, Cole," I said importantly, "But that would be littering. We don't throw stuff out the window just because we don't want to deal with it."
I was teaching him a life lesson, see. And to follow through with that lesson I was going to show him how to be the big person and deal with garbage. "Why don't you give it to me and I'll throw it away for you."
So I stuck my hand into the back seat and Cole gave me the thing. When I pulled my hand back and surveyed the item in my palm I asked, "Cole, what is this?"
"It's a sprinkle," he said.
Apparently "sprinkle," in Cole language, means booger.
"Ok, Cole," I said. "From now on you can throw sprinkles out the window."
That's it.
Hmm. Well, I guess that's it. It's been kind of a boring week. That might also explain why I haven't written much. Just my wicked awesome hair and sprinkles.
Boobs
Oh yeah. There were boobs. Apparently there is a Spanish singer from Spain named Alaska. And apparently she posed nude to protest something or other.
Anyway, I read one of those deep probing Yahoo articles about it to inform myself. I didn't look at the picture, though. I'm not really into that sort of thing. I am more politically minded than that. I was interested in the message this activist singer was trying to convey. And that message was: boobies, ass and boobies. And ass.
It is important, sexy women of the world, to be politically active. I don't know why more good looking women can be so activistic. Just last night my wife was protesting the fact that I hadn't taken out the garbage or done the dishes. I bet if she had been naked I'd have paid a lot more attention. (For future reference, Sweet-heart.)
PS. Activistic - having the quality of being good looking and naked and pretending that somehow your nudity is making a political difference.
PPS. The soap dispenser in the men's bathroom is empty. Someone get on that.
Most of you probably don't think hair makes a difference, but you are wrong. My hair, today, is Master of the Universe hair. And yes, that is taking into consideration that I am balding. If my hair were to fight your hair today I'm not sure you would survive. You've been warned.
I haven't written to the blog in a while. I apologize. Here are some things that have transpired since my last post that I have thought about posting, but... I don't know... I've been lazy I guess.
Sprinkles
So I was in the car with my kids and it was hot outside. We had the windows rolled up and the air conditioner on, waiting for my wife, who was in the drug store getting some medicine for my daughter. Then my son, who is 5, says, "Daddy, can I roll the window down?"
"No, Cole," I said. "It's hot outside. I want to keep the cool air in."
There was a pause and a sigh of frustration. "But I have something I want to throw outside."
"Well, I'm sorry, Cole," I said importantly, "But that would be littering. We don't throw stuff out the window just because we don't want to deal with it."
I was teaching him a life lesson, see. And to follow through with that lesson I was going to show him how to be the big person and deal with garbage. "Why don't you give it to me and I'll throw it away for you."
So I stuck my hand into the back seat and Cole gave me the thing. When I pulled my hand back and surveyed the item in my palm I asked, "Cole, what is this?"
"It's a sprinkle," he said.
Apparently "sprinkle," in Cole language, means booger.
"Ok, Cole," I said. "From now on you can throw sprinkles out the window."
That's it.
Hmm. Well, I guess that's it. It's been kind of a boring week. That might also explain why I haven't written much. Just my wicked awesome hair and sprinkles.
Boobs
Oh yeah. There were boobs. Apparently there is a Spanish singer from Spain named Alaska. And apparently she posed nude to protest something or other.
Anyway, I read one of those deep probing Yahoo articles about it to inform myself. I didn't look at the picture, though. I'm not really into that sort of thing. I am more politically minded than that. I was interested in the message this activist singer was trying to convey. And that message was: boobies, ass and boobies. And ass.
It is important, sexy women of the world, to be politically active. I don't know why more good looking women can be so activistic. Just last night my wife was protesting the fact that I hadn't taken out the garbage or done the dishes. I bet if she had been naked I'd have paid a lot more attention. (For future reference, Sweet-heart.)
PS. Activistic - having the quality of being good looking and naked and pretending that somehow your nudity is making a political difference.
PPS. The soap dispenser in the men's bathroom is empty. Someone get on that.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Real Humor
I live in Georgia. As you may know last year we and the whole South East U.S. had a horrible drought that we aren't exactly out of just yet.
Anyway, there were several water bans placed around the state. You couldn't water your grass. You couldn't wash your car. People were asked to take shorter showers and to hold off on washing clothes and dishes until you had a large load.
Well apparently our rationing was a success because now the water companies are complaining that since we've used so little water their income has evaporated and now they will have to increase our rates.
"Congratulations Georgia! You did so well at doing what we told you that we decided to punish you for it."
Anyway, there were several water bans placed around the state. You couldn't water your grass. You couldn't wash your car. People were asked to take shorter showers and to hold off on washing clothes and dishes until you had a large load.
Well apparently our rationing was a success because now the water companies are complaining that since we've used so little water their income has evaporated and now they will have to increase our rates.
"Congratulations Georgia! You did so well at doing what we told you that we decided to punish you for it."
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
OH MY GOD!
You may think the History Channel is for dorks (it is) but you are wrong! (seriously it is)
Last night I watched one of their new shows called Monster Quest. Basically they take these legends of monsters and review them historically, and in some cases presently, to see if they hold any truth. They've done Sasquatch and Nessie from Loch Ness. In those shows they determined that there is no real proof or evidence to support the legends, just anecdotal sightings. They didn't discount the legends as total fabrication, but they didn't confirm them.
Last night they did Monster Fish. And, dear Lord, they are real. These aren't like sharks or whales or barracuda, people. These are fresh water fish that lurk in the watering holes we swim in on July 4. These are big-ass baby eaters. Holy crap, I'm still freaked out by them.
One fish, called the alligator gar http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alligator_gar lives in the southern US. That's my home people, I am not happy. This mother can get up to 300 pounds! And YES they bite. They don't nibble. They bite to eat.
Why have I never heard of these damn things?
The biggest fresh water fish they talked about was... did you guess? The friggin' catfish.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giant_catfish
Apparently these damn things can get really flipping big; as big as 600 pounds. That's just evolutionarily not even fair. They had a girl from (I think) some Asian country on the show who said her young cousin was knocked off a boat they were both in and devoured by a catfish.
REVIEW:
BEING EATEN BY A CATFISH!
H
for
Howthefuckdoyouexplainthistoyourfamily?
ok, granted, if you are eaten by a catfish you don't have any explaining to do. you are dead. but let's say you go out on a boat for a romantic evening, perhaps to go skinny dipping after prom, which I didn't do, but it seems plausible. so there you are, on the deck of your pontoon boat, in all your naked glory, with your girlfriend swimming in the water. you think to yourself, "Man, I love being a naked teenager." then, all of a sudden, a catfish swallows your date. you barely even got a good look at her boobs and now she's fish food. you didn't get laid, my friend, you got screwed.
my suggestion:
do not tell the local authorities that your girlfriend was eaten by a fish. that's a one way ticket to the big top, pee wee. no one's gonna believe you and you will always be that nut who killed his girlfriend on prom night.
no.
here's what you do. admit to the skinny dipping. on the off chance that someone catches that damn catfish and cuts it open, and your naked girlfriend comes spilling out, you don't want everyone to be surprised by her lack of attire. then say that as you and she were about to consummate your wonderful love for each other when she had an epiphany; suddenly she began to glow with radiance and she said that she wanted to find the Holy Chalice of the Lord, so she jumped off the boat in the buff and swam for shore. you tried to pursue her, but you lost her in the dark waters. you think she was headed for France.
this is more believable. you will probably only do 7 years in the Pen if you tell a good lie like this one.
another option is to take your friends skinny dipping with you. it will get a titch uncomfortable when you catch Jon, your date's best-friend's boyfriend oogling your boy bits more than twice, then quickly looking away, but at least you'll have witnesses when the love of your semester is gobbled up by the fresh-water Kraken.
on the off chance that all three of your friends are gobbled up... well that's God telling you that he wants you to start a prison ministry from the inside.
***
Giant fish. I mean, holy crap. I can't get over it. I had finally come to terms with sharks in the ocean, alligators in Florida and Chthulu in my neighbor's swimming pool. Now I have to worry about 600 pound fish in the innocent rivers and ponds of America? That's old world shit. Maybe there's more magic in the world than I thought. I may want to reconsider that Bel and the Dragon story.
Last night I watched one of their new shows called Monster Quest. Basically they take these legends of monsters and review them historically, and in some cases presently, to see if they hold any truth. They've done Sasquatch and Nessie from Loch Ness. In those shows they determined that there is no real proof or evidence to support the legends, just anecdotal sightings. They didn't discount the legends as total fabrication, but they didn't confirm them.
Last night they did Monster Fish. And, dear Lord, they are real. These aren't like sharks or whales or barracuda, people. These are fresh water fish that lurk in the watering holes we swim in on July 4. These are big-ass baby eaters. Holy crap, I'm still freaked out by them.
One fish, called the alligator gar http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alligator_gar lives in the southern US. That's my home people, I am not happy. This mother can get up to 300 pounds! And YES they bite. They don't nibble. They bite to eat.
Why have I never heard of these damn things?
The biggest fresh water fish they talked about was... did you guess? The friggin' catfish.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giant_catfish
Apparently these damn things can get really flipping big; as big as 600 pounds. That's just evolutionarily not even fair. They had a girl from (I think) some Asian country on the show who said her young cousin was knocked off a boat they were both in and devoured by a catfish.
REVIEW:
BEING EATEN BY A CATFISH!
H
for
Howthefuckdoyouexplainthistoyourfamily?
ok, granted, if you are eaten by a catfish you don't have any explaining to do. you are dead. but let's say you go out on a boat for a romantic evening, perhaps to go skinny dipping after prom, which I didn't do, but it seems plausible. so there you are, on the deck of your pontoon boat, in all your naked glory, with your girlfriend swimming in the water. you think to yourself, "Man, I love being a naked teenager." then, all of a sudden, a catfish swallows your date. you barely even got a good look at her boobs and now she's fish food. you didn't get laid, my friend, you got screwed.
my suggestion:
do not tell the local authorities that your girlfriend was eaten by a fish. that's a one way ticket to the big top, pee wee. no one's gonna believe you and you will always be that nut who killed his girlfriend on prom night.
no.
here's what you do. admit to the skinny dipping. on the off chance that someone catches that damn catfish and cuts it open, and your naked girlfriend comes spilling out, you don't want everyone to be surprised by her lack of attire. then say that as you and she were about to consummate your wonderful love for each other when she had an epiphany; suddenly she began to glow with radiance and she said that she wanted to find the Holy Chalice of the Lord, so she jumped off the boat in the buff and swam for shore. you tried to pursue her, but you lost her in the dark waters. you think she was headed for France.
this is more believable. you will probably only do 7 years in the Pen if you tell a good lie like this one.
another option is to take your friends skinny dipping with you. it will get a titch uncomfortable when you catch Jon, your date's best-friend's boyfriend oogling your boy bits more than twice, then quickly looking away, but at least you'll have witnesses when the love of your semester is gobbled up by the fresh-water Kraken.
on the off chance that all three of your friends are gobbled up... well that's God telling you that he wants you to start a prison ministry from the inside.
***
Giant fish. I mean, holy crap. I can't get over it. I had finally come to terms with sharks in the ocean, alligators in Florida and Chthulu in my neighbor's swimming pool. Now I have to worry about 600 pound fish in the innocent rivers and ponds of America? That's old world shit. Maybe there's more magic in the world than I thought. I may want to reconsider that Bel and the Dragon story.
Friday, May 09, 2008
300
Sorry folks. If you Goggled 300 and selected this link, hoping to find wicked pictures of movie-star men with ripped up abs on a website that your government IT department won't block, I almost sincerely apologize. There are no hot men here.
This is my 300th post! Yay for me. And yay for all of those people out there who read this blog. Thanks you three for reading.
Maybe someday science will discover that reading my blog is a cure for syphilis. I don't know if it is, but that would be cool if it was. Because anitbiotics are growing less and less effective. And artifical boobs are growing more and more convincing. Cataclism looms.
And this blog will be here to offer healing. Or at the very least nothing.
This is my 300th post! Yay for me. And yay for all of those people out there who read this blog. Thanks you three for reading.
Maybe someday science will discover that reading my blog is a cure for syphilis. I don't know if it is, but that would be cool if it was. Because anitbiotics are growing less and less effective. And artifical boobs are growing more and more convincing. Cataclism looms.
And this blog will be here to offer healing. Or at the very least nothing.
Turner don't want me for a sunbeam.
Well shit.
Turner Broadcasting has this pretty cool training program (T3) where you get to work in one of their divisions (Turner Classic Movies, TNT, Cartoon Network, etc) getting paid, making networking contacts and getting some really good experience in that industry. The downside is the training program only lasts 11 months and there is no guarantee of a job afterwards.
Anyway, I saw that one of the training positions they were hiring for was a writer. I talked it over with the wife and we agreed that the benefits outweighed the risk. I am miserably tired of my current job and I figured if I busted my ass in those 11 months of training I could prove myself worthy of keeping.
So I made a project. In addition to your application Turner Broadcasting wanted a project that showed your abilities in the area for which you were applying. I was applying for a writing position, so I submitted a bunch of writing. I thought the writing was pretty darn funny and clever. It doesn't appear that anyone at Turner agreed.
That sorta blows a lot. I'll try again next year. I already have an idea for what I will do.
sigh
Sorry this isn't a funny post. Normally it's pretty funny when someone puts a lot of effort and hope into a thing and that thing is unceremoniously dismissed. Even the thought kinda makes you chuckle. I'm feeling better already.
Actually, no, I'm not.
Oh well, life goes on.
If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.
Nothing ventured nothing gained.
It's better to have loved an lost than to never have loved at all.
A turd in the hand is better than two up the bushel.
Don't smile or they'll think you farted.
He who laughs last laughs last.
The morning I was born it was afternoon.
Frog legs taste like chicken.
When I was a child I had a fever. My hands swelled just like two balloons.
We have nothing to fear but fear and gravy.
Wear a wig.
If it's windy wear a jacket.
If it's slutty wear a raincoat.
Live life to the fullest.
See Ruby Falls.
Topless Girls Next Exit.
This might sting a little.
If it tastes good it's bad for you.
I'm sorry, that's not my department.
Seriously, you have the wrong number.
Practice, practice, practice.
Location, location, location.
Have you heard the word about the bird?
Don't scratch it or it'll spread.
Stop touching yourself. We're in public.
TGIF
TGIORPBZMFDFOOOPRETTBLRTS
Close your eyes or you'll see the truth.
Get back to work.
Et cetera.
Ok, now I feel better.
Turner Broadcasting has this pretty cool training program (T3) where you get to work in one of their divisions (Turner Classic Movies, TNT, Cartoon Network, etc) getting paid, making networking contacts and getting some really good experience in that industry. The downside is the training program only lasts 11 months and there is no guarantee of a job afterwards.
Anyway, I saw that one of the training positions they were hiring for was a writer. I talked it over with the wife and we agreed that the benefits outweighed the risk. I am miserably tired of my current job and I figured if I busted my ass in those 11 months of training I could prove myself worthy of keeping.
So I made a project. In addition to your application Turner Broadcasting wanted a project that showed your abilities in the area for which you were applying. I was applying for a writing position, so I submitted a bunch of writing. I thought the writing was pretty darn funny and clever. It doesn't appear that anyone at Turner agreed.
That sorta blows a lot. I'll try again next year. I already have an idea for what I will do.
sigh
Sorry this isn't a funny post. Normally it's pretty funny when someone puts a lot of effort and hope into a thing and that thing is unceremoniously dismissed. Even the thought kinda makes you chuckle. I'm feeling better already.
Actually, no, I'm not.
Oh well, life goes on.
If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.
Nothing ventured nothing gained.
It's better to have loved an lost than to never have loved at all.
A turd in the hand is better than two up the bushel.
Don't smile or they'll think you farted.
He who laughs last laughs last.
The morning I was born it was afternoon.
Frog legs taste like chicken.
When I was a child I had a fever. My hands swelled just like two balloons.
We have nothing to fear but fear and gravy.
Wear a wig.
If it's windy wear a jacket.
If it's slutty wear a raincoat.
Live life to the fullest.
See Ruby Falls.
Topless Girls Next Exit.
This might sting a little.
If it tastes good it's bad for you.
I'm sorry, that's not my department.
Seriously, you have the wrong number.
Practice, practice, practice.
Location, location, location.
Have you heard the word about the bird?
Don't scratch it or it'll spread.
Stop touching yourself. We're in public.
TGIF
TGIORPBZMFDFOOOPRETTBLRTS
Close your eyes or you'll see the truth.
Get back to work.
Et cetera.
Ok, now I feel better.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Something funny.
Hmmm. Something funny, something funny. I got nothin.
I just got complained at via e-mail that I hadn't posted anything this week. But nothing really happened to me this week, so I don't know what to write.
Did I tell you guys that I got my glasses? I think I did. Besides, that was last week.
Well, did I tell you that this week I lost them? Yeah, that kinda sucked. I thought I left them at choir practice. I had them at choir Wednesday night and I thought I had them when I brought the kids home, but Thursday morning I couldn't find them.
I checked all of the places I usually set my stuff. I found my wallet, my phone, my keys, my MP3 player... but no glasses. Then I went and checked the car. No glasses. So I went back to my room and threw around some dirty clothes to see what they were hiding. Nothing serious. A goblin and a couple of quarters. No glasses. I cussed a bunch so that Rebecca would say, "What's wrong?" She did and I told her I thought I had left my glasses at choir. I expected her to say how she had told me I would lose them, because she totally did tell me that. But she didn't. She asked if I had looked in all the places I had looked. I said yes. She asked if I had looked in the car. Then I got all huffy as if it was somehow her fault that I was an idiot. So I skulked off to check the car again. No glasses a second time.
Finally I went inside and resigned myself to the fact that I must have left them at church. I was pretty angry with myself. At the carpoole lot I checked my car one more time, as if by some special magic my glasses would appear. No glasses. At work I e-mailed the choir and asked if anyone had seen them. Then I called the director and she said she hadn't seen them. Then I went home all in a huff, because those suckers were expensive. I got in my car, then went and got the kids. When we got home I got the kids out of the car and I found my glasses. They were right in the front seat. Right in plain sight.
Anyway, I grounded my children for a week for being a magical convergence where material things can disappear and reappear. Kinda like the Bermuda Triangle. Except they would be more like a biangle. They claimed that they weren't such a thing and I said, "You wanna make it two weeks?"
I just got complained at via e-mail that I hadn't posted anything this week. But nothing really happened to me this week, so I don't know what to write.
Did I tell you guys that I got my glasses? I think I did. Besides, that was last week.
Well, did I tell you that this week I lost them? Yeah, that kinda sucked. I thought I left them at choir practice. I had them at choir Wednesday night and I thought I had them when I brought the kids home, but Thursday morning I couldn't find them.
I checked all of the places I usually set my stuff. I found my wallet, my phone, my keys, my MP3 player... but no glasses. Then I went and checked the car. No glasses. So I went back to my room and threw around some dirty clothes to see what they were hiding. Nothing serious. A goblin and a couple of quarters. No glasses. I cussed a bunch so that Rebecca would say, "What's wrong?" She did and I told her I thought I had left my glasses at choir. I expected her to say how she had told me I would lose them, because she totally did tell me that. But she didn't. She asked if I had looked in all the places I had looked. I said yes. She asked if I had looked in the car. Then I got all huffy as if it was somehow her fault that I was an idiot. So I skulked off to check the car again. No glasses a second time.
Finally I went inside and resigned myself to the fact that I must have left them at church. I was pretty angry with myself. At the carpoole lot I checked my car one more time, as if by some special magic my glasses would appear. No glasses. At work I e-mailed the choir and asked if anyone had seen them. Then I called the director and she said she hadn't seen them. Then I went home all in a huff, because those suckers were expensive. I got in my car, then went and got the kids. When we got home I got the kids out of the car and I found my glasses. They were right in the front seat. Right in plain sight.
Anyway, I grounded my children for a week for being a magical convergence where material things can disappear and reappear. Kinda like the Bermuda Triangle. Except they would be more like a biangle. They claimed that they weren't such a thing and I said, "You wanna make it two weeks?"
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Smell Wheel
Am I the only person who thinks that buttered popcorn and warm urine are just about the same smell?
If there was a smell wheel, like the color wheel but with smells, I think urine and buttered popcorn would be side by side; like yellow and slightly golden yellow.
I think that there are a lot of delicious and beautiful smells that are just the slightest variation away from putrid and disgusting. When I was in college the appartment complex I lived in had a long row of trees that bloomed white in the spring. For a week they smelled nice and pretty and they looked beautiful and I loved to walk past them. After that week they smelled exactly like crotch. But the smell wasn't really all that different.
And how often have you been in a far corner of your house when you thought, "Oh God, what is that awful smell?" Then when your wife tells you she's stewing pot roast you think, "Ooh, that sounds delicious," and suddenly the smells is yummy.
Nasty sits right next to delicious on the smell wheel.
If there was a smell wheel, like the color wheel but with smells, I think urine and buttered popcorn would be side by side; like yellow and slightly golden yellow.
I think that there are a lot of delicious and beautiful smells that are just the slightest variation away from putrid and disgusting. When I was in college the appartment complex I lived in had a long row of trees that bloomed white in the spring. For a week they smelled nice and pretty and they looked beautiful and I loved to walk past them. After that week they smelled exactly like crotch. But the smell wasn't really all that different.
And how often have you been in a far corner of your house when you thought, "Oh God, what is that awful smell?" Then when your wife tells you she's stewing pot roast you think, "Ooh, that sounds delicious," and suddenly the smells is yummy.
Nasty sits right next to delicious on the smell wheel.
Friday, April 18, 2008
You Can Retire a MILLIONAIRE!!!!!!
You do not need to have a glamorous, high paying job to retire rich. All you have to do to retire a millionaire is follow these three simple rules:
1. Don't not have a job.
2. Don't do spend the money you earn on things you do or don't need.
3. Start investing as much of your earnings as possible thirty years ago.
Also, try and avoid these three common pitfalls to retiring wealthy:
1. Eating.
2. Having children.
3. Doing anything.
I'm thinking of writing a Financial Management book. I think I've finally figured out all of the secrets. Here are some common tricks that no one tells you about:
Be born rich.
That one seems pretty typical among the rich.
Also:
Be a huge dick.
Talk about how broke you are.
Bitch about how all of your tax dollars are going to help crack babies and teenage whore moms and say things like you already give enough to private organizations even though you know it's a lie.
Those also seems pretty common.
I think I have this down. I'll be rich before you know it.
****
Review:
STUPID ADVICE TO MAKE MONEY THAT CAN'T HELP ANYONE:
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF*ckyou
yeah, duh? do you really freakin' think that anyone out there doesn't know that you have to save money if you want to save money? we aren't retarded out here.
I actually read an article on Yahoo yesterday that said it was easy to retire a millionaire. all you need to do is start saving money at age 26. my God! who gives the first shit about retirement at age 26? I didn't. and even if I had I didn't have any money. at age 26 I was lucky if I went a full month with all of my utilities on. the phrase, "Savings Account," was followed by ironic laughter in my house. and then the laughter was followed by tears.
but maybe I'm wrong. maybe, just maybe the average person out there makes tons of money, but they think the best way to invest it is to eat it and then flush it down the toilet.
1. Don't not have a job.
2. Don't do spend the money you earn on things you do or don't need.
3. Start investing as much of your earnings as possible thirty years ago.
Also, try and avoid these three common pitfalls to retiring wealthy:
1. Eating.
2. Having children.
3. Doing anything.
I'm thinking of writing a Financial Management book. I think I've finally figured out all of the secrets. Here are some common tricks that no one tells you about:
Be born rich.
That one seems pretty typical among the rich.
Also:
Be a huge dick.
Talk about how broke you are.
Bitch about how all of your tax dollars are going to help crack babies and teenage whore moms and say things like you already give enough to private organizations even though you know it's a lie.
Those also seems pretty common.
I think I have this down. I'll be rich before you know it.
****
Review:
STUPID ADVICE TO MAKE MONEY THAT CAN'T HELP ANYONE:
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF*ckyou
yeah, duh? do you really freakin' think that anyone out there doesn't know that you have to save money if you want to save money? we aren't retarded out here.
I actually read an article on Yahoo yesterday that said it was easy to retire a millionaire. all you need to do is start saving money at age 26. my God! who gives the first shit about retirement at age 26? I didn't. and even if I had I didn't have any money. at age 26 I was lucky if I went a full month with all of my utilities on. the phrase, "Savings Account," was followed by ironic laughter in my house. and then the laughter was followed by tears.
but maybe I'm wrong. maybe, just maybe the average person out there makes tons of money, but they think the best way to invest it is to eat it and then flush it down the toilet.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Your fortune?
So, it's official. Medical science has deemed that I can see into the future.
Actually, what my doctor said was, "Michael, you're far-sighted."
It was a metaphore.
Review:
LOOSING YOUR VISION:
C for Craptastic.
so there I was in the eye doctor room and she said, "Read the bottom line for me." and I did, because I'm a pro. and she said, "Now close your right eye." and I did. and I looked through the little mirror thingy and I saw V T Z X O. and she said, "Good, now read it with both eyes." and I did. and I saw V T E X C, and I knew she was a witch.
now, I don't think this was fair to test me like this because I didn't get to study. I don't do so well with pop quizzes. if I had been able to study I know I'd have gotten the E and probably the C.
then she made me read some more lines and I got them wrong also. but this was also not my fault on account of I might have been drunk. you never know.
then I had to look through this new fangled contraption with flippy circles of glass what made my eyes see righter. and she said, "Is that better?" and I said yes, though her hand never touched me. and she said, "Is that better still?" and I said, "Still it is." and we might have fallen into courtship, had I not been the married type, and had she not been great with age and a devil-woman, and had I been the slightest attracted to her.
then she said, "Kind sir, open your eyes so that I may light them ablaze." and against my own better judgement I did and so she did; whichn is why I was inclined to believe her a witch; a bride of the devil. so with only but a drop of some wicked water she made my eyes catch to fire, though they were not consumed. then she bade me go and view the spectacles in her room of waiting, while she tortured my wife for being lucky enough to have found me in the first place.
and thus I viewed eye-glasses until her devilish potion worked and I was blinded for nigh on four hours. and so she took me back into her lair when she had finished abusing my wife and she tried to have her way with me. and she shone lights into my eyes and I said, "Please, do not consume my innocent soul and descend into the hoary depths of the netherworld." and she said, "You're eyes are healthy Mr. Fleming. You can go."
and I did go. and I bumped into a lot of shit as I did. because I'd never had my eyes dilated before is why. and my wife had to drive.
Actually, what my doctor said was, "Michael, you're far-sighted."
It was a metaphore.
Review:
LOOSING YOUR VISION:
C for Craptastic.
so there I was in the eye doctor room and she said, "Read the bottom line for me." and I did, because I'm a pro. and she said, "Now close your right eye." and I did. and I looked through the little mirror thingy and I saw V T Z X O. and she said, "Good, now read it with both eyes." and I did. and I saw V T E X C, and I knew she was a witch.
now, I don't think this was fair to test me like this because I didn't get to study. I don't do so well with pop quizzes. if I had been able to study I know I'd have gotten the E and probably the C.
then she made me read some more lines and I got them wrong also. but this was also not my fault on account of I might have been drunk. you never know.
then I had to look through this new fangled contraption with flippy circles of glass what made my eyes see righter. and she said, "Is that better?" and I said yes, though her hand never touched me. and she said, "Is that better still?" and I said, "Still it is." and we might have fallen into courtship, had I not been the married type, and had she not been great with age and a devil-woman, and had I been the slightest attracted to her.
then she said, "Kind sir, open your eyes so that I may light them ablaze." and against my own better judgement I did and so she did; whichn is why I was inclined to believe her a witch; a bride of the devil. so with only but a drop of some wicked water she made my eyes catch to fire, though they were not consumed. then she bade me go and view the spectacles in her room of waiting, while she tortured my wife for being lucky enough to have found me in the first place.
and thus I viewed eye-glasses until her devilish potion worked and I was blinded for nigh on four hours. and so she took me back into her lair when she had finished abusing my wife and she tried to have her way with me. and she shone lights into my eyes and I said, "Please, do not consume my innocent soul and descend into the hoary depths of the netherworld." and she said, "You're eyes are healthy Mr. Fleming. You can go."
and I did go. and I bumped into a lot of shit as I did. because I'd never had my eyes dilated before is why. and my wife had to drive.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Addiction
Guys... I may be addicted to Sudoku.
I'm definitely addicted to Reversi. I made peace with that a long time ago. But Sudoku...
I tried to say no for a long time. I steered away. I told myself, "All I need is Reversi. I don't need a different fix."
I used to convince myself that Reversi was not a gateway game; that being using it would not lead to other things. But who was I kidding. That's what I said about Checkers and Free Cell before that. My gaming track marks have grown tough to hide. There's a pile of dishes in my kitchen because I couldn't tear myself away from a Level 5 Sudoku last night. I was just experimenting, but now I want another hit. What am I gonna do?
Ok, enough of that. I've thrown in some pictures for you lookie-lous. I'm pretty happy with how these turned out. I'd say that there are more to come of this character, but really, how many times have you heard that one? That's what you get for trusting a game addict.
I'm definitely addicted to Reversi. I made peace with that a long time ago. But Sudoku...
I tried to say no for a long time. I steered away. I told myself, "All I need is Reversi. I don't need a different fix."
I used to convince myself that Reversi was not a gateway game; that being using it would not lead to other things. But who was I kidding. That's what I said about Checkers and Free Cell before that. My gaming track marks have grown tough to hide. There's a pile of dishes in my kitchen because I couldn't tear myself away from a Level 5 Sudoku last night. I was just experimenting, but now I want another hit. What am I gonna do?
Ok, enough of that. I've thrown in some pictures for you lookie-lous. I'm pretty happy with how these turned out. I'd say that there are more to come of this character, but really, how many times have you heard that one? That's what you get for trusting a game addict.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Why do I try?
You can't win with banks. Don't even try. Even if you are right and everyone knows you are right you will lose.
"Yes sir, Mr. Fleming, you are clearly right. But you are wrong."
See, I had just received a call from my credit card company. I paid them a lot of money. Well over the amount they asked for.
"Mr. Fleming," a heavily accented voice said. "Our records show your account is past due. You owe us $63.00. If you do not make a payment in the next 5 days we will have to report it to your Credit Bureau. If you would like I can take a payment of $63.00 for you now and waive the $9.00 service fee."
"Ok," I said, "But I'd rather pay $150.00."
This conversation actually took about five minutes because I couldn't friggin understand the guy and I kept having to ask him to repeat himself. Now people, please don't think that because I live in the south I am intollerant of different people. Quite the contrary. I am usually extremely tollerant of different people. I actually like differences. But sometimes I think banks and their ilk use the least understandable people they can find to f* you into screwing up.
Anyway, I paid $150 because I knew that I was over my credit limit, but I couldn't remember how much.
So time passed (about 3 seconds) and I suddenly had a bad feeling. So I called the exact number back that had just called me. But the number went to the Atlanta Diabetes Association. I called the number 3 times and every time it went to the ADA.
So then I started to freak out. I've been the victem of identity theft before. The last think I needed was to lose $150.00. So I called the main number for my credit card. Luckily for me they did have a record of the previous call and my payment. But as I'm trying to get off the phone with the lady, who is trying to tell me all of the wonderful services WaMu has to offer over the phone, including free rectal stretching, when she says, "Now, unfortunately, Mr. Fleming, your most recent payment will not be enough to make you current."
"What's that?" said I.
"My records indicate that your account is $156.23 over your limit. We do appreciate your payment of $150.00, but if you account is not made current in five days then we will have to charge you a $39.00 over draft fee."
"Well, why didn't you guys tell me that?"
"I'm telling you that, sir."
"Yes, I understand that. But I just got off the phone with a guy who said I only needed to pay $63.00. Now you are telling me that I needed to pay $156.00 to stay current. Why didn't he say that?"
"Sir, he was just calling to collect a payment."
"I understand that," I said with fake calm. "But just now you very politely informed me that my payment was $6.00 from being what you needed to avoid a charge of $40.00..."
"I said 39."
"Fine. So you told me that an extra 6 dollars would save me $39 in the future. Why didn't that guy give me the same polite advice? I would have paid the extra $6.00."
"Yes sir. But he wasn't calling to bring your account below the limit. He was just trying to get a payment."
"So he is not bound by good customer service practices?"
"I don't know sir."
"You are Washington Mutual. You are supposed to be the bank that doesn't want to nickel and dime it's customers."
"Sir, it is not our fault that you are overdrawn."
"I'm not saying it is. But wouldn't it have been good customer service for him to tell me I could save $39 by paying an extra $6?"
"I don't know, sir."
"You don't know? Fine," I said, relenting. "Is there any way we can resolve this?"
"How do you mean, sir?"
"I mean, can I make a payment for $6.00 now?"
"You will still owe 23 cents, sir. We'll still have to charge you an overdraft fee."
"Then can I make a payment for $7.00 now?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"We cannot process a new payment until the last payment has cleared."
"How long will that take?"
"It should only take about 4 to 5 business days."
"But you told me I have to be current in 5 days."
"Yes sir, you do."
I didn't say anything. I let that last bit linger, hoping for some realization.
"Sir," she said. "If you call back when your payment has cleared we can look at your account and determine if we can do anything else for you."
"So then I might be able to make a $6.23 cent payment to make my balance current?"
"Yes, but there will be a $9.00 service fee."
****
I f-ing hate banks.
"Yes sir, Mr. Fleming, you are clearly right. But you are wrong."
See, I had just received a call from my credit card company. I paid them a lot of money. Well over the amount they asked for.
"Mr. Fleming," a heavily accented voice said. "Our records show your account is past due. You owe us $63.00. If you do not make a payment in the next 5 days we will have to report it to your Credit Bureau. If you would like I can take a payment of $63.00 for you now and waive the $9.00 service fee."
"Ok," I said, "But I'd rather pay $150.00."
This conversation actually took about five minutes because I couldn't friggin understand the guy and I kept having to ask him to repeat himself. Now people, please don't think that because I live in the south I am intollerant of different people. Quite the contrary. I am usually extremely tollerant of different people. I actually like differences. But sometimes I think banks and their ilk use the least understandable people they can find to f* you into screwing up.
Anyway, I paid $150 because I knew that I was over my credit limit, but I couldn't remember how much.
So time passed (about 3 seconds) and I suddenly had a bad feeling. So I called the exact number back that had just called me. But the number went to the Atlanta Diabetes Association. I called the number 3 times and every time it went to the ADA.
So then I started to freak out. I've been the victem of identity theft before. The last think I needed was to lose $150.00. So I called the main number for my credit card. Luckily for me they did have a record of the previous call and my payment. But as I'm trying to get off the phone with the lady, who is trying to tell me all of the wonderful services WaMu has to offer over the phone, including free rectal stretching, when she says, "Now, unfortunately, Mr. Fleming, your most recent payment will not be enough to make you current."
"What's that?" said I.
"My records indicate that your account is $156.23 over your limit. We do appreciate your payment of $150.00, but if you account is not made current in five days then we will have to charge you a $39.00 over draft fee."
"Well, why didn't you guys tell me that?"
"I'm telling you that, sir."
"Yes, I understand that. But I just got off the phone with a guy who said I only needed to pay $63.00. Now you are telling me that I needed to pay $156.00 to stay current. Why didn't he say that?"
"Sir, he was just calling to collect a payment."
"I understand that," I said with fake calm. "But just now you very politely informed me that my payment was $6.00 from being what you needed to avoid a charge of $40.00..."
"I said 39."
"Fine. So you told me that an extra 6 dollars would save me $39 in the future. Why didn't that guy give me the same polite advice? I would have paid the extra $6.00."
"Yes sir. But he wasn't calling to bring your account below the limit. He was just trying to get a payment."
"So he is not bound by good customer service practices?"
"I don't know sir."
"You are Washington Mutual. You are supposed to be the bank that doesn't want to nickel and dime it's customers."
"Sir, it is not our fault that you are overdrawn."
"I'm not saying it is. But wouldn't it have been good customer service for him to tell me I could save $39 by paying an extra $6?"
"I don't know, sir."
"You don't know? Fine," I said, relenting. "Is there any way we can resolve this?"
"How do you mean, sir?"
"I mean, can I make a payment for $6.00 now?"
"You will still owe 23 cents, sir. We'll still have to charge you an overdraft fee."
"Then can I make a payment for $7.00 now?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"We cannot process a new payment until the last payment has cleared."
"How long will that take?"
"It should only take about 4 to 5 business days."
"But you told me I have to be current in 5 days."
"Yes sir, you do."
I didn't say anything. I let that last bit linger, hoping for some realization.
"Sir," she said. "If you call back when your payment has cleared we can look at your account and determine if we can do anything else for you."
"So then I might be able to make a $6.23 cent payment to make my balance current?"
"Yes, but there will be a $9.00 service fee."
****
I f-ing hate banks.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
No Belt and I'm an idiot.
Ok, I forgot my friggin belt this morning. I hate that I actually care about this sort of thing. Because I really don't care and when I find out that I do care I have to ask myself, "Do I really care about this?" and I say, "No, of course not! It is inconsequential." Then I think, "But I do care."
I don't need a belt to hold my pants up. Mostly I care because I'm just enough over weight that my gut curls the waist-band of my pants down ever so slightly and draws attention to the fact that my pants really are a 32 waist and I really am a 34 (don't challenge me on that). A belt prevents that from happening and I can continue my day with the delusion that no one really notices that my pants are a bit too small.
And SCENE!
Ok, that was stupid.
Now for some reviews:
STINKY PEOPLE ON THE BUS:
B- if they sit somewhere else
D- if I can smell them
Purgatory (if they sit next to me.)
ok, we are in a drought, so I understand the desire to conserve water by skipping a shower or two, but that doesn't mean you can't spray some Right Guard under your pits.
TINY ASS BUS SEATS:
F!
let us be reasonable. I am a smallish kinda guy. there is no good reason that when I sit down and someone sits down next to me that this person should be in my lap.
let's face it, America is not overflowing with skinny people. the bus seat should comfortably accommodate a medium build.
SLOW BUS DRIVERS:
SHIT-
I'm not the kind of guy who hauls ass to the bus. I park my car. I make sure I have my ID badge and my briefcase. I make sure I have my bus money. then I get out of my car and walk a brisk pace to the bus. some people run as though this is their one opportunity to catch the only bus to Atlanta, and the bus behind that bus is going straight to the level of hell where the devil probes your anus with broken promises.
I don't see the point. however, I also don't see the reason why the bus behind the bus I just got on should pass my buss on the Interstate. or the buss behind that one.
WAY TOO MUCH COFFEE:
WHOOHOOMANIFEELLIKEICOULDDOANYTHINGTODAYI'MGONNA-
GETALLMYWORKDONETHISMORNINGANDGETSTARTEDONNEWPR-OJECTSANDFINISHTHOSEUPTOOANDTHENI'LLCOMEHOMEANDMO-WTHELAWNANDCLEANTHEDENANDDOTHEDISHESANDMAKEDIN-NERANDGIVEREBECCAABACKRUBANDPAINTTHEKIDSROOMSAND-DEVELOPMYOWNCOMPUTERSOFTWAREANDBUILDATELESCOPEA-
NDDISCVERPLANETXANDCUREAIDSCAUSEIKNOWICANDOITAND-
HOLYCRAPIHAVETOPEESOBAD!
MY TRIP THIS MORNING:
Purgatory F! Shit- soaked in pee!
***
So there I was, on the slowest bus in the world, with a smelly man sitting next to me, or more appropriately, slightly on top of me, and I had to pee like the world depended on it. I felt like the little dutch boy holding back the waters of the ocean. Only the little dutch boy wasn't also carrying a stinky man wrapped in tweed on his lap. The little dutch boy had it easy.
the combo of the agoraphobia, my excruciating need to urinate and the man stink sent me into a hallucination. I was flying over Atlanta with Superman on one side and Jesus on the other. They were maintaining the appropriate distance from me.
Superman said, "Do you guys smell jasmine?"
And Jesus said, "That's my BO. I'm trying to conserve water."
Then Superman said, "I've been told my farts smell like caramel apples."
To which Jesus said, "You've been lied to, son."
Then Jesus turns to me and says, "Michael, it's time to let go of that burden."
Suddenly I feel wet.
I SNAP AWAKE AND CLINCH EVERYTHING! A total muscle lock down. But was I fast enough? Without looking down I discretely brush my hand over the crotch area. But I can't tell if it's wet. I moved my hand to fast. I go a little slower, but it's still too fast to tell if I'm wet. I don't want to move my hand too slowly over my nethers and have people wondering if I'm playing with myself, or worse; make them think I have crabs. Finally I rest my hand on my crotch as though this was a completely normal thing that everyone does and nobody better dare say a thing about it.
I didn't feel anything. PHEW! I relaxed. Then I pissed all over myself.
The good news is that I didn't ruin my nice leather belt. Because I forgot to wear it.
***addendum***
Ok, so I didn't pee on myself. But that seemed far funnier to me than to describe how a little balding guy went running down Andrew Young Blvd holding himself like a rap star and crying: Get out of my way, slow lady!
I don't need a belt to hold my pants up. Mostly I care because I'm just enough over weight that my gut curls the waist-band of my pants down ever so slightly and draws attention to the fact that my pants really are a 32 waist and I really am a 34 (don't challenge me on that). A belt prevents that from happening and I can continue my day with the delusion that no one really notices that my pants are a bit too small.
And SCENE!
Ok, that was stupid.
Now for some reviews:
STINKY PEOPLE ON THE BUS:
B- if they sit somewhere else
D- if I can smell them
Purgatory (if they sit next to me.)
ok, we are in a drought, so I understand the desire to conserve water by skipping a shower or two, but that doesn't mean you can't spray some Right Guard under your pits.
TINY ASS BUS SEATS:
F!
let us be reasonable. I am a smallish kinda guy. there is no good reason that when I sit down and someone sits down next to me that this person should be in my lap.
let's face it, America is not overflowing with skinny people. the bus seat should comfortably accommodate a medium build.
SLOW BUS DRIVERS:
SHIT-
I'm not the kind of guy who hauls ass to the bus. I park my car. I make sure I have my ID badge and my briefcase. I make sure I have my bus money. then I get out of my car and walk a brisk pace to the bus. some people run as though this is their one opportunity to catch the only bus to Atlanta, and the bus behind that bus is going straight to the level of hell where the devil probes your anus with broken promises.
I don't see the point. however, I also don't see the reason why the bus behind the bus I just got on should pass my buss on the Interstate. or the buss behind that one.
WAY TOO MUCH COFFEE:
WHOOHOOMANIFEELLIKEICOULDDOANYTHINGTODAYI'MGONNA-
GETALLMYWORKDONETHISMORNINGANDGETSTARTEDONNEWPR-OJECTSANDFINISHTHOSEUPTOOANDTHENI'LLCOMEHOMEANDMO-WTHELAWNANDCLEANTHEDENANDDOTHEDISHESANDMAKEDIN-NERANDGIVEREBECCAABACKRUBANDPAINTTHEKIDSROOMSAND-DEVELOPMYOWNCOMPUTERSOFTWAREANDBUILDATELESCOPEA-
NDDISCVERPLANETXANDCUREAIDSCAUSEIKNOWICANDOITAND-
HOLYCRAPIHAVETOPEESOBAD!
MY TRIP THIS MORNING:
Purgatory F! Shit- soaked in pee!
***
So there I was, on the slowest bus in the world, with a smelly man sitting next to me, or more appropriately, slightly on top of me, and I had to pee like the world depended on it. I felt like the little dutch boy holding back the waters of the ocean. Only the little dutch boy wasn't also carrying a stinky man wrapped in tweed on his lap. The little dutch boy had it easy.
the combo of the agoraphobia, my excruciating need to urinate and the man stink sent me into a hallucination. I was flying over Atlanta with Superman on one side and Jesus on the other. They were maintaining the appropriate distance from me.
Superman said, "Do you guys smell jasmine?"
And Jesus said, "That's my BO. I'm trying to conserve water."
Then Superman said, "I've been told my farts smell like caramel apples."
To which Jesus said, "You've been lied to, son."
Then Jesus turns to me and says, "Michael, it's time to let go of that burden."
Suddenly I feel wet.
I SNAP AWAKE AND CLINCH EVERYTHING! A total muscle lock down. But was I fast enough? Without looking down I discretely brush my hand over the crotch area. But I can't tell if it's wet. I moved my hand to fast. I go a little slower, but it's still too fast to tell if I'm wet. I don't want to move my hand too slowly over my nethers and have people wondering if I'm playing with myself, or worse; make them think I have crabs. Finally I rest my hand on my crotch as though this was a completely normal thing that everyone does and nobody better dare say a thing about it.
I didn't feel anything. PHEW! I relaxed. Then I pissed all over myself.
The good news is that I didn't ruin my nice leather belt. Because I forgot to wear it.
***addendum***
Ok, so I didn't pee on myself. But that seemed far funnier to me than to describe how a little balding guy went running down Andrew Young Blvd holding himself like a rap star and crying: Get out of my way, slow lady!
Friday, March 28, 2008
Which Way the Wind Blows
Ok, so yesterday I had a meeting in the office of a lady I had never met. She works in the department in the same building as me, but I didn't know where. So I called the lady up and said, "How do I get to your office?" and she replied with the following:
"Take the elevator to the 9th floor then turn west. I'm at the end of the hall."
Turn west? Who says turn west when giving directions inside a building?
Yes, hop off the elevator and turn west. After you pass Baker's Farm you'll come up to Chippewa Ravine, next the the fax machine. It's about thirty feet from Lecher's Burrow, where Bob the accountant inappropriately ogled Paula's cleavage and had to go to the Sexual Harassment seminar in Greensboro. If you ask me Paula was wearing clothes that were seriously inappropriate for a work place, but nobody asked me. Paula was asked to resign not long after that because HR found out from a little birdie - who looks a lot like me - that Paula had a strip tease website. Irony of ironies, though... I hear that Paula and Bob are dating. Hand to God. Anyway, I'm thirty feet North-Northwest, across Cubical Forest, as the crow flies.
stupid.
So there I was, on the elevator, trying to figure out which way west was.
"Ok, our building is parallel to Andrew Young International which runs perpendicular to I-85. I-85 runs North <= and South =>. So that means... Wait a minute! If I go west as soon as I get off the elevator I'll be hoping right back on the friggin' elevator!"
Apparently what the lady meant was, 'go to the 9th floor. Turn towards Andrew Young. Walk about ten feet and go through the door. Turn left again then meander around about a thousand cubicles and make your way about 50 yards, then ask someone where my office is.'
sigh
"Take the elevator to the 9th floor then turn west. I'm at the end of the hall."
Turn west? Who says turn west when giving directions inside a building?
Yes, hop off the elevator and turn west. After you pass Baker's Farm you'll come up to Chippewa Ravine, next the the fax machine. It's about thirty feet from Lecher's Burrow, where Bob the accountant inappropriately ogled Paula's cleavage and had to go to the Sexual Harassment seminar in Greensboro. If you ask me Paula was wearing clothes that were seriously inappropriate for a work place, but nobody asked me. Paula was asked to resign not long after that because HR found out from a little birdie - who looks a lot like me - that Paula had a strip tease website. Irony of ironies, though... I hear that Paula and Bob are dating. Hand to God. Anyway, I'm thirty feet North-Northwest, across Cubical Forest, as the crow flies.
stupid.
So there I was, on the elevator, trying to figure out which way west was.
"Ok, our building is parallel to Andrew Young International which runs perpendicular to I-85. I-85 runs North <= and South =>. So that means... Wait a minute! If I go west as soon as I get off the elevator I'll be hoping right back on the friggin' elevator!"
Apparently what the lady meant was, 'go to the 9th floor. Turn towards Andrew Young. Walk about ten feet and go through the door. Turn left again then meander around about a thousand cubicles and make your way about 50 yards, then ask someone where my office is.'
sigh
Review - Rudolf Nose
ZITS ON THE TIP OF YOUR NOSE THAT MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE FREAKIN' RUDOLF:
F -
these things aren't even funny when it's on someone else - not even an enemy. you have a hard time talking with even your good friends. it's just hard to look at that face because the nose is screaming, "Look at me! I've got a giant zit on me! I'm red and irritated! Look!" I mean, you get over it eventually, but everyone knows that everyone knows the giant zit is there, whether visible or under the skin. it's like every single sentence begins with, "There is a huge ass zit on your nose."
"Hey Joe, there is a huge ass zit on your nose."
"I know there is a huge ass zit on my nose, but good morning, what's up?"
"Well, aside from the huge ass zit on your nose, not much. Did you work on that project any?"
"Yeah, there is a huge ass zit on my nose and I did. I actually got most of it finished in spite of the huge ass zit... on my nose."
"Yes, I know where the zit is, it's huge-ass. That's awesome that you got so much done because otherwise I'd have to punch you in that huge ass nose zit."
"Please don't do that even though I clearly deserve it."
"No problem. You're my friend. But it better not be there tomorrow or all bets are off."
"Understood."
but it is worse when it is on you (me) because, well, you (I) look silly and sometimes (currently) it hurts.
I know for a lot of people there is no correlation, but for me if I eat a lot of sweets or if I don't bathe for a couple of days I totally break out. and this week I have been crazy with the sweets. now there is a zit growing under the skin on my nose making it sore and red. what's more my hair is greasy because I didn't wash it when I took a shower. why? don't ask stupid questions! so now I totally look nasty and scummy, and the nose zit contributes to the blech.
F -
these things aren't even funny when it's on someone else - not even an enemy. you have a hard time talking with even your good friends. it's just hard to look at that face because the nose is screaming, "Look at me! I've got a giant zit on me! I'm red and irritated! Look!" I mean, you get over it eventually, but everyone knows that everyone knows the giant zit is there, whether visible or under the skin. it's like every single sentence begins with, "There is a huge ass zit on your nose."
"Hey Joe, there is a huge ass zit on your nose."
"I know there is a huge ass zit on my nose, but good morning, what's up?"
"Well, aside from the huge ass zit on your nose, not much. Did you work on that project any?"
"Yeah, there is a huge ass zit on my nose and I did. I actually got most of it finished in spite of the huge ass zit... on my nose."
"Yes, I know where the zit is, it's huge-ass. That's awesome that you got so much done because otherwise I'd have to punch you in that huge ass nose zit."
"Please don't do that even though I clearly deserve it."
"No problem. You're my friend. But it better not be there tomorrow or all bets are off."
"Understood."
but it is worse when it is on you (me) because, well, you (I) look silly and sometimes (currently) it hurts.
I know for a lot of people there is no correlation, but for me if I eat a lot of sweets or if I don't bathe for a couple of days I totally break out. and this week I have been crazy with the sweets. now there is a zit growing under the skin on my nose making it sore and red. what's more my hair is greasy because I didn't wash it when I took a shower. why? don't ask stupid questions! so now I totally look nasty and scummy, and the nose zit contributes to the blech.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
This guy
I work with this guy:
Nice guy. Salt of the earth, really. Kinda quiet, and a bit of a yes man, if you ask me. But he is always happy, which you don't see much of these days. It's refreshing, really.
Nice guy. Salt of the earth, really. Kinda quiet, and a bit of a yes man, if you ask me. But he is always happy, which you don't see much of these days. It's refreshing, really.Review - Bloggers who don't blog...
BLOGGERS WHO DON'T POST WITH ANYTHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING FREQUENCY:
boo-
yeah, that's right, I gave you a boo minus! what are you going to do about it? put it in your blog? I doubt it.
I think that once a blogger reaches a certain level of popularity they have to stop posting; once you reach a hundred frequent visitors or so. if you are really super cool you can wait til two or three hundred. the more people you disappoint on a regular basis the hipper you are, I think.
I go to these really cool blogs every week or so. they have really cool art or they are about shows/bands I really like, and they have nothing! they post like once a quarter. there is one blog that literally has not had a post on it since February 07. and I know the guy isn't dead because I see his comments on other blogs. people! a blog that you only post on once a year is not a blog! it's a testament to my sad pathetic life and I don't need that right now. I don't need to go to your site every week (day) or so (several times a day) only to find that you don't care about me. I already know you don't care about me. I already know I am pathetic and I need a life. I don't need your lack of posts to remind me of it. so post, dammit! I am trying to waste time at work and you are making it exceedingly difficult.
boo-
yeah, that's right, I gave you a boo minus! what are you going to do about it? put it in your blog? I doubt it.
I think that once a blogger reaches a certain level of popularity they have to stop posting; once you reach a hundred frequent visitors or so. if you are really super cool you can wait til two or three hundred. the more people you disappoint on a regular basis the hipper you are, I think.
I go to these really cool blogs every week or so. they have really cool art or they are about shows/bands I really like, and they have nothing! they post like once a quarter. there is one blog that literally has not had a post on it since February 07. and I know the guy isn't dead because I see his comments on other blogs. people! a blog that you only post on once a year is not a blog! it's a testament to my sad pathetic life and I don't need that right now. I don't need to go to your site every week (day) or so (several times a day) only to find that you don't care about me. I already know you don't care about me. I already know I am pathetic and I need a life. I don't need your lack of posts to remind me of it. so post, dammit! I am trying to waste time at work and you are making it exceedingly difficult.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Review - Tornadoes
TORNADOES:
F (as a fun thing to be involved in)
A (as a method of mass destruction)
So Atlanta was hit by Tornadoes. I think the last official count was 504 tornadoes. Or maybe it was just 4, I can't remember. Nobody died in the actual city, but a couple of people did in the rural areas that were hit outside of Atlanta. One woman's death was a bit troublesome. I mean, everyone dying is a tragedy, except Hitler... and anyone who hurts babies... But by and large, death is tragic. But the woman who died in the rural areas was inside her home. There was nowhere she could have gone to escape. Her house was utterly leveled. The grass outside stood higher than her walls.
There is a popular British saying that goes: Safe as Houses. It is supposed to mean that the thing being spoken of is very safe; a sure bet.
"What of the Stock Market today, Neigel?"
"Safe as houses, Declan!"
Why? Because houses are safe. They are a refuge from the storm; the place you want to be when the clouds roll in... if you live in England. I think Americans probably discarded that old saying when we explored the frontier of the American plains and saw our first funnel cloud lift a house off the ground and deposit it back in the earth like a meteorological acupuncturist.
"Hey Jed!"
"Yes, Jethro?"
"I was sure sorry to hear about that twister blowing yer house down."
"And my dawg."
"Oh, that's hard luck, Jed."
"Yep."
"Well, I have tuh tell ya. Some of those there pieces of wood from yer house blew over to my
cattle ranch and skewered three or four of my cows. I'm a gunna need you to pay me fer those there dead heifers."
"I reckon I do. But how can you tell that those there pieces of wood came from my house, and not Mayor Jesse's house? It blew down too, ya hear?"
"No, it was yer house. One of those there pieces uh wood had yer dog standin' on the end of it."
"Yer kiddin?"
"No, there he was, standing on a piece of wood, stickin outta old Bessie, one uh my best cows."
"So Old Blue is alive? He's alive?"
"Well, no, Jed. I had to hang him on account of his bein' a cow murderer."
"Aw, shucks, darnit, Jethro! Old Blue didn't kill that cow. The daggum ternado did."
"Well, I see that now."
"Why didn't you hang that twister before it swallowed up my home and my dog?"
"Well, Jed, I tried. Actually, I had one of my twelve boys do it. Jerico went out into the front lawn and threw a lasso right around that dust devil. And I'll be darned if it didn't pick Jerico up and toss him into the sky. He aint falled back yet."
"Well, what do I owe you for them there cows, then?"
"I reckon it's about a dollar."
"A dollar. How the sam-hell are you gonna charge me a dollar fer three cows?"
"Well, each cow is two bits. Two bits is a quarter dollar, and three of them is a dollar. Ya can't argue with the math, Jed."
"Aw, darnit!"
So, anyway, my house doesn't have a basement. That makes me nervous.
F (as a fun thing to be involved in)
A (as a method of mass destruction)
So Atlanta was hit by Tornadoes. I think the last official count was 504 tornadoes. Or maybe it was just 4, I can't remember. Nobody died in the actual city, but a couple of people did in the rural areas that were hit outside of Atlanta. One woman's death was a bit troublesome. I mean, everyone dying is a tragedy, except Hitler... and anyone who hurts babies... But by and large, death is tragic. But the woman who died in the rural areas was inside her home. There was nowhere she could have gone to escape. Her house was utterly leveled. The grass outside stood higher than her walls.
There is a popular British saying that goes: Safe as Houses. It is supposed to mean that the thing being spoken of is very safe; a sure bet.
"What of the Stock Market today, Neigel?"
"Safe as houses, Declan!"
Why? Because houses are safe. They are a refuge from the storm; the place you want to be when the clouds roll in... if you live in England. I think Americans probably discarded that old saying when we explored the frontier of the American plains and saw our first funnel cloud lift a house off the ground and deposit it back in the earth like a meteorological acupuncturist.
"Hey Jed!"
"Yes, Jethro?"
"I was sure sorry to hear about that twister blowing yer house down."
"And my dawg."
"Oh, that's hard luck, Jed."
"Yep."
"Well, I have tuh tell ya. Some of those there pieces of wood from yer house blew over to my
cattle ranch and skewered three or four of my cows. I'm a gunna need you to pay me fer those there dead heifers."
"I reckon I do. But how can you tell that those there pieces of wood came from my house, and not Mayor Jesse's house? It blew down too, ya hear?"
"No, it was yer house. One of those there pieces uh wood had yer dog standin' on the end of it."
"Yer kiddin?"
"No, there he was, standing on a piece of wood, stickin outta old Bessie, one uh my best cows."
"So Old Blue is alive? He's alive?"
"Well, no, Jed. I had to hang him on account of his bein' a cow murderer."
"Aw, shucks, darnit, Jethro! Old Blue didn't kill that cow. The daggum ternado did."
"Well, I see that now."
"Why didn't you hang that twister before it swallowed up my home and my dog?"
"Well, Jed, I tried. Actually, I had one of my twelve boys do it. Jerico went out into the front lawn and threw a lasso right around that dust devil. And I'll be darned if it didn't pick Jerico up and toss him into the sky. He aint falled back yet."
"Well, what do I owe you for them there cows, then?"
"I reckon it's about a dollar."
"A dollar. How the sam-hell are you gonna charge me a dollar fer three cows?"
"Well, each cow is two bits. Two bits is a quarter dollar, and three of them is a dollar. Ya can't argue with the math, Jed."
"Aw, darnit!"
So, anyway, my house doesn't have a basement. That makes me nervous.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Christian Porn
That's a nitch you don't see a whole lot of people jumping to fill.
It wouldn't just be women moaning, "Jesus," or "Oh God," either. It would be something respectful. Something pure. It would be holy porn.
Mostly it would be different in dialogue.
"It's a good thing we're married," the woman might say.
"Yes, and that we do this as a symbol of our love. A confirmation of our union," the man would say, and then follow with, "Did I say I love you?"
"Yes. Yes you did."
"Good, because I do. And when I close my eyes I'm thinking of you. There's two of you, but they're both you."
Every now and then the camera could focus in on the couples' wedding rings. For a little Catholic flare we could throw in:
"I'm not using a condom."
"Good, because that would be wrong."
"I'm not enjoying this either. Are you?"
"Absolutely not. Yes, right there. Oooooh," pause. "No, this is horrible."
It wouldn't just be women moaning, "Jesus," or "Oh God," either. It would be something respectful. Something pure. It would be holy porn.
Mostly it would be different in dialogue.
"It's a good thing we're married," the woman might say.
"Yes, and that we do this as a symbol of our love. A confirmation of our union," the man would say, and then follow with, "Did I say I love you?"
"Yes. Yes you did."
"Good, because I do. And when I close my eyes I'm thinking of you. There's two of you, but they're both you."
Every now and then the camera could focus in on the couples' wedding rings. For a little Catholic flare we could throw in:
"I'm not using a condom."
"Good, because that would be wrong."
"I'm not enjoying this either. Are you?"
"Absolutely not. Yes, right there. Oooooh," pause. "No, this is horrible."
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Spell Check
The spell check on my office e-mail keeps telling me that the word I am looking for is funking.
Oh no it isn't.
Oh no it isn't.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Review - My Camera Phone
MY CAMERA PHONE:A+++
my camera phone is awesome. it takes really good pictures and it also makes real phone calls.
I don't post many pictures because I'm kind of paranoid about posting personal information on the Internet. I've already been the victem of identity theft once.
here is a picture of my kids around Christmas time. naturally I don't want to post their faces because there are a lot of creepy people on the web who might try and abduct them. and their clothes frequently show their favorite characters and icons, so I blacked those out as well. I also blacked out all of the gifts they got just in case you could use that information; their favorite videos, our game console, their pictures on the wall and the candy they left on the floor. I blotted out my favorite mug so someone wouldn't come up to them and say, "Hey, kid, I know what your dad's favorite mug is. Here, eat this razor filled apple." I blotted out some bills so you wouldn't know my address. and I blotted out our TV antenna because I am kind of embarrassed that I do not get cable. I left the TV unblotted because you can't really tell what we're watching and I wanted you to see how small it is. seeing that we are just a humble, middle-class family might dissuade you miscreants from stealing from us.
yes, we do have a stone fireplace. but that doesn't mean we are rich and/or deserving of being robbed. three or four of those stones are loose and will fall out with the slightest touch. this is very inconvenient, but it does make for an instant weapon, should someone try to rob me.
anyway, my camera phone is cool.
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