Too tired to analyze

I am seriously sleep deprived today, and I am not going to be able to focus on the Spidey 3 critique today. Sorry Fineous. But that is of little consequence since I give you the undisputed KING OF THE MULLETS! Earrings, tattoo high on the shoulder, sunglasses in the teeth, and what I believe is a wolf shirt cut off into a sweet muscle shirt, so you also get a free ticket to the gun show.

HELLS YEAH!

BSR

Today's Mood Is...

Yes, Willem is helping me celebrate the fact that Larry the Upstairs Neighbor just told me that he has ONE seat left to go see Spider Man 3 at Arundel Mills tonight (he had 2 and decided that he wanted to use one of them, the greedy bastard). So, with apologies to Wifey, who I WILL go see the movie with later on, I am going to the show tonight.

I need to let you all know something. I am very particular about going to see movies. I like to be able to enjoy a movie, and because of that I have an unwritten law of waiting at least 2 to 3 weeks before I will go see a movie. The more popular the movie the longer the self imposed exile. The only exception is when Larry and our friend "The Connection" get passes for sneak previews for movies. You see, "The Connection" (and yes, his name will ALWAYS be in quotation marks) is the guy who sets up the previews for the critics and for the radio stations who give away tickets to caller #9. When he has extra space above and beyond those commitments, he tells his friends and it is first come first serve. Well, Larry came first (usually that isn't a compliment, but it is today), and thanks to him, I am getting served (and it doesn't even require me to "pop and lock").

So as I sit here in cubicle hell, all I can think about is that in five and a half hours I will be sitting with an overpriced bucket of popcorn, watching Spidey, Venom, and Sandman (and the "New Goblin". Normally that would give me he heebie-jeebies, but since it is in Sam Raimi's hands, I will go in open minded).

I will let you know if it is in fact as awesome as I hope and pray it will be either tomorrow or Friday. Probably.

BSR (Big Spiderman 3-going-to-see Ron. For today anyway)

BE CAREFUL! You might get pregnant on you!

THIS is why I need an outlet like this, for when shit like what just happened happens.

Jamaican Voodoo Queen (at thip point I can no longer keep the name straight, hopefully it will be close enough to the previous names for you to know who I am speaking of) was regaling WW and the Lurker (and because I was in earshot, me) with a description of a ream she had last night. It seems that the dream was heavy in the fish references, which to her (and the other 2) means that someone in her family is pregnant.

So any...wha-wha-WHAAAAAT?!?!?

Yup, the three of them are convinced that someone dreaming of fish means that someone else in the family is pregnant. I could have sworn that it meant that Big Pussy is dead.

But here is where it gets fun. I started laughing. I couldn't help it, that shit was funny to me. Well, WW and Lurker start talking about how their moms used to tell stories like that and yadda yadda yadda. Then WW says how whenever her mother would start talking about a dream like that, WW would make her mom stop talking because she didn't want to get pregnant too. THEN Lurker says, "yeah, that's contagious!"

Pregnancy is contagious. Now, maybe I had a really crappy Sex Ed. teacher, or I missed that day in class, but I could have sworn that wasn't how it worked. That would have to be one potent man to get a lady knocked up and have it wafting in the air to spread his seed. Maybe if the man is part dandelion it would work.

I need to do more research on this, but until I can come up with conclusive evidence one way or the other, I need to make sure all you ladies are extra careful. DON'T LET A PREGNANT LADY BREATHE ON YOU!!!!! Please.

This has been a BSR Public Service Announcement

Today's Mood Is...

Who don't like it?

The Ultimate Sacrifice

Those of you who have read this piece of self indulgence for any length of time know that Wifey and I are the Mr. and Mrs. Jack Sprat of room and body temperature. I am always warm, she is cold. Well, last night I came home from the 2nd job and was more than a tad overheated. It had been in the 80's almost the entire day, and while not humid, it was warm. Add to that the fact that I am not the skinniest guy on the planet (or in the average big and tall store. If you want to play a fun game, go into a big and tall store and see how long it takes for a tall guy to come in. I would tell you to pack a lunch, but you would be mauled by fat guys as soon as you opened the bag). In addition to all of that factor in that the required uniform for job 2 is a polyester security guard outfit, and we all know how well polyester breathes. So you could say I was on the warm side.

Because of that, when I got home and prepped for bed, I moved the blanket that I had been using to the laundry hamper and laid out for a nice restful night of sleep. I turned my fan on, as is my custom, and drifted off rather quickly, because I was exhausted.

It seems that at some point in the night I got cooled off and then some, because I apparently took one of Wifey's 17b blankets for myself. I do not recall doing this, but I do know that I woke up with a blanket on. It would be nice to think that Wifey woke up and saw that I had become cold during the night and covered me at great sacrifice to herself and her comfort. However, we know that is not the case because she told me multiple times that she was unhappy with me for stealing her blanket and blah blah blah. Not that I am unsympathetic to her "waking up freezing", since she was down to 16 blankets and a few bedsheets. But now I am aware of her suffering, and it has been acknowledged. So to Wifey I present the Ultimate Sacrifice Award for April 24th, 2007. Her allowing me to take a blanket from her while we were both unconscious is truly worthy of this award, as her herculean efforts to continue to sleep through the night with an internal blanket temperature of 137 degrees kelvin (it is usually 139) show the lengths she will go through to succor me.

I love you too honey.

BSR

PROTECTO!

I am currently on 3 different medications. All 3 of them (like all medications) have listed possible side effects. Luckily for me (and yes that was me being sarcastic), all 3 of the meds I am taking have a possible side effect of, to put it in a hopefully not-too-gross way...

Do you remember the side effects of Olestra? If you do, just imagine that all 3 mes are made of super concentrated Olestra. If you don't remember that wonderful invention, feel free to look it up or ask a friend (or look HERE)...

THAT is my current problem. So I have begun to notice things in places that I have been going for years but no longer have adequate reading material there with me with which to distract myself. For instance, here at the hospital, in the public stalls they have put seat protectors (or whatever the paper you are supposed to put on the seat so you can't get the herpers from the last guy who had to cop a squat. My understanding is that these things have been proven pretty much useless, but as long as people think they work, someone will provide them, even at the cost of a raise to needy and deserving employees. AHEM! Anyway...). For over 2 and 1/2 years I have been going into that bathroom whenever I needed to "recycle", and probably half of those visits required me to sit down and stay a while. Today, for the first time ever, while sitting and thumbing through the Sports Illustrated I have read 3 times already (if this issue is going to keep up, I am going to bring a book to work. A BIG one) I looked over at the wall mounted holder for these seat covers. Imprinted on the metal was one word...

PROTECTO

Which to me would be a really cool super hero or benevolent robot name. It could also be some bitchin' magic words like "Hocus Pocus" and stuff like that. It has all kinds of possibilities. Say it in that Hank Kingsley "Hercules" voice (if you go HERE and wait until 3:20 into the clip you will see what I mean) for the full effect.

I am not going to do any more posting today, so I leave you in the capable hands of...

PROTECTO!!!!!!!

Feel safe. Because you are safe.

LOOK OUT!!!!!!

GIANT BABY HEAD IS WATCHING YOUR EVERY MOVE! DO NOT ANGER GIANT BABY HEAD! DO NOT TRY TO RESIST GIANT BABY HEAD!

(please click on picture for full effect)

The Return of "An Old Friend" and other bits floating about

Yes, it is Monday and for the last 30 plus minutes Asian Mustard Lady has been down here regaling us with annoyance at a terror level of OMFG! (I prefer that to colors. If you want to refer to the guide to the right, we here in the basement are in "Elmo"). So far I have "learned" that if you eat sugary things (her words, not mine. I don't feel like putting all of the inanity in quotes. I am lazy that way sometimes) that the extra fat goes to your stomach. And by that she means that your body puts the extra calories you consume that it turns into fat reserves that it gets from sugary foods around your waist and abdomen. To this point she hasn't enlightened us with where the body puts any other type of food. If my rudimentary calculations are correct, I believe that pizza is stored in the ass (no pun intended. In fact, there is no way to get out of this spiral of entendres and general pain and suffering, so I am going to close this off and just move on to the next paragraph now).

I also have learned that because she had a cesarean her stomach/abdomen is deadened and she has no sensation there. Which to me is good news, since I am currently using every ounce of strength in my body to not get up and punch her. Now that I know that I can give her a good gut shot and she won't feel it, I feel much better about my inevitable loss of control.

Generally, it is just a cluck-fest. However, I am gladdened by WW and the Jamaican Voodoo Queen (I do not remember the name I gave her, but there is a story behind the current name that I will have to check to see if I actually posted or if I just thought I did), who have rebuked her twice for being loud and nosy. And now she has been called into a meeting, so there is blessed quiet again.

Last week I had an episode with one of the Big 3 here at el hospital-o. I had to go to the doctor's office to get a new and improved doctor's note to allow me to work from home part time. Fine, I can live with that. But when I went to turn it in, THAT is when the poopy hit the oscillating cooling device. She informed me that there were two big problems that were concerning them. One was that I was pretty much coming in for mornings until about noon to one then heading home to finish my workday. This meant that anyone calling me who was only available in the afternoons was unable to get ahold of me and this was forcing work on them. Well did any one of them ever think to bring this up to me? I could have easily worked from home in the morning sometimes and come in for the afternoon. But instead of coming to me with a concern, they just decided to rescind my work from home privileges. And that pales compared to the other problem they had. It seems that a major concern was that I could still work my part time job and so I must therefore be able to work full time in the office here. I was very upset with the whole thing, especially the way it was handled, or to be more exact NOT handled. I had some harsh-esque language for this particular boss. No cursing or evil enchantments. But it got me to thinking about the root cause of the problems. Now let me break this down.

• I am of two minds as to how this can even be a factor. On the one hand I can see how this would affect their views on my needs to work from home, but on the other hand, what business is it of theirs what I do when I am not being paid by them? My life outside of this place is no concern of theirs, and I do not appreciate the invasion of privacy.
• Again, they never bothered to bring this up to me as an issue. Perhaps I wouldn't feel as violated about this if the concern had been brought to my attention instead of just casually mentioning it to me after the fact.
• The shift here is (including lunch break) 8 and 1/2 hours. I would usually be in for about 4 and 1/2 to 5 and 1/2 hours before going home to work. Do you know how long my part time shift is? Including my meal break, it is about 5 and 1/2 hours. Hmmm...
• In here I work in a cubicle. There is no space for me to put my feet up to get them above my heart level (my doctor's requirement that I do as much as possible since I have about 15+ years of old blood and fluid backed up in my legs. Nasty, ain't it?) In order for me to follow my doctor's orders I need to be at home, unless they want to give me a nice sized private office that I can close the door to, since I have to check things on my legs when I have them elevated, and since my compression stockings come up to my knee, I often need to remove my pants to get them off (because just sitting in my cubicle for a few hours allows them to swell up quite a bit. Before the stockings it was a lot worse, but when I was at the doctor's last week I had to drop trou in order to allow him to look at my legs. And since I can't wear sweatpants here (another long story for another time), I will need some privacy if I am sitting there in my boxers. Otherwise there will be a riot of women stampeding through the hospital every afternoon. Granted they would be stampeding AWAY, but still, it would be dangerous).
• They never asked if my part time job also made accommodations for me and my chronic condition. Well, they did. My boss has allowed me extra breaks to go into the AP office and do camera surveillance while putting my feet and legs up on the desk. Also, he allows me to walk around the store (my job description is that I stand at the front door unless otherwise needed in the store), which my doctor has also recommended that I do.
• My part time job has never once asked me about my full time job and whether it was accommodating me. He just said "Tell me what you need to do". I did, and he told me what he could allow. We compromised. Like adults. We TALKED.
• If this cheap ass company would pay me what the going rate is for a job like this outside of the hospital, or if they would at least pay a living wage with a reasonable COLA (cost of living adjustment) after the yearly review/raise circus, I wouldn't have to work a second job, or I would at least be able to work less hours, which would mean I would be able to put more hours in here in the office and less at home. Another way to solve the problem.

Okay, I feel better now.

I mentioned Wifey's cries of "Daniel" in the previous post. I asked her about it and she claims to know of no Daniels except for someone on Stargate (be it the actor's name or the character's name is beyond the scope of my knowledge). I am not satisfied with this answer, so I am still asking for assistance if at all possible. Also, after I turned off the computer and tried to rouse Wifey for to come downstairs for to go to bed (I like saying "for to". I have no idea why, I just do), she started off by telling me she was very upset that they released the software, and asked me how they could do something like that.

Again, no fricking idea what that means. Not. A. Clue. And when I asked her about it, Wifey said she had no idea either. So I once again leave it in your capable hands. Because of my schedule, many of you spend more conscious time with Wifey than I do (yeah I sleep in the same bed as her, but I am usually too busy passing out to delve deeply into her subconscious), so please do some digging and let me know what you come up with.

A quick suggestion: If your spouse is in the next room choking, and you have no idea because she has been coughing/vomiting lately and the two things sound very similar and she (or he) don't give you any indication that she is choking, once they are breathing normally again (without any help from you, thank you very much) and they tell you that they were choking, your first response should not be "Why didn't you say something", whether you are joking or just an idiot asking a serious question.

A quick confession: I am sometimes an idiot asking a serious question.

It is 1PM, and I need to go grab some lunch. Let's hope that the last few days are the beginning of a flurry of posts again.

BSR

And the wind cried Daniel

It is a little past midnight on a Saturday (why do I feel like I am starting to write a Billy Joel song?), and I am sitting at the computer after getting home recently from Target. My feet are killing me. I just planned on going through my email and then going downstairs and taking a shower and going to bed. Because Wifey has a tummy ache (she had a nasty stomach virus a couple of weeks ago and she is still feeling a few aftershocks from this), our plans for the evening were shelved (I really hope I don't need to get any cleared on that for you. If I do, well, go to your parents and tell them that it is time for "The Talk". They will know what that means. Quick side note - this might end up being the longest parenthetical reference in the history of mankind - I remember the exact moment that my parents and I had "The Talk". It was winter and I was 13 or 14. It had snowed the night before and my father woke me up to help him shovel the driveway. I went out w/out gloves, so unbeknownst to me my mother went up to my room to locate them for me. If you have ever seen the room of a 14 year old boy, you know that this would be no easy task. About 15 minutes into it, my mother called my father into the house. About 2 minutes after that, my father returned and with a look in his eyes that I could not at the time decipher, told me to go inside to my room because my mother needed to talk to me. I went in and my mother was sitting on my bed - how she found my bed is still a mystery. I used to find a soft pile and curl up feral style - and next to her were two magazines I had bought off of a friend of mine who stole them from his older brother. Just in case you don't already see where this is going, they weren't Sports Illustrated. It seems that my mother thought that my gloves would be under my bed, an area that had not seen the light of day since the Carter Administration. Instead of finding my gloves, she found my nascent porn collection. She asked me to sit next to her - probably the most uncomfortable thing that I had ever done up to that point in my life. Now that I have a mortgage and all those other various and sundry bills I do more uncomfortable things than that almost every day just to make enough money to pay the damn things - and she told me that a man and a woman making love is a very beautiful thing and...well, at that point I pretty much shut down and stared at her, nodding whenever I realized she had stopped speaking. But I DID learn a very valuable lesson that day. Never hide your porn under your bed. Later on I learned that you shouldn't hide it under the sofa in the living room, but that particular hiding place was more necessity when I heard the car pulling into the driveway than any kind of thought out plan. Later still I learned that in between the mattress and box spring is a very good place, provided you either put it far enough back that it isn't accidentally discovered when someone comes into your room to take the sheets off of the bed that they had been clamoring for for over a week and then they decide to put fresh sheets on the bed, even though you are 16 and should be doing this your damn self by now, or you remember to move it to a more secure location when your parents are having carpeting put into the house and the installers have to move your bed to do it. Whoops! Anyway, I planned on having the sex with my wife tonight. There, happy now?)

Wow, that WAS a long one (I know, that's what SHE said. I'll be here all week. Thank you. Try the veal). That may have been longer than an entire chapter of any randomly selected Dan Brown novel. Judges? Apparently I do get the "longer than a Dan Brown chapter", but I failed on the longest parenthetical. It seems that Faulkner was a real bitch about those things. Oh well.

So (trying in vain to find a segue back to the original topic and failing miserably, I go with "So"), Wifey is asleep on the couch with the new dog (which I will have to tell you about another time), and I am sitting at the computer reading my email. Wifey is not feeling well, so she has a blanket on and a space heater aimed right at her (sometimes I think her blood just doesn't go all the way to the skin). As I sit here composing an email to an old friend, what do I hear but Wifey calling out. It has that sleepy tone that can sound almost frantic. And what does she call out, you ask? She calls out "Daniel". 3 times.

I am at a loss as to what to think of this. It could be completely innocent. I could be competing with a Baldwin brother. Since she is still asleep, I really have no idea at this point. And it could have been much worse. She could have been doing it while we were completing our original plan for the evening. That might have caused a system malfunction on my end. But until I can better ascertain what this might mean and find out who the hell this "Daniel" is so I know exactly who's ass I am going to have to kick, I am going to have to rely on you, my dear readers, to tell me if you know any Daniels she might have in her history. Ronnettes, if there is some hunky guy working at the office that you all watch like you are in a Diet Coke commercial please let me know, because if she is thinking about some UPS guy while I am taking care of business, I am going to have to start thinking of someone else too (any volunteers? Volunteers w/a vajeen and no bait and tackle please).

Do you think there could be a vable presidential candidate with the words "Justifiable Homicide" on their resume?

BSR

Sad Kermit - Hurt

holy crap. Really, that is all I can say about this.

I have my indifference to keep me warm

Two days ago I debated turning on the A/C in the car on the drive from job A to job B. Today it was actually below freezing when I got in the car this morning. The prediction I saw for Easter Sunday is for the high to be below freezing. I am convinced that within ten years we will have 80 degrees on Christmas and snow on the 4th of July. It is going to happen.

So I am in what I believe is week 3 of the many headed Hydra that is hospital management. Yup, 3 bosses, no waiting. The whole thing has me so nonplussed that at this point I am just trying to outlast it. That, and sending out resumes like I am a non-profit organization doing a fund drive. Currently I am running a 433 page report (this is not the GOOD part of it being Good Friday, that is for sure). I started the report at 10:44:08 AM. Currently it is on page 284. It is 1:34:?? PM. Thank GOD they gave me this printer on my desk, you know the kind, it prints at approximately 1/5 the speed of your average office printer. I have to be at job B at 5 tonight. I am beginning to think that I won't even be close to making it.

Speaking of job B, I still have not been interviewed for the new position that I was told to apply for. I was told that it would be this week, but as of yet it hasn't happened. And since Easter weekend is the second busiest weekend of the year (just behind Black Friday, the start of Christmas Season), I am not expecting that they will want to pull me from the front doors tonight or tomorrow in order to ask me about a time that I faced adversity on the job and what I did to overcome it (and all the rest of the bullshit HR questions that you get asked at every interview. Who the hell thought these damn things up and are they burning in a special level of Hell as they should be? Right next to the guy who invented the pay toilet. THAT sumbitch BETTER be on fire right now). I can only hope that this position will pay enough for me to only work one job and that if it does that I get it.

I had a post in mind for earlier in the week, but I got very sidetracked by the jobs and generally just trying to play catch-up (it didn't work. I am still WAY behind here). Now it almost seems like I shouldn't post it, because of the aforementioned change in weather. However, I feel the need to put this on the public record, and so I shall.

And I quote (from my own fevered brain):

Springtime is finally here. Spring is the time of renewal and rebirth. Flowers bloom and baby animals are birthed (and occasionally eaten by their mothers. Viva la evolution!). All throughout the world you see the Circle of Life (used without express written consent of Walt Disney Inc. I am SO living on the edge) in action. And this brings me to what is probably my favorite thing about Spring.

(I would probably rate the rest of this as PG-13. I cannot see where it would be NSFW, but it is as racy as a conversation amongst 7th graders at the bus stop)

Yes, once again the titties are blooming. After being locked away under big bulky coats and heavy sweaters for months on end, the sun has warmed our little corner of the globe, and brought with it thin cotton tank tops and sports bras worn as outer accoutrement's. Over sized sweatshirts are replaced with tight t-shirts that expose just a bit of midriff (and am I the only guy who finds the combo of 3/4 shirt with the pants where they roll the waist over a couple of times, like how we used to cuff our pants that way that would make them tight against the ankles, so damn hot? It is almost as hot as when a woman is wearing a man's dress shirt and possibly nothing else. The dress shirt ALWAYS seems to come right down to about where a micro miniskirt would be. You can't tell if hey have on any underbritches, and they are wearing no socks or stockings and no shoes. Damn that is hot! Also, a quick reminder to Wifey. My birthday is in 3 days. I have dress shirts. It is either that or you locate a nurse/Catholic school girl (why is that so hot too? It seems wrong, but every guy I know goes apeshit over it)/Princess Leia in chains outfit. I hope you understand the severity of the situation here. Wow, this was a long sidebar, even for me). Yes, at Target it is time to set the titties free wherever you happen to look.

I need to make it clear that 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year, I love tittie. Specifically I love Wifey's titties. However, just as she can have mini vagi-quakes over the Supernatural boys or Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies (she says it was because she had been sick and had not had chocolate for a long time. I think she is a cookie lesbian), I can spend time that I am getting paid to stand and watch people to see if they could be member of the Future Felons Club checking out the Tittie Parade. And since we are the centrally located and closest Target for Towson University, Loyola College, Goucher College, Morgan State and Coppin State we usually have quite the smorgasbord of visual stimulants. Whatever you are into, odds are if you stand at the door for 15 minutes you will be able to see it. So I am calling myself out as a "looking but not touching" club member, with all ancillary rights and privileges.

By the way, if any of you have a nice soft comfy couch that I can sleep on, I might be visiting you soon. Like 5 minutes after Wifey reads this. I am an excellent cook.

So yes, I am going to Target tonight, and once again it will be parkas and cable knits. That is okay. Some flowers bloom with the first thaw, then die with the re-freeze. But they always come back again when the next thaw hits. And sooner or later, the thaw sticks.

I was making a point earlier about my love of tittie all the time. Why then would now be special? Let me explain it this way. Every year when the new version of Madden comes out there will be people camping out to make sure they get their copy, and calling in sick to work the next day so that they can spend all day playing it. After a few months, the shelves are re-stocked, and while it is a good seller and still an awesome game, it isn't impossible to find. Titties are like Madden. They have been away from us for a long time. Sure we might have a copy in the house, and if given the chance we would play it EVERY day (and I mean that honey. EVERY DAY. You just say when). Very few of us have more than one copy to play (and those are the guys who get to write those letters to Penthouse). But every year, even if you don't have a game system, you get to see the newest game unveiled. And even though the changes are only cosmetic (there is a metaphor there I think), you still cannot wait to see it.

2:20:?? PM. Page 368. I am going to start crying soon.

So anyway, I am going to wrap this up. I hope you enjoy the above video. Happy Easter everybody, and I hope everyone who reads this got the invite to my big berfday party next Friday night. If you didn't and you read this and you aren't a big doody-faced jerk, come on by!

I guess you would also have to know where I live or have some way other than a blog's comment page to contact me. If not, well, I still like you and all, but not in that way. That "come in my house and stand near my stuff unattended" kind of way. You understand, right?

BSR