Hey all. I just realized that it has been almost 3 weeks since I have posted anything. Well, it has been a long 3 weeks. Wifey's surgery caused much consternation around the house. And just when she was finally getting back to being her, I get hit with some random medical problem. The doc cannot figure out exactly what it is, all we know is that I can barely walk from the pain in the left shin/calf. I have been on industrial strength antibiotics for the last 5 days, and the improvements have been marginal at best, so on Thursday I am going to the hospital (the Wound Center to be exact). The thing is, I have no idea what the hell they are going to do to me. For all I know, it could be leeches mudpacks. Hell, at this point I would consider trying that.
I am a little freaked out by the whole ordeal, but since we are attacking the problem the best way that we can, all I can do is have faith. Wifey has been incredible in making things as easy for me as possible, and Larry the Upstairs Neighbor has been kind enough to loan me many comic books and DVD box sets. I watched the entire first season of Roseanne in 2 days. How friggin awesome is that?
One of the things I have had to do has been to keep the leg elevated above my heart as much as possible. And since I am not exactly the most flexible person around (and I am the only person in the room right now if that gives you any idea as to my inability to get past 1st position), this has called for a lot of lying around with my leg on pillows. I know, tough life. But this leads to the major problem with immobility...bus butt.
I am not sure if we have ever covered bus butt before, but just in case we haven't here is what it is. When you were a kid, did you ever go on a long field trip? Did you ride on a school bus to take that trip? Do you remember when, probably about 2/3 of the way to your destination, that your butt would start hurting from those "padded" seats? THAT, my friends, is bus butt. And I have been getting it in spades. Bus butt, like paper cuts are one of the great equalizers.
People always respond differently to injury/trauma. I don't think anyone can do what they do in TV and in the movies when they get shot. Hell, if I get GRAZED by a bullet I am going to drop like a stone and beg for mercy. I have no problem being someone's bitch if it results in my not being shot. Same goes for stabbing. I am sure that there are some people who would have a more positive response than me. To them I say "Go ahead Mr. Hero! I'll be the one here stopping my own bleeding while you get shot at!" But no matter how bad ass you are, paper cuts will stop you in your tracks. Tony Soprano would be bitched by a paper cut. So would you. Don't even try to deny it. You would be a paper cut's bitch. It's okay, really it is. It is nothing to be ashamed of.
Stubbed toes also fit in this category. They hurt like a mofo and they always look so damn gory. NOTHING stopped a kickball game like the kid wearing sandals who got a stubbed toe and had to go home. And I don't care WHAT they say, Bactine and mecurechrome (sp on that last one. I wrote it phonetically. If you are old enough you remember that shit) stung like a sumbitch.
So anyway, sitting up has been a problem the last 2 weeks. Which makes sitting at a keyboard rambling on about random crap in a vain attempt to entertain/impress Wifey's co-workers and assorted friends low on the to do list. But I promise that I will perservere and continue to ramble on about how horrible my work is, just to make you feel better. THAT is a BSR guarantee.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Gay Soap and the Exorcism of Wifey
It has been a trying week here in the land of BSR. As you all know Wifey went under the knife last week. She is recovering as well as can be expected, having good days and bad days. She is holding up like a real trooper, and except for a baggie of ground beef where yellow and blue make red puddles in the fridge, I have done an okay job at making things easier for her.
Today I received an instant message from Wifey asking me to come get her this afternoon because she was feeling unwell and didn't trust taking the pain meds at work, as they make her not as able to stop herself from saying the things on her mind (as I found out when the baggie of meat leaked). When you work with a few people you are not overly fond of (no worries Ronnettes, all of you are safe from the fearsome WifeyRage. Others, not so much), it is best to have as many filters as possible. I had planned to go to the bank at lunch, and my particular institution has no branches anywhere within 15 miles of convenient, so I just figured to make a bit of a side trip.
BTW - quick sidebar. I met the father of the Boob Thief. Nice guy. When Wifey introduced him to me as "the father of your arch enemy", he was taken aback just a bit. Once he understood that my only problem with his spawn is that he gets to spend more quality time with my wife's perfect breasts (and yes they are perfect. Just ask her), he immediately commiserated, saying he has the same problem with his wife and BT. He is a good guy. I hope he eventually evens out the time share problem.
So I went and picked her up, and once we went to the bank near her, she decided to nap in the car for the drive back up I-95. She did wake up long enough to ask me to stop at McDonalds and get her 2 Fillet O'Fish sandwiches. We stopped at McD's and got her the requested munchies. She sat up and consumed one vociferously. As she finished the first sandwich, I realized I might need an old priest and a young priest. As she tried to compose herself, I tried to navigate the car while pea soup shot out of her ears and she tested the molecular cohesion of a paper McDonalds bag (I was impressed that she took the time to pull the other sandwich out of the bag before her impression of that scene from Airplane!. Personally, if I bought two of the same thing and ate one and immediately blew chunks, I would probably not be overly concerned about saving the other one for later. Wifey is frugal if nothing else). I got her home, brought out some paper towels and a plastic bag, then went back for the Listerine.
Long story short, she was still feeling a little queasy, but was resting comfortably on the couch at last check. She was already scheduled off for Friday, so she is taking off tomorrow and just resting through the weekend. It seems that her ears (which had been backed up again) had been draining for the better part of 24 hours, and when greasy fish hit that, what happened to her is probably what you are feeling right now.
Now, on to the gay soap. Before her Linda Blair impression, while waiting for her to finish off her work so she could leave for the day, I used the men's room at her place of employment. The soap on the sink was "Lavender Chamomile". THAT is a gay soap (not that there is anything wrong with that). I just expect (especially in a public and/or office environment) for the soap to be neutral. To use a light purple soap and to smell what I can only describe as "UBER-GIRLIE" wafting from my own hands was not what I was expecting.
Wifey's job has gay soap.
Today I received an instant message from Wifey asking me to come get her this afternoon because she was feeling unwell and didn't trust taking the pain meds at work, as they make her not as able to stop herself from saying the things on her mind (as I found out when the baggie of meat leaked). When you work with a few people you are not overly fond of (no worries Ronnettes, all of you are safe from the fearsome WifeyRage
BTW - quick sidebar. I met the father of the Boob Thief. Nice guy. When Wifey introduced him to me as "the father of your arch enemy", he was taken aback just a bit. Once he understood that my only problem with his spawn is that he gets to spend more quality time with my wife's perfect breasts (and yes they are perfect. Just ask her), he immediately commiserated, saying he has the same problem with his wife and BT. He is a good guy. I hope he eventually evens out the time share problem.
So I went and picked her up, and once we went to the bank near her, she decided to nap in the car for the drive back up I-95. She did wake up long enough to ask me to stop at McDonalds and get her 2 Fillet O'Fish sandwiches. We stopped at McD's and got her the requested munchies. She sat up and consumed one vociferously. As she finished the first sandwich, I realized I might need an old priest and a young priest. As she tried to compose herself, I tried to navigate the car while pea soup shot out of her ears and she tested the molecular cohesion of a paper McDonalds bag (I was impressed that she took the time to pull the other sandwich out of the bag before her impression of that scene from Airplane!. Personally, if I bought two of the same thing and ate one and immediately blew chunks, I would probably not be overly concerned about saving the other one for later. Wifey is frugal if nothing else). I got her home, brought out some paper towels and a plastic bag, then went back for the Listerine.
Long story short, she was still feeling a little queasy, but was resting comfortably on the couch at last check. She was already scheduled off for Friday, so she is taking off tomorrow and just resting through the weekend. It seems that her ears (which had been backed up again) had been draining for the better part of 24 hours, and when greasy fish hit that, what happened to her is probably what you are feeling right now.
Now, on to the gay soap. Before her Linda Blair impression, while waiting for her to finish off her work so she could leave for the day, I used the men's room at her place of employment. The soap on the sink was "Lavender Chamomile". THAT is a gay soap (not that there is anything wrong with that). I just expect (especially in a public and/or office environment) for the soap to be neutral. To use a light purple soap and to smell what I can only describe as "UBER-GIRLIE" wafting from my own hands was not what I was expecting.
Wifey's job has gay soap.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Whoops!
Just felt the need to share this one with you. And (even though you haven't read the next post yet, trust me when I say that this will make sense soon enough) I just went to the men's room to take a leak and it happened again. Should I be concerned? Or should it just be you concerned for Wifey?
Something I noticed
I am 33. In less than a week, I will be halfway to 34. I am more than okay with that. I like getting older. It means I am not dead. I am well aware of the things that happen when you get older. I know my eyesight will get worse, as will my hearing, and my metabolism will slow down (because it is such a blast furnace NOW). I know all of these things. But there is something I was not aware of, and apparently it is one of those aging things that starts right around the age of 33. I don't know if it is permanent or just something temporary, like primary teeth.
For the last few months, I cannot take a piss without farting. It is the strangest thing. I don't feel like I have a big gas build-up, but sure as shooting as soon as I step up to the urinal and release the hounds, next thing you know there is a foghorn behind me.
I know of a couple of gentlemen who are about my age. Do any of you have this problem? Remember, sharing is caring.
For the last few months, I cannot take a piss without farting. It is the strangest thing. I don't feel like I have a big gas build-up, but sure as shooting as soon as I step up to the urinal and release the hounds, next thing you know there is a foghorn behind me.
I know of a couple of gentlemen who are about my age. Do any of you have this problem? Remember, sharing is caring.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Monday Ramblings
Okay everybody, let's get this out of the way. From now on, we will be referring to Monday as FUNDAY. Yes, Monday Night Football has already pointed out how close the two are, but they point out that Monday is Funday with an "M-O". Well I look at it like this, Monday is Funday with an "F-U". And THAT is how I feel about Monday, F-U!
There, I feel better. Now for those of you who were aware (don't recall if I mentioned it and I am-as always- too damn lazy to check for myself), Wifey had surgery this past Friday. Relatively minor, cleaning out the knee, residuals from the accident and the wear and tear associated with it. She came home that afternoon and is currently (as of the time that I am typing this) sitting at her desk at work. If she has taken any of her pills, there is a good chance that she is staring at the screen watching the pretty colors and listening to the music that only she can hear, because she is imagining it. Yesterday she was seeing "auras". Apparently mine is blue. Who knew? Rhyme incidental, no need to channel Andre the Giant right now.
Friday into Saturday was the best. When we got her home, Larry and I almost immediately got her to play a round of pinball. This was especially fun since the original drugs hadn't worn off yet. Now I am not discounting the effect of prescription drugs, but nothing tops hospital grade pain killers. In retrospect my biggest failing as a husband and as an entertainer was not getting Larry to tape the pinball game, or at least Wifey PLAYING pinball. Maybe next surgery (yup, there will be more down the road. It's gonna be a FUN year.
Also (in case I didn't mention it before), Wifey and I made it to 1 year exactly 2 weeks ago today. So start sending us paper. Which brings me to this point, who decided on the wedding gift flowchart? Who decided that one year = paper. Are we talking NYTimes or reams of 20lb stock? To make sure you know what the hell I am talking about, go here and you will see the list. Personally I cannot wait for my 6th Anniversary. Traditional+Modern = Iron+Wood Objects = NEW GOLF CLUBS FOR BSR!!!!!! Hell yeah, 5 years and counting until I get myself titanium-ed! I am also a big fan of 32, 41 and 42. Especially how well 41 and 42 work together.
Let's see, what else is there. Oh yes, a happy belated birthday to Fineous Reese, who turned 36 yesterday (right Reese?). If anyone in the Baltimore area is going to be in town this Saturday, come check out the CenterStage Festival from 10-3. Your's truly's comedy troupe will be there and will be one of the "plus theatrical events by Baltimore's home-grown theater artists". Can you feel the excitement? And also, our next show is October 28th, DON'T MISS IT!!!!!
I will whore myself out more later. I promise.
BSR
There, I feel better. Now for those of you who were aware (don't recall if I mentioned it and I am-as always- too damn lazy to check for myself), Wifey had surgery this past Friday. Relatively minor, cleaning out the knee, residuals from the accident and the wear and tear associated with it. She came home that afternoon and is currently (as of the time that I am typing this) sitting at her desk at work. If she has taken any of her pills, there is a good chance that she is staring at the screen watching the pretty colors and listening to the music that only she can hear, because she is imagining it. Yesterday she was seeing "auras". Apparently mine is blue. Who knew? Rhyme incidental, no need to channel Andre the Giant right now.
Friday into Saturday was the best. When we got her home, Larry and I almost immediately got her to play a round of pinball. This was especially fun since the original drugs hadn't worn off yet. Now I am not discounting the effect of prescription drugs, but nothing tops hospital grade pain killers. In retrospect my biggest failing as a husband and as an entertainer was not getting Larry to tape the pinball game, or at least Wifey PLAYING pinball. Maybe next surgery (yup, there will be more down the road. It's gonna be a FUN year.
Also (in case I didn't mention it before), Wifey and I made it to 1 year exactly 2 weeks ago today. So start sending us paper. Which brings me to this point, who decided on the wedding gift flowchart? Who decided that one year = paper. Are we talking NYTimes or reams of 20lb stock? To make sure you know what the hell I am talking about, go here and you will see the list. Personally I cannot wait for my 6th Anniversary. Traditional+Modern = Iron+Wood Objects = NEW GOLF CLUBS FOR BSR!!!!!! Hell yeah, 5 years and counting until I get myself titanium-ed! I am also a big fan of 32, 41 and 42. Especially how well 41 and 42 work together.
Let's see, what else is there. Oh yes, a happy belated birthday to Fineous Reese, who turned 36 yesterday (right Reese?). If anyone in the Baltimore area is going to be in town this Saturday, come check out the CenterStage Festival from 10-3. Your's truly's comedy troupe will be there and will be one of the "plus theatrical events by Baltimore's home-grown theater artists". Can you feel the excitement? And also, our next show is October 28th, DON'T MISS IT!!!!!
I will whore myself out more later. I promise.
BSR
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
My job gives me bus butt
It is currently 5:05 pm EDT on Wednesday September 20th 2006. I am on hold with MetLife, waiting to ask a representative about a patient's claim. I have been on hold for 4 minutes, listening to the same horrible "smooth jazz" guitar riff over and over again, interrupted only by a cloying voice telling me how I can do things online and get paid automatically and never have to call MetLife again. Of course, we DO file electronically, and I have to call them all the time to get them to fix mistakes. But here is the thing, after I go through the phone prompt dance (I want to choke that bastard on there), I am put on hold with an opening caveat of "we are experienceing higher than normal call volume, so your wait may be longer than usual". Well, for the better part of the last 3 years I have been calling MetLife off and on to get information (and to get them to fix there mistakes), and EVERY time I have called them, I have gotten that warning.
So that tells me that either
1) Metlife is really a popular insurance (those Snoopy commercials must REALLY pay off) and they need to hire some more people, or...
2) MetLife sucks.
I'm going with option 2.
Also, since I started entering this, someone answered the phone. I was expecting someone with a Hindi accent, since a lot of call centers are now in Pakistan and India, and I expected MelLife to be no different. Well imagine my surprise when "Jim" answered, because he sounds, for lack of a better description, like a Swede with a hairlip. Not the easiest guy to communicate with.
God but I need a drink.
So that tells me that either
1) Metlife is really a popular insurance (those Snoopy commercials must REALLY pay off) and they need to hire some more people, or...
2) MetLife sucks.
I'm going with option 2.
Also, since I started entering this, someone answered the phone. I was expecting someone with a Hindi accent, since a lot of call centers are now in Pakistan and India, and I expected MelLife to be no different. Well imagine my surprise when "Jim" answered, because he sounds, for lack of a better description, like a Swede with a hairlip. Not the easiest guy to communicate with.
God but I need a drink.
Two steps forward, two steps back
A good bit of time ago I brought up an issue of what I called "casual racism" regarding comments made to me by someone here at the hospital. Not my usual fare, but I felt like it needed to be addressed. Now I have another issue stuck in repeat mode in my head.
I was sitting in my cubicle (kind of like right now) surfing the internet instead of working (kind of like right now), when I heard some of the Hens along with a couple of surface dwellers (anyone NOT in the basement) talking about (among other things) the television show Nip/Tuck. They riffed off of that into another show (I believe it was Charmed) that had the same actor on both. One of the surface dwellers was commenting on how handsome one particular actor was.
Let me say right now that I don't have any kind of problem with that. It could be an issue, or maybe a double standard in another office, to talk about the attractiveness of someone (methinks that in this case, due to overcompensation to show sensitivity and avoid harassment suits, men commenting on the "hotness" of women is less accepted than women doing the same about men, at least in mixed company in the office. If any of you can say otherwise, please feel free to do so). Down here, as long as it is kept clean (no mention of "gazongas" or "sweater puppies" or the like), men can say that they think a woman is attractive and vice versa. But this wasn't the problem.
Here is where it went bad for me. The surface dweller than said that she was told by her mother not to date outside her race, but that she could imagine closing her eyes and pretending he was black (like her). And I couldn't help but think that if I had said the same thing there would be a firestorm of shit and meetings and sensitivity training up to and including termination.
Am I overreacting, or no? I wish I was, but I cannot help but think that if a white male says he was taught by his parents not to date outside his race he is going to be invited to appear on Jerry Springer, but a black woman saying it means that it is okay, and in fact, all the Hens stood there laughing at it.
I will add that I know the surface dweller who said it. I have talked to her and hung out with her here at the hospital on multiple occasions. We have eaten together, along with others who joined us for meals at the cafeteria. I have no problem with her and have never sensed any hint of prejudice from her. But now I am not so sure I want to hang out with her anymore. Because now I have that image in the back of my head and it will be tough to get it out.
I was sitting in my cubicle (kind of like right now) surfing the internet instead of working (kind of like right now), when I heard some of the Hens along with a couple of surface dwellers (anyone NOT in the basement) talking about (among other things) the television show Nip/Tuck. They riffed off of that into another show (I believe it was Charmed) that had the same actor on both. One of the surface dwellers was commenting on how handsome one particular actor was.
Let me say right now that I don't have any kind of problem with that. It could be an issue, or maybe a double standard in another office, to talk about the attractiveness of someone (methinks that in this case, due to overcompensation to show sensitivity and avoid harassment suits, men commenting on the "hotness" of women is less accepted than women doing the same about men, at least in mixed company in the office. If any of you can say otherwise, please feel free to do so). Down here, as long as it is kept clean (no mention of "gazongas" or "sweater puppies" or the like), men can say that they think a woman is attractive and vice versa. But this wasn't the problem.
Here is where it went bad for me. The surface dweller than said that she was told by her mother not to date outside her race, but that she could imagine closing her eyes and pretending he was black (like her). And I couldn't help but think that if I had said the same thing there would be a firestorm of shit and meetings and sensitivity training up to and including termination.
Am I overreacting, or no? I wish I was, but I cannot help but think that if a white male says he was taught by his parents not to date outside his race he is going to be invited to appear on Jerry Springer, but a black woman saying it means that it is okay, and in fact, all the Hens stood there laughing at it.
I will add that I know the surface dweller who said it. I have talked to her and hung out with her here at the hospital on multiple occasions. We have eaten together, along with others who joined us for meals at the cafeteria. I have no problem with her and have never sensed any hint of prejudice from her. But now I am not so sure I want to hang out with her anymore. Because now I have that image in the back of my head and it will be tough to get it out.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Free tickets that cost me $1100/poking the squeegee
Before delving into the muck that is my post today, I need to give a few "shout outs" (look who is down in the hizzy!)...
To the Ronettes - keep reading girls. You hold a special place in my heart, and the more you gush about me around Wifey, the more she has to think that someone else in this world might actually WANT me, so it tempers her otherwise usually justified anger.
To Wifey - 4 days until 1 year. You know, it seems like just yesterday you were yelling at me for something I forgot to do in planning for the wedding. Someday soon, it will be something I forgot to do for the kids. Sunrise, sunset...
To Fineous Reese - brother man, keep with the posting. You are finding gold in them thar hills.
To Psycho/Just Me - as you noted, we too are approaching a full year together. However, you don't put out, so Wifey is still the star of my world. Besides, I could never go by just an initial.
To anyone else who reads this site enough to have any idea what the hell I am talking about - how the hell are YE?
Okay, now to the issues at hand. First and foremost, yes it is true. On September 18th, Wifey and I will be celebrating our 1st Anniversary. 365 1/4 days of not living in sin. I would like to find out what the over/under was in the "How long until she kills him or leaves him" pool. I want to know if I still haev a chance of winning. And just in case Wifey is wondering, even though I didn't know the spread, I still took the over. THAT should definitely show my level of dedication to this relationship.
Last month, my good friend Starcrossed Scottish Lass (if you knew her history you would understand. For now, she will be known as Starcrossed) called me with free tickets to go see Jimmy Buffett at the Datsun Pavillion (as always, they don't pay, they don't get play. But if you know which car company changed their name from Datsun to their current moniker, you know where I mean. If not, look here). She had tickets for Wifey AND me, and all she asked is that I drive. Well I told her no problem. However, a problem did arise. The concert was during that stretch here in the middle of the Eastern Seaboard when the temperature was hovering in the mid 90's with nasty humidity. Getting to Datsun requires one to merge into a line with 20,000 other cars and wait an incredibly long time to get through a light at a major intersection, where the cars are bumper to bumper for miles on end. During this forced "Bridge over the River Kwai" style march, my car began to overheat. So during this stretch, I had to turn the heat on full blast in order to keep my engine from exploding. Well, apparently it did some damage to my radiator, which has gotten worse over the last month and a half, to the tune of a new radiator and new hoses and new coolant and the whole 9 yards. Total cost with labor (cough cough RIPOFF!!!!!) was $1099.00. Cheeseburger in Paradise my ASS! Son of a son of a BITCH! Mother mother FUCKER! (if you haven't seen Club Dread, do so before flaming me for those nasty words).
I bet shit like that doesn't happen to someone going to a Michael Buble concert. I bet there aren't even Michael Buble concerts. I need to get some lunch. My mind is going off the tracks a bit.
Now to poking the squeegee. While at job deux last Saturday, I ran into an old professor of mine. He was one of those professors who really helped me out in class and in life, and we have kept in semi-sporadic touch for the last (oh GOD I'm old) just shy of 10 years. For the last couple of years he has had me come into his comedy class and help thestudents, and it is something I have thoroughly enjoyed. So when I saw him walking about the Cd aisle, I went up to say hi. As we were talking, I went to point at something behind me. As I did, I flet my finger hit something, so I immediately turned to see what I might have done. I saw a man with a big squeegee in his cart, and I had accidentally poked it with my finger. I apologized, but the man was completely unconcerned about the non incident and kept moving. That is when I turned to the prof and told him "I just poked a man in the squeegee". It wasn't until I said it out loud that I realized the absolute bizareness of the statement. And now my overriding goal is how to work "I just poked a man in the Squeegee" into everyday conversation.
finally, Wifey is going in for some knee surgery on the 29th (2 weeks from tomorrow), so make sure you keep her spirits up hen you see her. I'll keep raising things at home.
HOO-AAAAHHHHH!
BSR
To the Ronettes - keep reading girls. You hold a special place in my heart, and the more you gush about me around Wifey, the more she has to think that someone else in this world might actually WANT me, so it tempers her otherwise usually justified anger.
To Wifey - 4 days until 1 year. You know, it seems like just yesterday you were yelling at me for something I forgot to do in planning for the wedding. Someday soon, it will be something I forgot to do for the kids. Sunrise, sunset...
To Fineous Reese - brother man, keep with the posting. You are finding gold in them thar hills.
To Psycho/Just Me - as you noted, we too are approaching a full year together. However, you don't put out, so Wifey is still the star of my world. Besides, I could never go by just an initial.
To anyone else who reads this site enough to have any idea what the hell I am talking about - how the hell are YE?
Okay, now to the issues at hand. First and foremost, yes it is true. On September 18th, Wifey and I will be celebrating our 1st Anniversary. 365 1/4 days of not living in sin. I would like to find out what the over/under was in the "How long until she kills him or leaves him" pool. I want to know if I still haev a chance of winning. And just in case Wifey is wondering, even though I didn't know the spread, I still took the over. THAT should definitely show my level of dedication to this relationship.
Last month, my good friend Starcrossed Scottish Lass (if you knew her history you would understand. For now, she will be known as Starcrossed) called me with free tickets to go see Jimmy Buffett at the Datsun Pavillion (as always, they don't pay, they don't get play. But if you know which car company changed their name from Datsun to their current moniker, you know where I mean. If not, look here). She had tickets for Wifey AND me, and all she asked is that I drive. Well I told her no problem. However, a problem did arise. The concert was during that stretch here in the middle of the Eastern Seaboard when the temperature was hovering in the mid 90's with nasty humidity. Getting to Datsun requires one to merge into a line with 20,000 other cars and wait an incredibly long time to get through a light at a major intersection, where the cars are bumper to bumper for miles on end. During this forced "Bridge over the River Kwai" style march, my car began to overheat. So during this stretch, I had to turn the heat on full blast in order to keep my engine from exploding. Well, apparently it did some damage to my radiator, which has gotten worse over the last month and a half, to the tune of a new radiator and new hoses and new coolant and the whole 9 yards. Total cost with labor (cough cough RIPOFF!!!!!) was $1099.00. Cheeseburger in Paradise my ASS! Son of a son of a BITCH! Mother mother FUCKER! (if you haven't seen Club Dread, do so before flaming me for those nasty words).
I bet shit like that doesn't happen to someone going to a Michael Buble concert. I bet there aren't even Michael Buble concerts. I need to get some lunch. My mind is going off the tracks a bit.
Now to poking the squeegee. While at job deux last Saturday, I ran into an old professor of mine. He was one of those professors who really helped me out in class and in life, and we have kept in semi-sporadic touch for the last (oh GOD I'm old) just shy of 10 years. For the last couple of years he has had me come into his comedy class and help thestudents, and it is something I have thoroughly enjoyed. So when I saw him walking about the Cd aisle, I went up to say hi. As we were talking, I went to point at something behind me. As I did, I flet my finger hit something, so I immediately turned to see what I might have done. I saw a man with a big squeegee in his cart, and I had accidentally poked it with my finger. I apologized, but the man was completely unconcerned about the non incident and kept moving. That is when I turned to the prof and told him "I just poked a man in the squeegee". It wasn't until I said it out loud that I realized the absolute bizareness of the statement. And now my overriding goal is how to work "I just poked a man in the Squeegee" into everyday conversation.
finally, Wifey is going in for some knee surgery on the 29th (2 weeks from tomorrow), so make sure you keep her spirits up hen you see her. I'll keep raising things at home.
HOO-AAAAHHHHH!
BSR
Friday, September 08, 2006
Things that make me giggle
As I have recently mentioned, I am suffering through second hand insomnia. In fact, right now I feel like I am dragging more ass than a cadre of baboons with itchy butts. However, I still am keen to notice the absurd, like something I saw on the way into work this morning.
As I was driving on Belair Road, I stopped at a light and an MTA bus pulled up next to me. I looked over at it and saw the billboard on the side. It was a Hooters billboard (yes I have been known to frequent Hooters, but I swear I only eat there for the articles). The billboard in question was positioned in such a place that as I looked over, I saw 3 ample sets of torso with no faces to distract me with any other place to focus. No distracting eyes or smiles to look at. Just 6 lovely breasts covered in a thin sheet of white cloth with an owl on there somewhere. This was all well and good, and definitely it was a pleasant momentary distraction from the inanity that is morning traffic, stuck in the midst of a group of people who, like you, have no desire to get where they are going. But this is what got me. On each wonderful mammary was a hand print, as if someone had just finished changing their oil by hand and walked up to the bus, putting an open hand print right smack dab in the center of the pleasure zone.
Part of me thought that the bus was pulled over somewhere by the police, and 3 criminals caught red (and dirty) handed were forced to exit the bus, and then forced to put their hands in preparation for a search by said police. Maybe their hands went there accidentally, maybe they realized it was the closest they would get to touching ANY female breasts, either 2 or 3 dimensional, and they decided to cop one last feel before they became the object of someone else's dirty hand explorations.
Have a happy weekend everyone. I am going to find time to nap, even if I have to stay up all night to do it. That'll teach me!
BSR
As I was driving on Belair Road, I stopped at a light and an MTA bus pulled up next to me. I looked over at it and saw the billboard on the side. It was a Hooters billboard (yes I have been known to frequent Hooters, but I swear I only eat there for the articles). The billboard in question was positioned in such a place that as I looked over, I saw 3 ample sets of torso with no faces to distract me with any other place to focus. No distracting eyes or smiles to look at. Just 6 lovely breasts covered in a thin sheet of white cloth with an owl on there somewhere. This was all well and good, and definitely it was a pleasant momentary distraction from the inanity that is morning traffic, stuck in the midst of a group of people who, like you, have no desire to get where they are going. But this is what got me. On each wonderful mammary was a hand print, as if someone had just finished changing their oil by hand and walked up to the bus, putting an open hand print right smack dab in the center of the pleasure zone.
Part of me thought that the bus was pulled over somewhere by the police, and 3 criminals caught red (and dirty) handed were forced to exit the bus, and then forced to put their hands in preparation for a search by said police. Maybe their hands went there accidentally, maybe they realized it was the closest they would get to touching ANY female breasts, either 2 or 3 dimensional, and they decided to cop one last feel before they became the object of someone else's dirty hand explorations.
Have a happy weekend everyone. I am going to find time to nap, even if I have to stay up all night to do it. That'll teach me!
BSR
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
DAMN but I am getting old
I was just on hold with Carefirst Blue Cross Blue Shield. While holding they play helpful medical thoughts (men 50 or over need yearly prostate exams so don't be embarassed, drink more water, Wifey wants to make passionate love to BSR tonight. You know, the usual). In between they play the standard muzak.
Just now I heard "Fly to the Angels" by Slaughter.
Yup. Slaughter. Muzak.
I am going to go cry now.
Just now I heard "Fly to the Angels" by Slaughter.
Yup. Slaughter. Muzak.
I am going to go cry now.
Holiday Locusts and teen pregnancy
WHAT?!?!? Don't worry, all will be explained in due time.
Before I begin, a quick note on Wifey. She is on some serious meds designed to help her get over once and for all her problems with ear infections, which she has been susceptible to ever since she had a BAD bout of bronchitis a while ago. She is getting better, and that is good. The medicines have some interesting side effects. That is neither good nor bad, it just is. A couple of nights ago Wifey karate chopped me in the sternum around 4:15 am or so. That was bad. Last night she decided to dream that she was a rabbit running from something, as my right knee found out when she began kicking. That was also bad. As her ears unclog, her nose runs a lot. This causes her to have to blow her nose. At 3 am. Loudly. I know that any suffering that I am currently experiencing is nothing compared to what she is going through getting better. That didn't make my knee feel better this morning, but I am aware of the reality of the situation. The long and short of it is I will not be getting any real sleep for probably another 2 weeks or so, and I might be more than a little bruised/fractured/hospitalized/dead by then. So if you can pray for me I would appreciate it. And if you could make sure I have enough coffee to get me through my secondary medication induced insomnia I would appreciate that too.
It was a long weekend, in more ways than one. We have already discussed the spousal abuse, now let us look at the activities.
I had to work Saturday night. In case you didn't know/forgot/don't live around here, it rained Saturday. A lot. This led to a strange occurrence. There are two things that bring people out to the stores, weather and sales. Be it the "OH GOD IT IS GOING TO POSSIBLY MAYBE FLURRY IN A WEEK AND A HALF" milk/bread/toilet paper throngs or the "if it is listed in a circular than it HAS to be a bargain" (BTW - a lot of things listed in circulars are not on sale. If you see "As Advertised" next to an item, it is probably the same price it was the week before, and will be the week after. A lot of "no rain check" items are this way. They don't want you to know that you aren't getting a deal. It is more like an induced inventory liquidation or a "I bet they will want to but fans now that summer is here. Put them in the ad" thing. If it says "Price Cut", or something similar, it is on sale), these two things will bring out the people in droves. So if you combine the "Labor Day Weekend SAVE-TACULAR" people with the rain driving people out to the stores like it drives the earthworms out of the ground, it was hectic.
Sunday was actually pretty relaxing, as I was off of both jobs and had a cookout to go to. So that was a more than decent day. But Monday...
I also had to work Monday night. Since it was time and a half, I was cool with it, even though I dreaded going in. I was pleasantly surprised at the lack of shoppers. It was definintely busy, but it seemed that most people had gotten their shopping done Friday-Sunday, and were content to actually relax on this particular federally mandated holiday. My bosses at Target were both working an early shift, so they both left a little after 4. All seemed okay, until about 5:30. THAT is when IT happened.
The first bus pulled up. Followed by a second one. Then a third. Full of college kids living on campus or near campus from Loyola College. And they swarmed in as the busses left. Within minutes the cart well was decimated and we knew it was only a matter of time until they descended on the cash registers. I immediately went on high alert, expecting the worst. Luckily Loyola College is filled with rich kids whose parents can afford a school like Loyola, so theivery was at a minimum. A couple of DVD's and CD's, but compared to the heaving throng of people, it wasn't that bad.
As they were slowly moving through the registers and trickling out, I went outside to do a little crowd control. They were starting to block up the entrance and exit, and other guests could not get in or out. I saw the busses coming back and breathed a sigh of relief. But I shouldn't have, because as the busses got closer I realized that they were still full of people. For a brief moment I thought it was people they picked up from other local stores, but then I remembered that Loyola kids won't shop at WalMart (because they don't have to), and there was no way THAT many students needed bath gels from Bed Bath and Beyond. And the busses were getting closer...
Three more busfuls of students got off the busses. About 1 and 1/2 worth of students got on the busses. The busses left. And yes, they had another trip to make, another full load of humanity. At one point, I am pretty sure that the Towson Target could have shot right past Annapolis into third place as Maryland's most populated city. And I am fairly confident that it could have challenged Frederick for #2 overall. And afterwards, around 9 o'clock, when they were finally gone, it was eerily quiet in the store.
I did a round to inspect the carnage, fully expecting to have to call FEMA and ask for federal relief. All in all it wasn't too bad. The "grocery area" was all but a ghost town. Chips and pretzels, cereal, soda, candy...all gone. A lot of smaller furniture was sold. Table lamps, bookshelves and the like. If you need sheets or towels, don't come to my store until Wednesday, because otherwise you ain't gonna have a whole lot of choices. And don't even THINK about anything for the bathroom...
Soap
Shampoo
Makeup
Toothpaste
Toothbrushes
...Really anything hygiene. And of course, condoms. There were about 6 boxes of condoms left. I like to think that the majority of them were bought by wishful thinking freshman, who were buying 24 packs like they were going to actually need them. And they will sit in the corner of their dorm room, and on Friday they will look wistfully at them before they go meet their friends at the Quad for a night of walking about the mall looking at the girls they want to use them on.
However, come what may (pun intended), I do take a certain sense of comfort knowing that my tax dollars will not be spent on Baby Greyhounds, at least not until the Spring semester.
GO TIGERS!
Before I begin, a quick note on Wifey. She is on some serious meds designed to help her get over once and for all her problems with ear infections, which she has been susceptible to ever since she had a BAD bout of bronchitis a while ago. She is getting better, and that is good. The medicines have some interesting side effects. That is neither good nor bad, it just is. A couple of nights ago Wifey karate chopped me in the sternum around 4:15 am or so. That was bad. Last night she decided to dream that she was a rabbit running from something, as my right knee found out when she began kicking. That was also bad. As her ears unclog, her nose runs a lot. This causes her to have to blow her nose. At 3 am. Loudly. I know that any suffering that I am currently experiencing is nothing compared to what she is going through getting better. That didn't make my knee feel better this morning, but I am aware of the reality of the situation. The long and short of it is I will not be getting any real sleep for probably another 2 weeks or so, and I might be more than a little bruised/fractured/hospitalized/dead by then. So if you can pray for me I would appreciate it. And if you could make sure I have enough coffee to get me through my secondary medication induced insomnia I would appreciate that too.
It was a long weekend, in more ways than one. We have already discussed the spousal abuse, now let us look at the activities.
I had to work Saturday night. In case you didn't know/forgot/don't live around here, it rained Saturday. A lot. This led to a strange occurrence. There are two things that bring people out to the stores, weather and sales. Be it the "OH GOD IT IS GOING TO POSSIBLY MAYBE FLURRY IN A WEEK AND A HALF" milk/bread/toilet paper throngs or the "if it is listed in a circular than it HAS to be a bargain" (BTW - a lot of things listed in circulars are not on sale. If you see "As Advertised" next to an item, it is probably the same price it was the week before, and will be the week after. A lot of "no rain check" items are this way. They don't want you to know that you aren't getting a deal. It is more like an induced inventory liquidation or a "I bet they will want to but fans now that summer is here. Put them in the ad" thing. If it says "Price Cut", or something similar, it is on sale), these two things will bring out the people in droves. So if you combine the "Labor Day Weekend SAVE-TACULAR" people with the rain driving people out to the stores like it drives the earthworms out of the ground, it was hectic.
Sunday was actually pretty relaxing, as I was off of both jobs and had a cookout to go to. So that was a more than decent day. But Monday...
I also had to work Monday night. Since it was time and a half, I was cool with it, even though I dreaded going in. I was pleasantly surprised at the lack of shoppers. It was definintely busy, but it seemed that most people had gotten their shopping done Friday-Sunday, and were content to actually relax on this particular federally mandated holiday. My bosses at Target were both working an early shift, so they both left a little after 4. All seemed okay, until about 5:30. THAT is when IT happened.
The first bus pulled up. Followed by a second one. Then a third. Full of college kids living on campus or near campus from Loyola College. And they swarmed in as the busses left. Within minutes the cart well was decimated and we knew it was only a matter of time until they descended on the cash registers. I immediately went on high alert, expecting the worst. Luckily Loyola College is filled with rich kids whose parents can afford a school like Loyola, so theivery was at a minimum. A couple of DVD's and CD's, but compared to the heaving throng of people, it wasn't that bad.
As they were slowly moving through the registers and trickling out, I went outside to do a little crowd control. They were starting to block up the entrance and exit, and other guests could not get in or out. I saw the busses coming back and breathed a sigh of relief. But I shouldn't have, because as the busses got closer I realized that they were still full of people. For a brief moment I thought it was people they picked up from other local stores, but then I remembered that Loyola kids won't shop at WalMart (because they don't have to), and there was no way THAT many students needed bath gels from Bed Bath and Beyond. And the busses were getting closer...
Three more busfuls of students got off the busses. About 1 and 1/2 worth of students got on the busses. The busses left. And yes, they had another trip to make, another full load of humanity. At one point, I am pretty sure that the Towson Target could have shot right past Annapolis into third place as Maryland's most populated city. And I am fairly confident that it could have challenged Frederick for #2 overall. And afterwards, around 9 o'clock, when they were finally gone, it was eerily quiet in the store.
I did a round to inspect the carnage, fully expecting to have to call FEMA and ask for federal relief. All in all it wasn't too bad. The "grocery area" was all but a ghost town. Chips and pretzels, cereal, soda, candy...all gone. A lot of smaller furniture was sold. Table lamps, bookshelves and the like. If you need sheets or towels, don't come to my store until Wednesday, because otherwise you ain't gonna have a whole lot of choices. And don't even THINK about anything for the bathroom...
Soap
Shampoo
Makeup
Toothpaste
Toothbrushes
...Really anything hygiene. And of course, condoms. There were about 6 boxes of condoms left. I like to think that the majority of them were bought by wishful thinking freshman, who were buying 24 packs like they were going to actually need them. And they will sit in the corner of their dorm room, and on Friday they will look wistfully at them before they go meet their friends at the Quad for a night of walking about the mall looking at the girls they want to use them on.
However, come what may (pun intended), I do take a certain sense of comfort knowing that my tax dollars will not be spent on Baby Greyhounds, at least not until the Spring semester.
GO TIGERS!
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Petey Greene - How to Eat Watermelon
I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS EXISTS.
This man was a civil rights activist in the 1970's. And this aired on WDCA, a local Washington DC UHF station.
This is utterly unbelievable. I'll put it this way...imagine it is 1977 and Garrett Morris was the one speaking. It would be about 12:30 Saturday night/Sunday morning. You can totally see it, can't you?
I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS EXISTS.
This man was a civil rights activist in the 1970's. And this aired on WDCA, a local Washington DC UHF station.
This is utterly unbelievable. I'll put it this way...imagine it is 1977 and Garrett Morris was the one speaking. It would be about 12:30 Saturday night/Sunday morning. You can totally see it, can't you?
Apache
Without a doubt.
No question.
GREATEST.
MUSIC.
VIDEO.
EVER.
This cannot be disputed. I defy you to find a better one. Yes, I said "defy". I say that because I know it is impossible. I have just watched this 7 straight times and I STILL ma in awe of its horribleness. How did MTV choose the Buggles over this, themes of the songs be damned! At the VERY least this should have been the 2nd video shown, and the 1st put into heavy rotation. Hell, it should STILL be in heavy rotation! I gotta go. It's time to watch it again.
Without a doubt.
No question.
GREATEST.
MUSIC.
VIDEO.
EVER.
This cannot be disputed. I defy you to find a better one. Yes, I said "defy". I say that because I know it is impossible. I have just watched this 7 straight times and I STILL ma in awe of its horribleness. How did MTV choose the Buggles over this, themes of the songs be damned! At the VERY least this should have been the 2nd video shown, and the 1st put into heavy rotation. Hell, it should STILL be in heavy rotation! I gotta go. It's time to watch it again.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
The Eternal Battle
Recently I finally took the last required step of manhood. I switched to boxers.
When man (and in this case I am being penis-centric, not universal) is born, he wears diapers. After diapers come Underoos (SPIDER-MAN!!!!!!!!!!). Next come briefs.
The briefs stage can last for a long time. Some men never fully grow out of them. Some even go so far as to move to bikini briefs and banana hammocks. And that is just wrong, unless you have the physique of an underwear model and are packing more than a derringer in your holster. Thankfully I never fell completely under the spell of briefs, as I found the greatest hybrid creation ever...
THE BOXER BRIEF
Yes, the comfort of a boxer, the support of a brief. At this point, I thought I had completed my underwear journey. But that was not to be.
Wifey has been after me for some amount of time to update my underwear. I will admit that some of my undershirts have some holes in them, but the BBs were running fine TYVM. However, as I walked the hallowed halls of Target day after day (after day after day...) I kept seeing the big BTS underwear display (don't try to comprehend it. Don't. Just agree that it exists and move on from there), and I kept seeing boxers in my size (not as common as I would hope). Last week they went on sale, so I broke down and bought a pack (and immediately went to the office to try them on, praying there would be no major call for security while I stood in the middle of the camera room putting underwear on, on top of underwear, while my pants hung over the back of a chair). I found them to be very comfortable, and it was not as hard to get used to the "freeing" aspect of the boxers as I thought it would be. I don't feel as if I am going "Commando", but I might be in the National Guard. The biggest adjustment is that sometimes I have to adjust when I sit, since I am no longer "2 Ball(s) in the side pocket".
There is one major adjustment, however, that I am still trying to adapt to. I don't plan on switching back, but at the same time I am not ready to bleach the living hell out of the old boys and turn them into rags just yet. What is that adjustment you ask? It is this: the boxers have a button in the front to hold the flap closed. After 30+ years (remember, there was no issue involved with diapers) of moving the fold over flaps to their respective sides in order to free the beast to do it's duty, it is difficult (I wanted to say it was hard, but that would make most of you laugh like Beavis and Butthead, and I am trying to make a point here) to remember that I need to undo a button first. My body is trained to recognize the zipper going down as "5 seconds from launch", and now I am delaying it to 8 seconds, but at the 4 second mark. If that sounds complicated/convoluted, it is. But 30+ years of training are hard to just ignore. Especially since the button sits up higher than the flaps were on the old reliables. So my hands automatically go to where there is solid material. Long story short, I have not pissed myself, but I am not saying it is impossible, especially if I get drunk anytime soon (and yes, we are going to a Labor Day party. I might pack spares).
And in case you are wondering why I don't just leave it unbuttoned, I have thought about that. But there are two issues...
1) it doesn't feel wholesome/American. It sounds like something the terrorists would do.
2) if the thought of it distracts me, imagine what the ACTION would do.
And now you know...THE ETERNAL STRUGGLE
When man (and in this case I am being penis-centric, not universal) is born, he wears diapers. After diapers come Underoos (SPIDER-MAN!!!!!!!!!!). Next come briefs.
The briefs stage can last for a long time. Some men never fully grow out of them. Some even go so far as to move to bikini briefs and banana hammocks. And that is just wrong, unless you have the physique of an underwear model and are packing more than a derringer in your holster. Thankfully I never fell completely under the spell of briefs, as I found the greatest hybrid creation ever...
THE BOXER BRIEF
Yes, the comfort of a boxer, the support of a brief. At this point, I thought I had completed my underwear journey. But that was not to be.
Wifey has been after me for some amount of time to update my underwear. I will admit that some of my undershirts have some holes in them, but the BBs were running fine TYVM. However, as I walked the hallowed halls of Target day after day (after day after day...) I kept seeing the big BTS underwear display (don't try to comprehend it. Don't. Just agree that it exists and move on from there), and I kept seeing boxers in my size (not as common as I would hope). Last week they went on sale, so I broke down and bought a pack (and immediately went to the office to try them on, praying there would be no major call for security while I stood in the middle of the camera room putting underwear on, on top of underwear, while my pants hung over the back of a chair). I found them to be very comfortable, and it was not as hard to get used to the
There is one major adjustment, however, that I am still trying to adapt to. I don't plan on switching back, but at the same time I am not ready to bleach the living hell out of the old boys and turn them into rags just yet. What is that adjustment you ask? It is this: the boxers have a button in the front to hold the flap closed. After 30+ years (remember, there was no issue involved with diapers) of moving the fold over flaps to their respective sides in order to free the beast to do it's duty, it is difficult (I wanted to say it was hard, but that would make most of you laugh like Beavis and Butthead, and I am trying to make a point here) to remember that I need to undo a button first. My body is trained to recognize the zipper going down as "5 seconds from launch", and now I am delaying it to 8 seconds, but at the 4 second mark. If that sounds complicated/convoluted, it is. But 30+ years of training are hard to just ignore. Especially since the button sits up higher than the flaps were on the old reliables. So my hands automatically go to where there is solid material. Long story short, I have not pissed myself, but I am not saying it is impossible, especially if I get drunk anytime soon (and yes, we are going to a Labor Day party. I might pack spares).
And in case you are wondering why I don't just leave it unbuttoned, I have thought about that. But there are two issues...
1) it doesn't feel wholesome/American. It sounds like something the terrorists would do.
2) if the thought of it distracts me, imagine what the ACTION would do.
And now you know...THE ETERNAL STRUGGLE
If I was a woman or a gay man I would feel really inspired right now
The first song to play on Wifey's alarm clock this morning? "I'm Every Woman", and it was exactly when the chorus was kicking in. For the briefest of moments I felt like Kevin Kline in In and Out when he was listening to the record on how to be a man but ended up prancing around the room to "Macho Man".
But that feeling passed quickly.
But that feeling passed quickly.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
The reason that today will be a bizarre posting day
There are certain things, some would call them signs. Omens portending of the fate of a day, or even an action. Not as dramatic or life altering as a burning bush or raining frogs, but still something that could easily be interpreted as God telling you something that you should heed. This morning I had my own little "Beware the Ides of March", my own Oracle telling me that I was destined to kill my father and marry my mother and my life story would be used by some Austrian guy with cigar fetish and his own mother issues (I don't actually have any mother OR father issues. My court ordered therapy at age 14 after being busted for petty shoplifting - I tried to steal the "Batdance" cassette single on a dare, which just being caught with that in your possession should have been punishment enough in my humble opinion - proved that I was not Oedipal, nor was I gay. Those were the focal points of Mindy's (how the hell do I still remember her name?) psychoanalysis. That and that I was repressing anger. And at age 14 I could have told her all of that and saved my parents some money and myself some time lying on a couch talking to a pregnant woman about my life as a zygote during the regression therapy).
Yes, a sign from the heavens came down and rained upon me during the nascent beginnings of my morning commute today. Literally. A bird shit on my sleeve. Right on the edge of it, just barely missing my arm. And as I reached for the last napkin in the car to wipe it off as best as I could (Wifey burned through the rest blowing her nose. She has been stuffed up since what seems like when Bush had a positive approval rating, but she went to the doctor yesterday and hopefully things will be getting better), I couldn't help but think that God (or if He was too busy, one of his gophers. I like to think that God delegates minor tasks to his boys, and saves his concentration for big things that require attention, like helping keep the peace during the cease fire and stuff) was telling me that maybe the best place for me today would be home. Or at least I should stay indoors. If it had actually gotten on my skin, I would be home right now, getting out of the shower and making a fresh pot of coffee and calling my boss (and also the OM for the office I am assigned to) and telling them that I simply cannot come in, no reason, using one of my personal "Use'em or Lose'em" days and I will speak to them in the morning.
But I am here, and the trauma that I have gone through (not to mention it is a "JJ" Day, another reason I thought long and hard about not being in THIS particular zip code) has caused me to feel like posting any random thing that makes me giggle or otherwise distracts me. Like the Saget video you just watched (you didn't watch it yet? SHAME ON YOU! Watch it now and then come back) and so on. The Joey Lawrence thing is just a continuation from yesterday, but I am glad I got it to work. In the grand scheme of things, the Mario Lopez and Jerry Springer pics are superfluous now. But Jerry does look good all tarted up. He should think of keeping the puffy shirt look.
Yes, a sign from the heavens came down and rained upon me during the nascent beginnings of my morning commute today. Literally. A bird shit on my sleeve. Right on the edge of it, just barely missing my arm. And as I reached for the last napkin in the car to wipe it off as best as I could (Wifey burned through the rest blowing her nose. She has been stuffed up since what seems like when Bush had a positive approval rating, but she went to the doctor yesterday and hopefully things will be getting better), I couldn't help but think that God (or if He was too busy, one of his gophers. I like to think that God delegates minor tasks to his boys, and saves his concentration for big things that require attention, like helping keep the peace during the cease fire and stuff) was telling me that maybe the best place for me today would be home. Or at least I should stay indoors. If it had actually gotten on my skin, I would be home right now, getting out of the shower and making a fresh pot of coffee and calling my boss (and also the OM for the office I am assigned to) and telling them that I simply cannot come in, no reason, using one of my personal "Use'em or Lose'em" days and I will speak to them in the morning.
But I am here, and the trauma that I have gone through (not to mention it is a "JJ" Day, another reason I thought long and hard about not being in THIS particular zip code) has caused me to feel like posting any random thing that makes me giggle or otherwise distracts me. Like the Saget video you just watched (you didn't watch it yet? SHAME ON YOU! Watch it now and then come back) and so on. The Joey Lawrence thing is just a continuation from yesterday, but I am glad I got it to work. In the grand scheme of things, the Mario Lopez and Jerry Springer pics are superfluous now. But Jerry does look good all tarted up. He should think of keeping the puffy shirt look.
Joey Lawrence - Nothin' my love can't fix
When you watch this, you will learn a few things. One: Joel Lawrence is either from or is a huge fan of the professional sports teams of Philadelphia. 2: Joel Lawrence is the greatest football player who ever lived. He actually threw a touchdown to himself, and later got an interception while playing defense. It's like he's Chuck Bednarik, only prettier. 3: He likes chicks on roller skates. 4: Sleeveless, unbuttoned flannel shirts are teh awesome. 5: the set designer for the Fresh Prince of Bel Air is a close personal friend of his.
I want to learn how to do that shoulder walk/elephant strut thing he does. Apparently it can score you major chicks, especially ones who like to play ring around the rosie and wear flannel either as a shirt or as a backwards apron/ass cape.
When you watch this, you will learn a few things. One: Joel Lawrence is either from or is a huge fan of the professional sports teams of Philadelphia. 2: Joel Lawrence is the greatest football player who ever lived. He actually threw a touchdown to himself, and later got an interception while playing defense. It's like he's Chuck Bednarik, only prettier. 3: He likes chicks on roller skates. 4: Sleeveless, unbuttoned flannel shirts are teh awesome. 5: the set designer for the Fresh Prince of Bel Air is a close personal friend of his.
I want to learn how to do that shoulder walk/elephant strut thing he does. Apparently it can score you major chicks, especially ones who like to play ring around the rosie and wear flannel either as a shirt or as a backwards apron/ass cape.
Joey Lawrence is NOT Bob the Builder
apparently there IS something his love can't fix. Male pattern baldness.
Bob the Builder-can he fix it?
Bob the Builder-YES HE CAN!
This is what happens to your brain when you have yourng nieces/nephews. I can only imagine that it will be 10 times worse when Wifey and I have kids of our own. I am sure that there will be Wiggles and Raffi CD's where my Who and Styx Greatest Hits collections are in my truck. And then you will weep for me without even knowing why.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Demon fan and other tidbits
I really wanted to post some pics from the new lineup of Dancing With The Stars. I have never watched that show. I mean that I have not seen 1 second of the show on T.V., online, or anywhere else. I know of its existence because I have heard it mentioned ad nauseum since its inception. So why would I want to post pics from this abomination of a program? Because this year the "stars" include the folowwing...
Jerry "Lesbian Nazi Hookers on the next" Springer
Mario "How did Zach get NYPD Blue & I get this, no I'm not gay dammit" Lopez
...and best of all...
Joey "I had hair when I was on Blossom" Lawrence
Yes, you heard it here 1st. Joey Lawrence shaves his head. Since no white guy since Telly Savales has looked good shaved bald (and he had that swarthy Mediterranean look), and to the best of my knowledge he hasn't had any disease requiring chemo treatments, he must therefore be going bald and decided to shave his head to show his hairline who's in charge. Great thinking Joey! When is that 2nd pop album coming out? I am already in line to pick it up. Really.
So Wifey reminded me last night that I never told you about my possessed fan. I will be correcting that now. But before I do that, I need to once again say hello to all the Ronnettes (that is the official name I have given all of Wifey's friends/co-workers who read this thing. I figure Phil Spector is a little too busy to give me shit about the name choice right now). Yesterday was the birthday gathering for one of Wifey's co-workers (I need to think of a good nickname for her in case she becomes a more regular conversation point on here. For now, I will call her Killian because she has red hair like Killina's Irish Red, but she was made in the middle of Americana, like Killian's Irish Red. She's from Illinois, Killians is from Golden, Colorado. Yup, it is basically Coors Light with some food dye. And if you are going to drink that watered down piss, why pay extra? Just buy Keystone Light *the exact same thing* and save a couple of bucks a case). Yes, Killian's birthday is actually today, but the celebration began last night. In a Thai/sushi resteraunt in Towson MD. And with the exception of the Encyclopedia Britannica guy (who is a childhood friend of Killian, and it turns out is a pretty cool guy) and the Human Jawbone (claiming neutrality so as to not offend. Not everyone likes everyone, he wasn't my cup of sake), Larry the Upstairs Neighbor was the only other guy besides me, and he was a last minute addition. Why is that important? And why am I qualifying the number of men that were there? I'll answer the 2nd question first. The other two guys came in late, and for the most part I was not able to talk to them, or I wasn't bowled over by the conversation. Now the 1st question. Why is that important? Because the estrogen was flowing like soy sauce last night and I was being carried away on a river of "tee-hee"'s and "ghetto tyrants" (do NOT ask) and heaving breasts that I was not supposed to be looking at (and I wasn't. Much. But yeah, I was a little). So of course Larry was at the polar opposite end of the table from me, and since he is not a loud talker and I have a degree of hearing loss and it can be loud with 10 or so women cackling and cavorting, talking to him was impossible. Luckily we have, over the years, become very adept at reading each other's faces. And because of that I can say that 3 of the people at that table should be blushing right now.
The evening was fun. I had some reservations about going because I have been pretty busy the last two weeks and really feel the need to recharge my batteries. But I wanted to spend time with Wifey, and I really like Killian, and I like Pad Thai and sushi, so I figured "what the hell"
A quick sidebar (it is time for BSR to become BWR. The "W" stands for "Whiney"). I thoroughly enjoy making people laugh. It is one of the reasons I put all the crap on here that I do. But the downside to being the funny guy is that you are always expected to be the funny guy when you go out, especially when it is with a group of people you don't see all that often. I wasn't sure if I was going to have the energy to satisfy them. But once the evening got rolling the juices started flowing and I had a great time. According to Wifey, the reviews from last night are in, and they are positively GLOWING. "Funny". "Handsome". "Silly". Sounds like I could have scored last night. So a shout out to all the heaving breasts from last night. Once Wifey cuts me off, I'll be calling you.
Now on to the fan. I sleep with a fan on year round. I like the air on my face, and I like the "white noise". It helps me zone out and sleep. Well last week the fan kept turning in my sleep. I would lay down with it blowing on my face, and when I would wake up, it would have pivoted and would be blowing cooling air in the general vicinity of my special area between my thighs and stomach. Which, when cooled too much, become much less than the sum of their parts. And even though I am married and supposedly don't have to worry about it, that is not a scenario that any man would encourage. Part of me thought I might be turning it in my sleep, which doesn't make a lick of sense, since I really wasn't feeling like I was overly hot there (read this at your own risk) since I sleep either in my undies or in the nude (no mind bleach for you, you were warned). So one morning when I got out of bed, since Wifey was already upstairs (she hates the fan being on when I am not there to block it) I moved the fan back to the original position before I went to the bathroom to prepare for the day. When I came back it was facing the far corner of the bed. So either my fan is trying to escape (I don't think that I have mistreated it) or it (or the house) is possessed. I am leaning towards the fan being possessed. Possibly by the spirit of Johnny 5, I don't know.
It feels like this post is ending up rather abruptly, so let me end it with this blast from my past...
I am pleased to announce that the general knowledge of the public at large appears to be on the rise. Although, this conclusion has not been arrived at through a true scientific test, certain scientific SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures) have been employed. In theorizing that public knowledge has indeed increased, I have used my workplace environment as my sample segment of the population. This environment provides a test group of 207 people, which (given a 5% margin for error) gives a reasonable estimate of the population as a whole. Understanding this, I am pleased to report that the overwhelming majority of the 207 subjects in the test group appear to have a great deal of general knowledge. Evidence of this can be seen through the constant employment (almost overuse) of the qualitative statement, "I know that's right!". Most subjects appear to have a great deal of this general knowledge, affirming that they know what is correct at least five times within any given hour of the eight hour workday (on the average). The subjects also display great joy in sharing their knowledge as the phrase, "I know that's right!" is often followed by loud and raucous laughter. However, this investigation has also yielded a possible observation of concern. The subjects only exhibited knowledge of what was correct. Not once during the course of this investigation did any of the 207 subjects pronounce, "I know that's wrong!". Why exactly this distinct lack of confirming falsehoods occurs (or rather, does not) still remains a mystery. One possible theory for further investigation is that perhaps in having more knowledge, the population at large has also begun speaking more truthfully, thus making it so that there is no need for confirming knowledge of a false statement. Further research is necessary. Until these tests are performed, however, please rest peacefully, secure in the knowledge that people at least have acquired enough knowledge to "know that's right!"
Sorry if that is a re-post. I don't think it is, but just in case. Talk to you later!
BSR
Jerry "Lesbian Nazi Hookers on the next" Springer
Mario "How did Zach get NYPD Blue & I get this, no I'm not gay dammit" Lopez
...and best of all...
Joey "I had hair when I was on Blossom" Lawrence
Yes, you heard it here 1st. Joey Lawrence shaves his head. Since no white guy since Telly Savales has looked good shaved bald (and he had that swarthy Mediterranean look), and to the best of my knowledge he hasn't had any disease requiring chemo treatments, he must therefore be going bald and decided to shave his head to show his hairline who's in charge. Great thinking Joey! When is that 2nd pop album coming out? I am already in line to pick it up. Really.
So Wifey reminded me last night that I never told you about my possessed fan. I will be correcting that now. But before I do that, I need to once again say hello to all the Ronnettes (that is the official name I have given all of Wifey's friends/co-workers who read this thing. I figure Phil Spector is a little too busy to give me shit about the name choice right now). Yesterday was the birthday gathering for one of Wifey's co-workers (I need to think of a good nickname for her in case she becomes a more regular conversation point on here. For now, I will call her Killian because she has red hair like Killina's Irish Red, but she was made in the middle of Americana, like Killian's Irish Red. She's from Illinois, Killians is from Golden, Colorado. Yup, it is basically Coors Light with some food dye. And if you are going to drink that watered down piss, why pay extra? Just buy Keystone Light *the exact same thing* and save a couple of bucks a case). Yes, Killian's birthday is actually today, but the celebration began last night. In a Thai/sushi resteraunt in Towson MD. And with the exception of the Encyclopedia Britannica guy (who is a childhood friend of Killian, and it turns out is a pretty cool guy) and the Human Jawbone (claiming neutrality so as to not offend. Not everyone likes everyone, he wasn't my cup of sake), Larry the Upstairs Neighbor was the only other guy besides me, and he was a last minute addition. Why is that important? And why am I qualifying the number of men that were there? I'll answer the 2nd question first. The other two guys came in late, and for the most part I was not able to talk to them, or I wasn't bowled over by the conversation. Now the 1st question. Why is that important? Because the estrogen was flowing like soy sauce last night and I was being carried away on a river of "tee-hee"'s and "ghetto tyrants" (do NOT ask) and heaving breasts that I was not supposed to be looking at (and I wasn't. Much. But yeah, I was a little). So of course Larry was at the polar opposite end of the table from me, and since he is not a loud talker and I have a degree of hearing loss and it can be loud with 10 or so women cackling and cavorting, talking to him was impossible. Luckily we have, over the years, become very adept at reading each other's faces. And because of that I can say that 3 of the people at that table should be blushing right now.
The evening was fun. I had some reservations about going because I have been pretty busy the last two weeks and really feel the need to recharge my batteries. But I wanted to spend time with Wifey, and I really like Killian, and I like Pad Thai and sushi, so I figured "what the hell"
A quick sidebar (it is time for BSR to become BWR. The "W" stands for "Whiney"). I thoroughly enjoy making people laugh. It is one of the reasons I put all the crap on here that I do. But the downside to being the funny guy is that you are always expected to be the funny guy when you go out, especially when it is with a group of people you don't see all that often. I wasn't sure if I was going to have the energy to satisfy them. But once the evening got rolling the juices started flowing and I had a great time. According to Wifey, the reviews from last night are in, and they are positively GLOWING. "Funny". "Handsome". "Silly". Sounds like I could have scored last night. So a shout out to all the heaving breasts from last night. Once Wifey cuts me off, I'll be calling you.
Now on to the fan. I sleep with a fan on year round. I like the air on my face, and I like the "white noise". It helps me zone out and sleep. Well last week the fan kept turning in my sleep. I would lay down with it blowing on my face, and when I would wake up, it would have pivoted and would be blowing cooling air in the general vicinity of my special area between my thighs and stomach. Which, when cooled too much, become much less than the sum of their parts. And even though I am married and supposedly don't have to worry about it, that is not a scenario that any man would encourage. Part of me thought I might be turning it in my sleep, which doesn't make a lick of sense, since I really wasn't feeling like I was overly hot there (read this at your own risk) since I sleep either in my undies or in the nude (no mind bleach for you, you were warned). So one morning when I got out of bed, since Wifey was already upstairs (she hates the fan being on when I am not there to block it) I moved the fan back to the original position before I went to the bathroom to prepare for the day. When I came back it was facing the far corner of the bed. So either my fan is trying to escape (I don't think that I have mistreated it) or it (or the house) is possessed. I am leaning towards the fan being possessed. Possibly by the spirit of Johnny 5, I don't know.
It feels like this post is ending up rather abruptly, so let me end it with this blast from my past...
I am pleased to announce that the general knowledge of the public at large appears to be on the rise. Although, this conclusion has not been arrived at through a true scientific test, certain scientific SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures) have been employed. In theorizing that public knowledge has indeed increased, I have used my workplace environment as my sample segment of the population. This environment provides a test group of 207 people, which (given a 5% margin for error) gives a reasonable estimate of the population as a whole. Understanding this, I am pleased to report that the overwhelming majority of the 207 subjects in the test group appear to have a great deal of general knowledge. Evidence of this can be seen through the constant employment (almost overuse) of the qualitative statement, "I know that's right!". Most subjects appear to have a great deal of this general knowledge, affirming that they know what is correct at least five times within any given hour of the eight hour workday (on the average). The subjects also display great joy in sharing their knowledge as the phrase, "I know that's right!" is often followed by loud and raucous laughter. However, this investigation has also yielded a possible observation of concern. The subjects only exhibited knowledge of what was correct. Not once during the course of this investigation did any of the 207 subjects pronounce, "I know that's wrong!". Why exactly this distinct lack of confirming falsehoods occurs (or rather, does not) still remains a mystery. One possible theory for further investigation is that perhaps in having more knowledge, the population at large has also begun speaking more truthfully, thus making it so that there is no need for confirming knowledge of a false statement. Further research is necessary. Until these tests are performed, however, please rest peacefully, secure in the knowledge that people at least have acquired enough knowledge to "know that's right!"
Sorry if that is a re-post. I don't think it is, but just in case. Talk to you later!
BSR
Monday, August 28, 2006
The Good, the Bad, and the Monday
Yeah, some words of wisdom to start out the week. I have a lot to catch you up on, and I have a big project that I am currently not working on in order to do this. But you know what, my mornign went into hte crapper once I got here and now I am in a poopy mood and need to not think about the ca-ca on my desk (notice I had 3 seperate chances to use the word "shit" in some variation and did not. I am not sure why I went all PG-13 there). What happened this morning when I got here? You will have to wait until I get to that.
Let's start with Saturday and the Hair Butchery. Yes, I know that Hair Cuttery is the McDonalds of hair cuts, and that isn't necessarily a bad thing. I go to one near my house and never have a problem. Until Saturday.
One of the things I like to do the day of a show is get a haircut (raise your hand if you see where this is going. Okay, now put your hands down. Your co-workers are looking at you again). I had to work Saturday morning in the world of "HOLY CRAP IT'S BACK TO SCHOOL IN TWO DAYS AND WE STILL NEED TO GET ALL THE SUPPLIES AND NEW CLOTHES AND YOUR OLDER BROTHER IS MOVING TO AN OFF CAMPUS APARTMENT AND NEEDS A FUTON AND A MINI FRIDGE!!!!!!!!" (on Sunday Channel 11 sent some schmuck to do some "BTS" reports, clogging up the main entrance and cart area for about 2 hours. He interviewed one of the managers, oh sorry, "LOD's" and did a bunch of bumpers/teasers for the noon and 5/6/7 o'clock news reports. One time he screwed up and dropped a full on "S" bomb. I can only hope that it gets YouTubed, because it was great. At one point I had to feel bad for the guy, because you know he had aspirations to be the next Ted Koppel, and odds are this is the pinnacle of his career, Sunday morning special interest stories in a Target on the tax free BTS shopping week. Then I realized that I am not getting any younger and there is always the possibility that I have also reached my career apex, and I cried a little). So the word of the day Saturday morning was "hectic". I usually would have gotten off at 4 on a morning shift, but since the other security guard is guaranteed 40 hrs/week and I am not, and since she had to work both days this weekend, I got to leave at 2. So I called ahead and made an appointment for 2:30 at the good old Hair Cuttery (did you forget what I was talking about. You can thank one of BSR's patented "look how funny I am" tangents for that) and made my way there directly.
I will not use the name of the person who was charged with cutting my hair, but for the sake of referring to her through the course of this, I will call her Sweeney Todd (or Sweeney). I sat in the chair and told her what I wanted. I usually get a "Ceaser" (pizza pizza), basically the look George Clooney had 10 years ago, but a little shorter on top, and I have the sides and back shaved down to a "1" (as close as you can get to shaving bald). Well, my first mistake was wearing in my old glasses, because when she finished (it took her about 7-10 minutes which should have set off all kinds of mental "DANGER WILL ROBINSON" alarms, but it didn't because of my second mistake, being in a hurry to get home and rest up a little before the show) I couldn't really see any problems. So I went home and took a shower, which washed all the hair off of my forhead. This is important, because when I looked at my face and hair in the mirror, I suddenly saw that there was a marked downward slope (about a 20-25 degree angle) from my right temple to my left temple. This is not good. Then I started to give my head a real close look (I should also mention at this time that the chair at the "salon" was not centeres with the mirror, another warnign sign I ignored in my haste to get home. And one other thing about Sweeney. I noticed when I was first seated in her chair that I never get offered the shampoo and conditioner, which are supposed to be part and parcel of the haircut. I thought that maybe it was because I was a guy and they thought that guys didn't want that, but a guy before me got offered it and refused it. So now I feel a little neglected. But as I was first seated in her chair I was just thinking about how I never get offered the wash and wax service. While I was thinking this she was starting to shave down the sides of my head. Suddenly she stopped and asked me if I wanted the shampoo treatment. This means one of four things: 1) What I thought I was thinking I was saying out loud, 2) my hair needed to be washed but she didn't notice it until she got into the haircut, 3) she is kinda slow and not the best stylist and remembered to offer it after she started, and offered it with the same enthusiasm of the guy at the McDonald's drive thru who asks/offers you an apple pie with your Value Meal, as apathetic as possible because it is only being said because of the mind control/training that he went through, or 4), and the one I think is most likely, she is psychic and she could hear my thoughts. I can only hope that it is a localized power and you have to be in close proximity to her in order for her to "hear" you. Otherwise she knows all the names I was calling her Saturday afternoon/evening). So as I said 20 minutes ago (before the last "quick aside"), I looked closely at my hair, and Wifey looked at it too. The best way to sum it up is imagine I was moving my head back and forth like Stevie Wonder and she stood on either side of me with a magical razor. As I rocked my head in a direction, she would hold the razor perfectly straight and everything below the razor would magically be cut while everything above it would stay the same. The sides would be pretty much straight if not exactly neat or completely cut, but the front and back would look like wedges or inclined planes. That is what my hair looked like. And the aftermath of this? Well, I did the entire show while trying to hide my hairline by pushing the left side up and over to make it look a little bit more uniform, and on Sunday I called them up and said I needed to get my hair fixed from my haircut yesterday. When they asked me who cut my hair the day before, I told them "Sweeney" (names still changed to protect the moronic and untalented). They responded with "Oh Yeah, sure. What time you want to come in?". So obviously I wasn't the only one who had a problem. hich begs the question of why they are letting her work on Saturday afternoons. Shouldn't she be on some T-W-Th mornings only, just working the blue hair dye machine?
So Sunday was more Target fun and frivolity (as mentioned earlier) and going back to get my head fixed. And then I had my fantasy football draft in the late afternoon (on the off chance you are interested in that, check out "Another Damn Sports Blog" tonight) and watched the final episode of "Deadwood". DAMN that show is hardcore! I cannot WAIT for the two tv movies that are supposed to wrap up the storylines.
Now to today. First and foremost, the drive in was not as bad as I thought it would be with the BTS traffic. And I saw a couple of those "gotta love Baltimore" moments. First was the guy driving the oil truck (the ones that deliver heating oil to your homes). He was smoking. I was too stunned by the sight of it to get the guy's "How am I Driving?" info, and once I cleared the potential blast zone it just became surreal to the point of making me giggle. The second was the guy who thought about trying to cross North Avenue as the light was changing, going so far as to make it halfway to the median as the light for the traffic that would have made him play human Frogger turned green. So what did he do? Did he continue on to the median and wait there for his next opportunity? No. Did he turn around and walk/jog/run back to the original curb? No. Did he just stand there and make traffic go around him? No. He started jogging backwards, doing that almost hop thing you do when you run backwards, going back to the original curb THAT way. Very graceful and very "you won't see shit like this in Boston". So far a good morning. But my hard boiled eggs that I bring for breakfast ruined my morning. One of them actually burst in the pot while I was getting ready to leave (I usually put them on the stove right before I go to get my clothes out and get dressed for work. By teh time I get upstairs and make myself a cup of coffee they are ready to go). So I took the rest and put them in the baggie and went on my way. And they were not done at all! The shells were still completely sticking to the egg whites and the yolks were half cooked at best. WTF?!?!? So now my breakfast was ruined and I am going to be grumpy/hungry until I get lunch, which better not suck or I am going to go postal.
Okay, I REALLY need to get to work now. But let me end with a line I heard while Wifey was watching the show "Firefly" on dvd last night (my longstanding stance on sci-fi being clearly defined here I will say that I have a passing knowledge of the show from her watching/discussing it with me and Larry the Upstairs Neighbor). But either way, this line was great, and I plan on using it more and more in my everyday life.
Make good love! (spoken to a space prostitute, or whatever the hell the character is. Basically she is a whore. But she is hot, so I am okay with that)
BSR
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Morale Boosting the HR way!
At the time that I am beginning this post, it is exactly 12:10 pm. There are another 50 minutes to go at the Employee Cookout here at the hospital. Yes, they are having a cookout for all the employees who work here while they are working (sidebar to the ON crew here. Yes, we know you have quite possibly the toughest job of all balancing boredom with monitoring all of the patients and dealing with major issues while only having a skeleton crew. But there will be no burgers or corn on the cob for you. Go screw yourselves. That is all. Go enjoy your 5% differential pay. And remember, 5% of shit is still shit). Correct me if I am wrong, but shouldn't an employee cookout happen off site, maybe at some kind of public park? Maybe you schedule it on a Saturday or a Sunday, and if there are any employees who cannot attend because they will be at the hospital caring for the patients, you cook THEM some food out on the loading dock and take it to them. But not the WHOLE STAFF on some random Wednesday. And for me, "D" grade hamburger meat is not motivation. I am not going up to the assembly line to get my hamburger or hot dog or piece of chicken, my scoop of baked beans and "potato salad" (in quotes because of the reaction of the people I have seen eating it), my push pop style Italian ice and my half ear of corn on the cob. It looks like kids in line or school lunch, or to be more appropriate with the general attitude of the employees, like the chow line in the Army. Or maybe prison.
To put it in perspective, Wifey's company is having a cookout the week before our 1st wedding anniversary. On a weekday afternoon. At a park. With food and beer and (I imagine) tropical hookers. Or maybe that was tropical punch. Either way, it sounds yummy. And the chance to get trashed and completely embarrass Wifey in front of all of her colleagues and bosses is SOOOOOO tempting. But alas, I cannot get the time off of work to attend because of the time I have already requested off at Target because of the class/show at Gettysburg College I will be doing as well as the time off the following week for the anniversary. But THAT is how you do it. THAT is how you have a cookout for your employees. If we are going to be stuck here, just give us a voucher for a free meal in the cafeteria. Don't force government hot dogs down our collective gullets.
So, no cookout for me. I will gladly turn down the grape kool-aid in return for the ability to rail at the system whenever I feel the need to without being burdened by pangs of guilt for taking the handout. Fight the oppressors! Damn the man. SAVE THE EMPIRE!
Sugar High! Je t'adore mi amore! Anthony Lapaglia is the greatest drummer EVER!
To put it in perspective, Wifey's company is having a cookout the week before our 1st wedding anniversary. On a weekday afternoon. At a park. With food and beer and (I imagine) tropical hookers. Or maybe that was tropical punch. Either way, it sounds yummy. And the chance to get trashed and completely embarrass Wifey in front of all of her colleagues and bosses is SOOOOOO tempting. But alas, I cannot get the time off of work to attend because of the time I have already requested off at Target because of the class/show at Gettysburg College I will be doing as well as the time off the following week for the anniversary. But THAT is how you do it. THAT is how you have a cookout for your employees. If we are going to be stuck here, just give us a voucher for a free meal in the cafeteria. Don't force government hot dogs down our collective gullets.
So, no cookout for me. I will gladly turn down the grape kool-aid in return for the ability to rail at the system whenever I feel the need to without being burdened by pangs of guilt for taking the handout. Fight the oppressors! Damn the man. SAVE THE EMPIRE!
Sugar High! Je t'adore mi amore! Anthony Lapaglia is the greatest drummer EVER!
Here we go again
Yup, I have been threatening to do this for a long time, and now it has happened. I have started a sports blog. Why another blog you ask? Because I just don't feel like doing any work here. And more to the point, sports have always been a big part of my life (ask Wifey about how I subliminally forced her to learn the basics of watching baseball on TV, and how she can now look at the score on the screen and tell me the score, the inning, the count, the number of outs and if there are any runners on base and what base they are on. She gets it right about 90% of the time, and since she has only been doing this (and begrudgingly so at that) for a little over a year, that is pretty damn impressive. A lot of people who actually profess to watching the games aren't that exact. She is resisting me on football, but eventually she will acquiesce. I will wear her down. Hell, it's how I got her to date/put out for/marry me in the first place. Persistence can get you laid and cause you to risk half of your worldly possessions. Make sure you tell all your friends and teach your children all about diminishing returns.
Anyway, here is the link...
Another Damn Sports Blog
Also, "dave", whom you might have seen lurking around the ol' BSR comments pages, and who you might have guessed is an OLD friend (in every sense of the word because he is 3 years older than me. HAHAHA!!! Hey Dave - "SNIP!") of mine has started a blog also. But since I left the link in my gmail account and the name of it is not from any inside joke that we share, I cannot remember it right now. But next post it will be linked up in here and to your right. That is a promise my friends.
Finally, I am now accepting applications for sponsors for my fine series of blogs. Yes, any entrepreneurs out there who want some valuable, cost efficient advertising, drop me a line. Who knows, maybe you could be the Official Tire Repair/Routine Maintenance For Your Vehicle company for the entire BSR Empire. And if you don't know the value of being the Official Instant Diet Green Tea Mix of the BSR Empire (I kind of like the sound of that. "The BSR Empire". I am going to keep that around), you do not know value my friend.
I am prepping for the first big show of the season for EMMS (this Saturday at 8pm if'n you have a hankering for some "A" list comedy at "Tracy's Comedy Club" prices (ooooohh, BURN!!!) so come on out for that.
Later this week I will be posting a much more in depth diatribe about JJ (who has officially graduated from "she" and "her" to "it") and Wifey playing like Kickboxer 2 in bed (and I have the bruises to show it), not to mention my possessed table fan.
BSR
Anyway, here is the link...
Another Damn Sports Blog
Also, "dave", whom you might have seen lurking around the ol' BSR comments pages, and who you might have guessed is an OLD friend (in every sense of the word because he is 3 years older than me. HAHAHA!!! Hey Dave - "SNIP!") of mine has started a blog also. But since I left the link in my gmail account and the name of it is not from any inside joke that we share, I cannot remember it right now. But next post it will be linked up in here and to your right. That is a promise my friends.
Finally, I am now accepting applications for sponsors for my fine series of blogs. Yes, any entrepreneurs out there who want some valuable, cost efficient advertising, drop me a line. Who knows, maybe you could be the Official Tire Repair/Routine Maintenance For Your Vehicle company for the entire BSR Empire. And if you don't know the value of being the Official Instant Diet Green Tea Mix of the BSR Empire (I kind of like the sound of that. "The BSR Empire". I am going to keep that around), you do not know value my friend.
I am prepping for the first big show of the season for EMMS (this Saturday at 8pm if'n you have a hankering for some "A" list comedy at "Tracy's Comedy Club" prices (ooooohh, BURN!!!) so come on out for that.
Later this week I will be posting a much more in depth diatribe about JJ (who has officially graduated from "she" and "her" to "it") and Wifey playing like Kickboxer 2 in bed (and I have the bruises to show it), not to mention my possessed table fan.
BSR
Friday, August 18, 2006
I am completely burnt out
Because I have been up for over 24 straight hours. I have a meeting in about an hour and a half, and I came in in pretty much right after I left Target last night. I did go home long enough to do some dishes...
Anyway, I was going to post some pics from the Maine trip this past April (I like to pace myself on these things), but either my computer is being difficult, blogger is being difficult, or my brain is being difficult. Whatever, there will be no pic posting today.
Instead, I am going to post something that I have had in an old email folder for years...
FLASHBACK FRIDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The Top 18 Amish Horror Movies
18. "Barnraiser"
17. "I Know What You Did With the Summer Sausage"
16. "Mennonite's Mare by an Elm Tree"
15. "Natural Barn Killers"
14. "Rosemary's Buggy"
13. "It Came from The Sharper Image"
12. "The Devil Wore Plaid"
11. "The Hand That Churns the Butter"
10. "Look Out! The Pictures Move!!"
9. "Riding in Cars with Anyone"
8. "The Day the Outsiders Found the Generator"
7. "The Shunning"
6. "The Bare Wrist Project (Oops! That's an Amish *porn* movie.)"
5. "The Pennsylvania Handsaw Massacre"
4. "Planet of the Drapes"
3. "Holler "M" for Murder"
2. "Night of the Leavened Bread"
and the Number 1 Amish Horror Movie...
1. "Invasion of the Bonnet Snatchers
MR. T HAIKUS, SUCKA!
Mr. T a haiku by Ryan Graff.
Wearing my gold chains
Driving in my custom van
I am Mr. T.
Untitled a haiku by Gordon Grant.
Treat your mother right
Don't do drugs and drink your milk
Or you a sucka.
Damn, That Mr. T is Helluva Tough! a haiku by BenPritchard.
Superman knew it
David Nimmo knew it too
Mr. T is tough.
School'n a Fool a haiku by Robert Ligon.
Dat sucka Murdock
with crazy jibba-jabba
Gonna teach the fool
Untitled a haiku by Aaron Palmer.
A fear of flying
Will not stop this man mountain
So we spike his milk.
Whoopin' a haiku by Drew Thornton
Rocky think he tough
He juss a greasy white boy
I pity the fool
Untitled pair by Ben Karjalainen
you mind yo mamma
dial 1-800-collect
or I bust yo ass
sad sad rocky Balboa
aint no italian stallion
make him eat my cereal
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
And a quick note. Wifey (at the behest of the gaggle of gigglers at her place of employment) said to me that "I put all our business up here". It seems there was some consternation in regards to the Kitty is a pervert/Wifey might be an incubator post. Well, that is part of the fun of my brain and how it works. If she wants to dispute anything I say, well, she can post to her blog (which is looking MIGHTY sparse, if'n I do say so myself).
And now something that I just heard that I want to repeat (I will not divulge the source of this material. It is just me and the guys who wrote Game of Shadows as bastions of our rights as journalists, keepers of the flames of integrity (FARTFARTFART! Betcha Woodward and Bernstein never wrote THAT in an article!).
"Wearing only a pair of panties and a smile"
THAT oughts brighten your Friday morning!
Anyway, I was going to post some pics from the Maine trip this past April (I like to pace myself on these things), but either my computer is being difficult, blogger is being difficult, or my brain is being difficult. Whatever, there will be no pic posting today.
Instead, I am going to post something that I have had in an old email folder for years...
FLASHBACK FRIDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The Top 18 Amish Horror Movies
18. "Barnraiser"
17. "I Know What You Did With the Summer Sausage"
16. "Mennonite's Mare by an Elm Tree"
15. "Natural Barn Killers"
14. "Rosemary's Buggy"
13. "It Came from The Sharper Image"
12. "The Devil Wore Plaid"
11. "The Hand That Churns the Butter"
10. "Look Out! The Pictures Move!!"
9. "Riding in Cars with Anyone"
8. "The Day the Outsiders Found the Generator"
7. "The Shunning"
6. "The Bare Wrist Project (Oops! That's an Amish *porn* movie.)"
5. "The Pennsylvania Handsaw Massacre"
4. "Planet of the Drapes"
3. "Holler "M" for Murder"
2. "Night of the Leavened Bread"
and the Number 1 Amish Horror Movie...
1. "Invasion of the Bonnet Snatchers
MR. T HAIKUS, SUCKA!
Mr. T a haiku by Ryan Graff.
Wearing my gold chains
Driving in my custom van
I am Mr. T.
Untitled a haiku by Gordon Grant.
Treat your mother right
Don't do drugs and drink your milk
Or you a sucka.
Damn, That Mr. T is Helluva Tough! a haiku by BenPritchard.
Superman knew it
David Nimmo knew it too
Mr. T is tough.
School'n a Fool a haiku by Robert Ligon.
Dat sucka Murdock
with crazy jibba-jabba
Gonna teach the fool
Untitled a haiku by Aaron Palmer.
A fear of flying
Will not stop this man mountain
So we spike his milk.
Whoopin' a haiku by Drew Thornton
Rocky think he tough
He juss a greasy white boy
I pity the fool
Untitled pair by Ben Karjalainen
you mind yo mamma
dial 1-800-collect
or I bust yo ass
sad sad rocky Balboa
aint no italian stallion
make him eat my cereal
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
And a quick note. Wifey (at the behest of the gaggle of gigglers at her place of employment) said to me that "I put all our business up here". It seems there was some consternation in regards to the Kitty is a pervert/Wifey might be an incubator post. Well, that is part of the fun of my brain and how it works. If she wants to dispute anything I say, well, she can post to her blog (which is looking MIGHTY sparse, if'n I do say so myself).
And now something that I just heard that I want to repeat (I will not divulge the source of this material. It is just me and the guys who wrote Game of Shadows as bastions of our rights as journalists, keepers of the flames of integrity (FARTFARTFART! Betcha Woodward and Bernstein never wrote THAT in an article!).
"Wearing only a pair of panties and a smile"
THAT oughts brighten your Friday morning!
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Superman IS proven to be a d#@k
There are no more role models left. I am now ashamed to be Superman (look down/in archives if that makes no sense).
Monday, August 14, 2006
Lunch Break quick hit
Oky, scanning ESPN.com while munching on some roasted chicken, and I started reading an article by Bil Simmons (he's known as "The Sports Guy". Good stuff. I recommend you check him out). In it he is reviewing his summer movies, and since he has seen a sneak preview for "Invincible" (the new Marky Mark movie where he is a bartender in Philly who tries out for and makes the Eagles) he included that in his article. It is in this part of th article that the following qoute occurs:
That's a classic ridiculous Hollywood subplot -- the ugly bar owner who's somehow related to a beautiful single woman in her mid-20s who loves sports, has a great sense of humor and enjoys hanging out with loser locals at a bar. Like that person exists. And if that wasn't unrealistic enough, they have the gall to make her an extremely attractive, naturally blonde Giants fan? Why not just cast Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster?
And this is the woman he is referring to...
Her name is Elizabeth Banks. You might remember her from "The 40 Year Old Virgin" as the crazy sex chick who eventually hooks up with the guy from "Freaks and Geeks". I have my doubts to whether or not she is a natural blonde. I wouldn't mind finding out. Definitely hot. Too hot to be a Giants fan. And THAT is comedy.
That's a classic ridiculous Hollywood subplot -- the ugly bar owner who's somehow related to a beautiful single woman in her mid-20s who loves sports, has a great sense of humor and enjoys hanging out with loser locals at a bar. Like that person exists. And if that wasn't unrealistic enough, they have the gall to make her an extremely attractive, naturally blonde Giants fan? Why not just cast Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster?
And this is the woman he is referring to...
Her name is Elizabeth Banks. You might remember her from "The 40 Year Old Virgin" as the crazy sex chick who eventually hooks up with the guy from "Freaks and Geeks". I have my doubts to whether or not she is a natural blonde. I wouldn't mind finding out. Definitely hot. Too hot to be a Giants fan. And THAT is comedy.
Monday morning update
Yes it is Monday, and I am already swamped here at work. It is going to be a VERY long week. Also, Wifey got her (.) yesterday, so no critters are imminent. The nephew's birthday party was last night. Everyone chipped in to give him a batting cage. I would post pics of that and tell the touching story and get all sappy and crap, but that ain't what this thing is about. SO, no schmaltz for you. Maybe Wifey will cover it if she ever updates her blog-a-reeno.
I need to get back to work, but in the meantime I will leave you with this picture of my father that I think captures perfectly how I feel right now nd my prospects for the week ahead...
I need to get back to work, but in the meantime I will leave you with this picture of my father that I think captures perfectly how I feel right now nd my prospects for the week ahead...
Friday, August 11, 2006
She will no longer be made to be moist
Yes, Mike Douglas has passed away. He was 81.
And the fact that I used his death to work in a reference to a movie that I think is pretty damn funny is in very poor taste.
But I could not resist.
And the fact that I used his death to work in a reference to a movie that I think is pretty damn funny is in very poor taste.
But I could not resist.
Cat for sale?
I want to make sure that you have read the previous post before you read this one. So go ahead and read that, and then come back. In the meantime, here is a picture of a gigantic container of mustard trying to eat a toddler.
...Okay, did you get through that last post? Well than, let us proceed. As far as BSR becoming BSD(addy), let's look at the Big Board of Intuition and see who has what score...
BSR - 1
Wifey - 0
Yup, according to the stick she came home and peed on, the only thing growing in her is her distrust for my ability to pull out in time. And I think I have excellent timing (maybe no couth, but excellent timing). Now Wifey is looking forward to bleeding out of her pee hole (2 things. One, I know that her pee hole is actually not the same place. But I was trying to turn a cute phrase. Two, who would have thought that she - or any other woman ever - would look forward to that particular body function). If there is no river running through it by next week, she will re-take the test and (I assume) hope for a similar result.
So why is the cat possibly for sale? Because she has taken her annoying habit of meowing CONSTANTLY and expanded it to 3 in the morning. Until now, while too dumb to actually learn her name, she was smart enough to shut the hell up when the human overlords of the domicile were sleeping. But not last night. If it continues through the weekend, there will be a sacrifice, and a kitty head on a spike in the front yard in order to warn others to shut their stinking traps when I am trying to catch some "Z"'s.
That is all for now.
BSR
...Okay, did you get through that last post? Well than, let us proceed. As far as BSR becoming BSD(addy), let's look at the Big Board of Intuition and see who has what score...
BSR - 1
Wifey - 0
Yup, according to the stick she came home and peed on, the only thing growing in her is her distrust for my ability to pull out in time. And I think I have excellent timing (maybe no couth, but excellent timing). Now Wifey is looking forward to bleeding out of her pee hole (2 things. One, I know that her pee hole is actually not the same place. But I was trying to turn a cute phrase. Two, who would have thought that she - or any other woman ever - would look forward to that particular body function). If there is no river running through it by next week, she will re-take the test and (I assume) hope for a similar result.
So why is the cat possibly for sale? Because she has taken her annoying habit of meowing CONSTANTLY and expanded it to 3 in the morning. Until now, while too dumb to actually learn her name, she was smart enough to shut the hell up when the human overlords of the domicile were sleeping. But not last night. If it continues through the weekend, there will be a sacrifice, and a kitty head on a spike in the front yard in order to warn others to shut their stinking traps when I am trying to catch some "Z"'s.
That is all for now.
BSR
Thursday, August 10, 2006
My cat likes watersports and my wife may be pregnant
You know, after that title, I don't know that I need to write much. But still, I will. Because I am that much of an attention whore, and for some unknown reason I think you actually want to hear all the doody that spews from my crazy head.
I would rather lead with Kitty and peepee, but I know if I do, you might throw a coup. So let's start with Wifey. This morning, she got sick right after eating breakfast. She threw up. And then she took a 2nd shower. Because of this, and because (by her calculations) her punctuation is 2 days late, she is now convinced that I have tainted her uterus with my little seeds of fornication. I think that her digestive system disagreed wth the pork roll (if you have ever had it, you know how yummy it is, but you also know that it isn't much more than two or so rungs above scrapple on the pig food chain of quality cuts of meat). And since her half-a-colon is never the same time twice in a row, and since she has been (as I called her on the drive to the theatre camp this morning) the woman who cried "fetus" pretty much every month since Valentine's Day (and why she felt the need to do that first bombshell drop while I was trying to swallow a piece of spicy tuna roll I will never know), I am not too concerned that I am headed directly towards the land of green poo in non-biodegradable packaging. Of course, I will let you know tomorrow where we are registered for that crib we will need so bad.
Now on to my perverted kitty. Lately she has had a habit of coming into the bathroom while I am making the water yellow and putting her two front paws on the lip of the bowl to watch. I know that there is some splash up, just from the physics of the height of my johnson to the water line of the bowl. So she is getting off by getting peed on. And I don't know if I can have a pervert like that in the house where I will be raising my child. So depending on the results of the test that Wifey will be taking tonight, we might have a cat available. Cheap. A dirty, dirty cat.
I would rather lead with Kitty and peepee, but I know if I do, you might throw a coup. So let's start with Wifey. This morning, she got sick right after eating breakfast. She threw up. And then she took a 2nd shower. Because of this, and because (by her calculations) her punctuation is 2 days late, she is now convinced that I have tainted her uterus with my little seeds of fornication. I think that her digestive system disagreed wth the pork roll (if you have ever had it, you know how yummy it is, but you also know that it isn't much more than two or so rungs above scrapple on the pig food chain of quality cuts of meat). And since her half-a-colon is never the same time twice in a row, and since she has been (as I called her on the drive to the theatre camp this morning) the woman who cried "fetus" pretty much every month since Valentine's Day (and why she felt the need to do that first bombshell drop while I was trying to swallow a piece of spicy tuna roll I will never know), I am not too concerned that I am headed directly towards the land of green poo in non-biodegradable packaging. Of course, I will let you know tomorrow where we are registered for that crib we will need so bad.
Now on to my perverted kitty. Lately she has had a habit of coming into the bathroom while I am making the water yellow and putting her two front paws on the lip of the bowl to watch. I know that there is some splash up, just from the physics of the height of my johnson to the water line of the bowl. So she is getting off by getting peed on. And I don't know if I can have a pervert like that in the house where I will be raising my child. So depending on the results of the test that Wifey will be taking tonight, we might have a cat available. Cheap. A dirty, dirty cat.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Jesus said "Ka-PLAH!"
If you are like me, you were just sitting in front of your computer wondering if it was possible to integrate the Klingon Warrior traditions and teachings with the way of Christ. It has stumped the finest minds in the world for longer than I have walked trod the Earth. But now we can all finally move on with our lives, because the eternal questino has been answered.
Klingons for Christ
In the immortal words of Marv Levy, "Where else would you rather be than right here, RIGHT NOW!?!"
BSR
Klingons for Christ
In the immortal words of Marv Levy, "Where else would you rather be than right here, RIGHT NOW!?!"
BSR
Trailer for John Cena's movie
I have made no secret my love of professional wrestling. I watched it with my Dad growing up, we went to matches together. After the colts left town, it was one of the few things we readily agreed on. I will also fully admit it had gotten a lot more uneven over the years. Ever since they admitted it was fake, it has gone downhill (for those of you unfamiliar with the terminology, the old code of pretending it was real was called "kayfabe", and I much prefer it). All that being said, it is still fun, and when I get the chance, I will watch it. And I really do like John Cena. He is not very good in the ring yet, but he can learn technique. He has respect for the history, and most of all, he is great on the mic. He cuts some excellent promos. But Starring as the romantic lead as an ex-Marine who's wife is kidnapped by professional criminals so he wages a one man war? I will probably wait for this one to go to cable. And something tells me I won't have to wait too long. And the sad thing is I am probably going to wind up LOVING it. And eventually I will own it. Aw hell, why fight it. I'll be there opening night.
YOU CAN'T SEE ME!!!
I have made no secret my love of professional wrestling. I watched it with my Dad growing up, we went to matches together. After the colts left town, it was one of the few things we readily agreed on. I will also fully admit it had gotten a lot more uneven over the years. Ever since they admitted it was fake, it has gone downhill (for those of you unfamiliar with the terminology, the old code of pretending it was real was called "kayfabe", and I much prefer it). All that being said, it is still fun, and when I get the chance, I will watch it. And I really do like John Cena. He is not very good in the ring yet, but he can learn technique. He has respect for the history, and most of all, he is great on the mic. He cuts some excellent promos. But Starring as the romantic lead as an ex-Marine who's wife is kidnapped by professional criminals so he wages a one man war? I will probably wait for this one to go to cable. And something tells me I won't have to wait too long. And the sad thing is I am probably going to wind up LOVING it. And eventually I will own it. Aw hell, why fight it. I'll be there opening night.
YOU CAN'T SEE ME!!!
Okay, enough for now
I will stop doing these now, but odds are there will be more before the end of the week!
I'm SUPER, thanks for asking!
| You Are Superman |
 |
DAMN STRAIGHT I'm Superman!
The GREATEST TEST EVER
| You Are Fozzie Bear |
 |
The Muppet Personality Test
WOCKA WOCKA MUTHA F%#*&
Fortune Cookie Generator
| Your Fortune Is |
 |
get your fortune without the unnecessary carbs!
Waste 5 minutes of your time with me!
| You Belong in 1972 |
| If you scored... 1950 - 1959: You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in! 1960 - 1969: You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too. 1970 - 1979: Bold and brash, you take life by the horns. Whether you're partying or protesting, you give it your all! 1980 - 1989: Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day. 1990 - 1999: With you anything goes! You're grunge one day, ghetto fabulous the next. It's all good! |
Linky goodness in the title, or just click this: http://www.blogthings.com/whatyeardoyoubelonginquiz/
We've reached a new high in the life of this blog!
Okay, so it wasn't a powerpoint presentation. But still, what possible compliment could we get that would be better than this? I'm Stringfellow HAWKE, BITCH!
Find the theme, win a prize
before you ask, the Bowling is Fun is NOT photoshopped. And the Colossus one just makes me laugh, even though it is COMPLETELY juvenile.
Also, DON'T F' WITH THE BORGNINE! He won't stop at assimilating you.
Lessons learned while in absentia
Hello to all my rabid fans. And a special "hello" to all of Wifey's co-workers. Especially you. No, not you, HER. Yeah...
Okay, I have been gone for awhile, and my last collection of posts were more stolen clips from my latest obsession, YouTube. YouTube is the bestest ever, for now. But I want to make up for that. Let me begin by saying on the record for anyone who goes to a concert that if you are far enough away that unless you look at the jumbotron screen you can't tell which little blob of moving colors is the singer and which is the roadie, no matter how loud you yell out your request for your favorite song they are not going to hear you. Specifically I am speaking to the moron who was directly behind me at the Jimmy Buffet concert last week, which Wifey and I lucked into tickets for from our good friend Par For the Course (herewith known as Par). It was a VERY hot day/night, the car almost overheated while waiting to get into the lot at the Nissan Pavillion (note to whomever runs that damn place - you need more access roads so that people do not spend over an hour waiting at a traffic light. NOT an exaggeration), so we had to spend the last 45 minutes in 100+ weather with the windows down and the heat on high. Also, a quick sidebar to the security at Nissan Pavillion. COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER!!! I wasn't expecting to drive there when we left to meet up with Par and friend (who I need to think of a good nickname for), and that combined with the almost 2 hours it took idling in traffic to get to park caused me to all but run out of gas. So we made the decision that we would wait until EVERYONE else left before we rolled out so that we would not completely run out of gas trying to leave. Again it is no exxageration to say that 10 different groups of security and local police came over to tell us that we needed to start moving out. Each time the situation was explained to them. Most were cool, one offered to let us stay at his place for $150 a night (I think he was joking, but Par had her flirt on, so I was getting ready to attempt to trade a night with her for a night of sleeping in air conditioned comfort somewhere in Virginia, and I had talked him into a nice breakfast spread when he pulled the offer from the table and left us still sweating and dangerously low on petrol. And as far as the (I am assuming) bull dyke lesbian on the atv, telling us we need to plan better next time was condescending and bitchy. Now that I am not covered in sweat and dust and bogged down with exhaustion, it is funny. But that night, you were a c%&*, and I want you to know that.
Now, back to the guy behind me at the concert. I have a couple of things to say to him. First, you are not intimate friends with Mr. Buffet. I would venture to say that it is a pretty safe bet that you have never met the man. So shouting "Hey Jimmy!" like you just saw an old friend on the other side of the street will do no good. Also, there are almost 50,000 people there. They are singing and dancing and having conversations amongst themselves. There is a band playing. This band is amplified to be loud enough to be heard from the back lot of the facility, let alone for those people in the pavillion seating, or, like us, out on the lawn. Why do I say all of this? Because you need to understand that shouting "Hey Jimmy! Pencil Thin Jimmy!" is going to accomplish naught but to make me want to turn around and punch you until your mouth no longer works. Really. Shut. Up. Now. And to the people who were sitting in the rented lawn chairs who started to complain when my gaggle of friends and myself moved into the open spot in front of them on the lawn, blocking their view...YOU ARE ON THE LAWN AT A FRAGGIN' CONCERT!!!!! Of the 30,000 or so people in the lawn area, 25,000 of them are standing. If seeing the little colorful Rorshack tests is so damned important to you, get there early enough to get a seat at the front of the lawn, or pony up the extra money for pavillion seats. Either way, at an open air concert you are not allowed to complain about the view. Finally, to that one couple sitting about 15-20 feet behind us, if there is a God, the outfits you two were wearing will be outlawed for people like you. There is a reason I don't wear Speedos. There is a reason you should not have been wearing those clothes. It goes against the natural order of the universe, and it is not fair to the molecules that make the clothes that your body was trying to reject like a failed kidney transplant had to strain so hard to retain their molecular structure. During a quiet moment in between songs, I am pretty sure I heard the universe tearing, however miniscule the battle was. Atlas may have shrugged, but right now there are spandexes all over the world begging you for amnesty. If I see you again in a similar outfit, I am sending you to the Hague for crimes against humanity.
Also, after a glorious 4 week sabbatical, JJ is back on the same day that I am back (I have taken some time off lately because I have been really run down and my body was telling me it was sick so that I would rest. Now I hope I am charged up enough to get me through the holiday season at Target, after which I will go down for some of my fateful OdinSleep. But even so, it was a lovely month of not seeing (or more importantly HEARING) her. And Lord, it didn't take long.
When I am eating, I am not one for idle chat, and that is if I like you. If I don't...well leave it to JJ to wait until I am eating a hard boiled egg to come over and do the old "lean on your cubicle wall and embed myself for chat time" move. What makes her think THIS is a good time to shoot the breeze? While I chew? "I KNEW somebody had eggs! they have that distinctive smell, you know? Kind of like feet. So how have you been sir? Did you miss me? Were you out sick or on vacation? I haven't seen you lately when I was here. You know I just got back from vacation. [Insert Husband's name here] and I went camping in the Adirondaks. You know it is the wildest thing, we can't get our wi-fi connection up there, but we move 15 feet up the mountain and we had a connection and cell phone service. Isn't that amazing?..."
[BSR chews his egg and wonders if this will be the moment that he will actually have to stab her with his letter opener and make a break for it while she follows behind saying "Sarah Connor?"]
I did not actually write down what she was saying word for word, but that is probably 95% accurate as far as quoting goes. And that is close enough for me. And yes, she talked about how eggs smell like feet to her WHILE I WAS EATING AN EGG. Still, I stuck with my usual monosyllabic answers and she wandered off in search of someone else to make wish they were dead. Thank God for the Jamacian Hen. She seems to enjoy asking JJ a question from time to time. And while hearing her prattle on in the background of my life is annoying, it beats her prattling on to ME by 100fold.
Okay, I need to go to lunch and get away fro a while. She leaves in a few hours, so if I can just make it until about 4. We'll see.
BSR
Okay, I have been gone for awhile, and my last collection of posts were more stolen clips from my latest obsession, YouTube. YouTube is the bestest ever, for now. But I want to make up for that. Let me begin by saying on the record for anyone who goes to a concert that if you are far enough away that unless you look at the jumbotron screen you can't tell which little blob of moving colors is the singer and which is the roadie, no matter how loud you yell out your request for your favorite song they are not going to hear you. Specifically I am speaking to the moron who was directly behind me at the Jimmy Buffet concert last week, which Wifey and I lucked into tickets for from our good friend Par For the Course (herewith known as Par). It was a VERY hot day/night, the car almost overheated while waiting to get into the lot at the Nissan Pavillion (note to whomever runs that damn place - you need more access roads so that people do not spend over an hour waiting at a traffic light. NOT an exaggeration), so we had to spend the last 45 minutes in 100+ weather with the windows down and the heat on high. Also, a quick sidebar to the security at Nissan Pavillion. COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER!!! I wasn't expecting to drive there when we left to meet up with Par and friend (who I need to think of a good nickname for), and that combined with the almost 2 hours it took idling in traffic to get to park caused me to all but run out of gas. So we made the decision that we would wait until EVERYONE else left before we rolled out so that we would not completely run out of gas trying to leave. Again it is no exxageration to say that 10 different groups of security and local police came over to tell us that we needed to start moving out. Each time the situation was explained to them. Most were cool, one offered to let us stay at his place for $150 a night (I think he was joking, but Par had her flirt on, so I was getting ready to attempt to trade a night with her for a night of sleeping in air conditioned comfort somewhere in Virginia, and I had talked him into a nice breakfast spread when he pulled the offer from the table and left us still sweating and dangerously low on petrol. And as far as the (I am assuming) bull dyke lesbian on the atv, telling us we need to plan better next time was condescending and bitchy. Now that I am not covered in sweat and dust and bogged down with exhaustion, it is funny. But that night, you were a c%&*, and I want you to know that.
Now, back to the guy behind me at the concert. I have a couple of things to say to him. First, you are not intimate friends with Mr. Buffet. I would venture to say that it is a pretty safe bet that you have never met the man. So shouting "Hey Jimmy!" like you just saw an old friend on the other side of the street will do no good. Also, there are almost 50,000 people there. They are singing and dancing and having conversations amongst themselves. There is a band playing. This band is amplified to be loud enough to be heard from the back lot of the facility, let alone for those people in the pavillion seating, or, like us, out on the lawn. Why do I say all of this? Because you need to understand that shouting "Hey Jimmy! Pencil Thin Jimmy!" is going to accomplish naught but to make me want to turn around and punch you until your mouth no longer works. Really. Shut. Up. Now. And to the people who were sitting in the rented lawn chairs who started to complain when my gaggle of friends and myself moved into the open spot in front of them on the lawn, blocking their view...YOU ARE ON THE LAWN AT A FRAGGIN' CONCERT!!!!! Of the 30,000 or so people in the lawn area, 25,000 of them are standing. If seeing the little colorful Rorshack tests is so damned important to you, get there early enough to get a seat at the front of the lawn, or pony up the extra money for pavillion seats. Either way, at an open air concert you are not allowed to complain about the view. Finally, to that one couple sitting about 15-20 feet behind us, if there is a God, the outfits you two were wearing will be outlawed for people like you. There is a reason I don't wear Speedos. There is a reason you should not have been wearing those clothes. It goes against the natural order of the universe, and it is not fair to the molecules that make the clothes that your body was trying to reject like a failed kidney transplant had to strain so hard to retain their molecular structure. During a quiet moment in between songs, I am pretty sure I heard the universe tearing, however miniscule the battle was. Atlas may have shrugged, but right now there are spandexes all over the world begging you for amnesty. If I see you again in a similar outfit, I am sending you to the Hague for crimes against humanity.
Also, after a glorious 4 week sabbatical, JJ is back on the same day that I am back (I have taken some time off lately because I have been really run down and my body was telling me it was sick so that I would rest. Now I hope I am charged up enough to get me through the holiday season at Target, after which I will go down for some of my fateful OdinSleep. But even so, it was a lovely month of not seeing (or more importantly HEARING) her. And Lord, it didn't take long.
When I am eating, I am not one for idle chat, and that is if I like you. If I don't...well leave it to JJ to wait until I am eating a hard boiled egg to come over and do the old "lean on your cubicle wall and embed myself for chat time" move. What makes her think THIS is a good time to shoot the breeze? While I chew? "I KNEW somebody had eggs! they have that distinctive smell, you know? Kind of like feet. So how have you been sir? Did you miss me? Were you out sick or on vacation? I haven't seen you lately when I was here. You know I just got back from vacation. [Insert Husband's name here] and I went camping in the Adirondaks. You know it is the wildest thing, we can't get our wi-fi connection up there, but we move 15 feet up the mountain and we had a connection and cell phone service. Isn't that amazing?..."
[BSR chews his egg and wonders if this will be the moment that he will actually have to stab her with his letter opener and make a break for it while she follows behind saying "Sarah Connor?"]
I did not actually write down what she was saying word for word, but that is probably 95% accurate as far as quoting goes. And that is close enough for me. And yes, she talked about how eggs smell like feet to her WHILE I WAS EATING AN EGG. Still, I stuck with my usual monosyllabic answers and she wandered off in search of someone else to make wish they were dead. Thank God for the Jamacian Hen. She seems to enjoy asking JJ a question from time to time. And while hearing her prattle on in the background of my life is annoying, it beats her prattling on to ME by 100fold.
Okay, I need to go to lunch and get away fro a while. She leaves in a few hours, so if I can just make it until about 4. We'll see.
BSR
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Monday, July 31, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
My conversion to Sci Fi
In case I haven't covered this before (I am too damn lazy to scan all the archives to see if I have already mentioned this stuff), Wifey is a big fan of Sci-Fi. Me, not so much. As a kid I was into Star Wars, but that became more of a cultural thing. I watched Star Trek reruns and the early episodes of TNG with my Dad, but that is pretty much the extent of it. But one thing is a universal fact, and that is a well written show transcends labels. I am coming around to the idea that the new Battlestar Gallactica is such a show. Wifey and Larry the Upstairs Neighbor have been watching it from the beginning and have forced me to sit and watch a few episodes with them. And it is pretty good. I am not addicted to it like I am to Deadwood and the Sopranos, but it is a damn good show. Plus, watching it has benefits, like Tricia Helfer (I think that is right). she plays a Cylon, which are the bad guys. But these aren't the silver robots with KITT's red eyeball light but lacking KITT's ultra cool St. Elsewhere doctor/Boy Meets World teacher voice (making KITT the clear winner in that debate) that were on that 70's version of the show. No, they have improved the model quite a bit. So while I debate how I am going to find the time to catch up on however many seasons of this show I am behind on, I leave you with a couple of compelling reasons to tune in when it comes back on.
Happy Weekend Everybody!
BSR
Happy Weekend Everybody!
BSR
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
A gentle prodding to wake the beast
I just checked on Wifey's blog, and there are two things that stick out to me.
One, she hasn't updated it in almost 2 weeks. Two posts and now nothing. Is this a forgotten child?
Two, and much more important to me, I checked out her profile and it says that she is a male. Now I have inspected her pretty thoroughly, and if she is a he, I will be damned if I can figure out where she/he is hiding it. And if this is a surgical thing, while that would make me more than a little non-plussed, I cannot say for certain that I would bounce her/him out on their ass. But if it IS a case of "snip snip make a tunnel for spelunking", I would like to know why I have had to wear all that stupid protection.
And in a note completely unrelated to anything except that I made a casual reference to rubbers, did you know that the technical term for when you get your teeth cleaned is a "prophylaxis"? It is called a "prophy" for short. But the fact that teeth cleaning and a sperm collecting device are spelled ALMOST exactly the same is, to me, very funny.
One, she hasn't updated it in almost 2 weeks. Two posts and now nothing. Is this a forgotten child?
Two, and much more important to me, I checked out her profile and it says that she is a male. Now I have inspected her pretty thoroughly, and if she is a he, I will be damned if I can figure out where she/he is hiding it. And if this is a surgical thing, while that would make me more than a little non-plussed, I cannot say for certain that I would bounce her/him out on their ass. But if it IS a case of "snip snip make a tunnel for spelunking", I would like to know why I have had to wear all that stupid protection.
And in a note completely unrelated to anything except that I made a casual reference to rubbers, did you know that the technical term for when you get your teeth cleaned is a "prophylaxis"? It is called a "prophy" for short. But the fact that teeth cleaning and a sperm collecting device are spelled ALMOST exactly the same is, to me, very funny.
How I made an impression on a young child's life
I started a new diet last week. Last Thursday to be exact, so it has been one week. Also, I am doing a body cleanse and I have greatly intensified my intake of vitamins, minerals, and herbal supplements. Why am I telling you this? You shall see soon enough.
I would like to say for the record that I am aware that NOBODY makes doodie that smells good. It isn't the purpose of it to be pleasant to the olfactory nerves. When a substance is concentrated waste product, it should not remind one of sunshine and lollipops. Okay, maybe lollipops, depending on what you had for lunch.
But I digress. Kinda. To tie all of this up, thanks to the new diet and the supplements, I have been making more doodie than in the past, and it is noticeably more odiferous (even to me, which is saying something because it is a scientific fact that it never smells as bad to you as it does to everyone else). Because in Moleville there is a one person bathroom (unlike the rest of the floors which have the standard two stalls and at least one SRO), and because it has no exhaust and because it causes everyone who walks past to smell (and usually comment on it), I have been going upstairs to the multiple person bathroom where there is more room for the smell to dissipate and where there are little spritzer machines that pump potpourri into the air every 12 minutes on a rotating schedule. I like to use the handicap stall, mainly because I find it luxuriously spacious. It is probably as big as the bathroom at the house.
During a visit to the condo toilet this afternoon, while perusing an article I had printed off of CBS.com (I like to read articles that would normally take too long to read at my desk while "working"), I heard a youngster enter. Of course I could not see the child from my seat, but from hearing his voice I would suppose that he was 8-10 years old. Well, first he made a comment about how it smelled bad in the bathroom. But as he started to tinkle (I always felt like that was an underused euphemism), he said "Oh man, I'm gonna throw up!". And THEN, I was able to help set the boy on the straight and narrow. Following his declaration of the imminent possibility of regurgitation, he started saying repeatedly "Help me Jesus! Help me God! Help me Jesus! Help me Lord!" in no particular order. I am proud to say that he did not vomit (at least not audibly), and I am sure that the first breath of air he took in once he left the bathroom was the sweetest breath he had ever taken. And if I helped lead that boy to the Lord, well, than I am doing God's work, one stinky doodie at a time.
I would like to say for the record that I am aware that NOBODY makes doodie that smells good. It isn't the purpose of it to be pleasant to the olfactory nerves. When a substance is concentrated waste product, it should not remind one of sunshine and lollipops. Okay, maybe lollipops, depending on what you had for lunch.
But I digress. Kinda. To tie all of this up, thanks to the new diet and the supplements, I have been making more doodie than in the past, and it is noticeably more odiferous (even to me, which is saying something because it is a scientific fact that it never smells as bad to you as it does to everyone else). Because in Moleville there is a one person bathroom (unlike the rest of the floors which have the standard two stalls and at least one SRO), and because it has no exhaust and because it causes everyone who walks past to smell (and usually comment on it), I have been going upstairs to the multiple person bathroom where there is more room for the smell to dissipate and where there are little spritzer machines that pump potpourri into the air every 12 minutes on a rotating schedule. I like to use the handicap stall, mainly because I find it luxuriously spacious. It is probably as big as the bathroom at the house.
During a visit to the condo toilet this afternoon, while perusing an article I had printed off of CBS.com (I like to read articles that would normally take too long to read at my desk while "working"), I heard a youngster enter. Of course I could not see the child from my seat, but from hearing his voice I would suppose that he was 8-10 years old. Well, first he made a comment about how it smelled bad in the bathroom. But as he started to tinkle (I always felt like that was an underused euphemism), he said "Oh man, I'm gonna throw up!". And THEN, I was able to help set the boy on the straight and narrow. Following his declaration of the imminent possibility of regurgitation, he started saying repeatedly "Help me Jesus! Help me God! Help me Jesus! Help me Lord!" in no particular order. I am proud to say that he did not vomit (at least not audibly), and I am sure that the first breath of air he took in once he left the bathroom was the sweetest breath he had ever taken. And if I helped lead that boy to the Lord, well, than I am doing God's work, one stinky doodie at a time.
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