I have been sitting here thinking about it (because working at work is for those stOOpid conformists. And I am SOOO original, with my blogs and my neat and tidy haircut and my Nike shoes and...), and I think I have discovered what would be the ideal place to live. That would be the world of Saved By The Bell. A world where guys with mullets loaded with Soul-Glo score hot chicks who will grow up to lick stripper poles and rub ice on their nipples. A world where you can go to the (very clean and open and well lit) local diner every day after school and eat burgers and fries and never worry about gaining weight or high choleserol. A world where a guy like Mr. Belding can grow up to be Principal. Hell, even Screech had a girlfriend for a while (if I remember correctly. But that bitch Lisa Turtle, she never deserved his devotion. I have never forgiven her or Zach for hooking up near the end of the series. Also, to me the College Years is like Rocky V and Batman and Robin. They never happened. You cannot convince me otherwise).
Have I given this too much thought?
BSR
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Quich hit and apology
Hey everybody. It is currently a little before 9:15 am here in Baltimore. Make note of the time. Why? Because I am running an impromptu experiment. I am waiting to see how long it will be until the Hens see the news story about Mo'Nique beign kicked off of an airplane ( http://et.tv.yahoo.com/newslink/15285/ ), and after that, how long they will cluck on and on about it. As an added bonus, I am setting the over/under for the amount of cluck time that revolves around her weight to be 75%. I feel like I might be setting the bar too high, but I have faith in them.
Also, I do apologize for the Ron White video not playing directly off of the page here. I didn't see the "won't allow embedding" when I was posting it. Mea culpa!
Be back as soon as the game plays out!
BSR
Also, I do apologize for the Ron White video not playing directly off of the page here. I didn't see the "won't allow embedding" when I was posting it. Mea culpa!
Be back as soon as the game plays out!
BSR
Friday, July 21, 2006
CATS-A-POPPIN!!!!!
3 sites that rule with cats as their theme:
http://www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com/
http://www.stuffonmycat.com/
http://www.mycathatesyou.com/
Enjoy!
BSR
http://www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com/
http://www.stuffonmycat.com/
http://www.mycathatesyou.com/
Enjoy!
BSR
My NEW sister site
Yes, because I don't have enough in my life. 2 jobs, a comedy troupe, and a house that was just re-finainced. And in case I hadn't mentioned it lately, I got married less than a year ago, and I am trying to create a brand new life with the person who I plan on spending the rest of my life with. And I have a blog, where I usually go from mad posts on anything (or my latest kick, pulling crap off of YouTube), or posting nothing at all. So what do I do? I start ANOTHER DAMN BLOG!!!!! But this one is a little different. Go check out
http://spamaliscious.blogspot.com/
and see what you think. Have a great weekend!
BSR
http://spamaliscious.blogspot.com/
and see what you think. Have a great weekend!
BSR
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Dont Jack and wake.
I know, it sounds kinda dirty. Well for once it isn't. Nor am I referring to the sour mash whiskey (JD in NOT bourbon, TYVM). I am referring to the radio station Jack-FM. Many cities are getting stations like this, the "IPod Shuffle" of radio. No DJ's, "we play what we want", and a vastly expanded music library compared to starions that focus on one genre, like country or R&B. Jack-FM can follow Garth Brooks with Barry White, and it is okay. Basically it is like soulless college radio. No personality, just a slightly snarky voice guy throwing around mild insults as a bumper to and from commercial breaks. What does this have to do with the title? Read on...
Wifey's sleep habits are by now well known (if you have read this blog at all). Her waking habits have been discussed in detail also. Her inability to wake up to her own alarm clock is fast becoming legend. Well, the other thing that I am pretty sure I have mentioned is that she has a habit of not tuning the station in all the way, so that the noise you hear is that in between station noise. Quite jarring to wake up to. Well, there is something worse. And that something worse is waking up to Jack-FM.
Wit hher propensity for hitting the snooze bar, I was awakened by Bon Jovi, followed 7 minutes later by Prince, and 7 minutes after that it was Faith Hill, and so on for over an hour. The problem is, the more the musical genres changed around, the more disconcerting it was to my internal processing system. You see, one style of music or random repeating noise, I can pretty much ignore, depending on the volume. When it keeps changing around, my mind wants to start processing differing stimuli. It probably goes back to my deejaying days (another reason to dislike Jack. It puts deejays out of work). So I get out of bed earlier than I planned, and my entire day is off to a rocky start. And you know how hard it is to correct things like that.
More news when my brain has adjusted.
BSR
Wifey's sleep habits are by now well known (if you have read this blog at all). Her waking habits have been discussed in detail also. Her inability to wake up to her own alarm clock is fast becoming legend. Well, the other thing that I am pretty sure I have mentioned is that she has a habit of not tuning the station in all the way, so that the noise you hear is that in between station noise. Quite jarring to wake up to. Well, there is something worse. And that something worse is waking up to Jack-FM.
Wit hher propensity for hitting the snooze bar, I was awakened by Bon Jovi, followed 7 minutes later by Prince, and 7 minutes after that it was Faith Hill, and so on for over an hour. The problem is, the more the musical genres changed around, the more disconcerting it was to my internal processing system. You see, one style of music or random repeating noise, I can pretty much ignore, depending on the volume. When it keeps changing around, my mind wants to start processing differing stimuli. It probably goes back to my deejaying days (another reason to dislike Jack. It puts deejays out of work). So I get out of bed earlier than I planned, and my entire day is off to a rocky start. And you know how hard it is to correct things like that.
More news when my brain has adjusted.
BSR
YouTube crazy takes me to triple digits
Yup, I went on another YouTube rampage, this time pulling a bunch of Animaniacs with a couple of Tiny Toons thrown in for good measure. And that last one (the first one you see) was my 100th post. WHOOPEE!!!!!!!
I see you are as excited as I am. Thank you.
BSR
BTW - once again you will have to go into the archives to check all the posts. Too many for just one page it seems.
I see you are as excited as I am. Thank you.
BSR
BTW - once again you will have to go into the archives to check all the posts. Too many for just one page it seems.
Animaniacs - The Great Wakkorotti The Summer Concert
THis NEVER gets old. Same bit every time, and it always makes me smile if not laugh out loud. And if it inspires a new generation to try and belch the alphabet in one belch, or maybe expand into Shakespeare, and to record said attempts, well, all the better.
Yes, I did those things. My cousin could go from "A" to "Z" and halfway back again on a couple cans of lukewarm Pepsi. And we had our tape recorder keepign every moment for the ages. What I wouldn't give to be able to hear those tapes now.
THis NEVER gets old. Same bit every time, and it always makes me smile if not laugh out loud. And if it inspires a new generation to try and belch the alphabet in one belch, or maybe expand into Shakespeare, and to record said attempts, well, all the better.
Yes, I did those things. My cousin could go from "A" to "Z" and halfway back again on a couple cans of lukewarm Pepsi. And we had our tape recorder keepign every moment for the ages. What I wouldn't give to be able to hear those tapes now.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Don't stop until you get enough!
Okay, I went a little crazy on the posting of videos. You will actually have to go into the July 2006 Archives just to see what I put up today. Toodles!!!!
BSR
BSR
Friday, July 14, 2006
A Public Service Announcement
This is important to all those who like to read forums. And like to reply on them. A classic bit of interweb bitchiness that has been lost in the shuffle.
Now, would you please continue reading as I (momentarily) turn my blog into a San Francisco coffee-house/beatnik poetry room circa 1968. A longing for a childhood memory. And for a dessert treat.
Don't worry, it will change back as soon as you are done reading it.
Now, would you please continue reading as I (momentarily) turn my blog into a San Francisco coffee-house/beatnik poetry room circa 1968. A longing for a childhood memory. And for a dessert treat.
Don't worry, it will change back as soon as you are done reading it.
A little sidebar. I just did a spellcheck on this post, because for some unknown reason, my brain decided that I couldn't spell "momentarily" correctly. I was right, but it was one of those things where the word didn't look right when I was reading it, and I filled myself with doubt until I had to resort to the aforementioned spellcheck. Now for the Alanis Morrissette version of irony...
the spellchecker for blogger.com doesn't recognize the word "blog". It wants to change it to "block".
It IS like rain on your wedding day.
BSR
I want
A snowball. An Egg Custard snowball with a big heaping scoop of marsmallow on top of it. A BIG snowball. At least Big Gulp sized.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Medical Assistance and the cobwebs growing under my butt
I know I have talked ad nauseum about the tedium of calling insurance companies to challenge denied claims, and since we are the only major office that takes Medical Assistance, and we do out-patient surgery for special needs patients, we have a LOT of young children who come through our doors. I also know that I have bemoaned having to call Mequon Wisconson and Salt Lake City Utah on more than one occassion, being that those two citied host the companies that hold more than 90% of the dental Medical Assistance (from now on, Medical Assistance will be referred to as MA, the usual shorthand). Well the other 10% have what is referred to as "straight MA", run by the state. And no matter how bad the corporations that litter the Midwest with my "Please Call Back" messages, nothing they can do can touch the ineptitude and attitude held by state municipal employees.
Now before I go any further, let me say that if you do not live in Maryland, there is always the chance that the state employees where YOU live are pleasant, hard working people who actually have a soul. But I would lay odds against it.
Anyway, straight MA patients are processed through the Dept of Health and Mental Hygiene. Apparently the employees of said august department are not screened to see if they have either of those qualities. I guess those who can, do...
I have currently spent approximately 90 minutes trying to reach someone in said department in order to question why two patients claims were denied. Because the number I have used for the last 1 1/2 years is no longer valid, and they didn't feel it was necessary to inform anyone that the contact number had changed, I have been calling every available number I could find to reach a human who could either help me or steer me in the right direction in order to get help. One of the Hens (Wonder Woman to be exact) gave me a number to call. From there it has been the equivalent of phone Lambada: the forbidden dance of speaking to a person. On the rare occasion that I did speak to a human, it became obvious that they were not who I needed to speak to. How obvious was it? As soon as I explained my situation (and on more than one call BEFORE I finished), I was told in no uncertain terms that they were not who I needed to speak with. On three seperate occasions they hung up on me after saying that, or as it was on ONE of those calls, before they even finished speaking. They were so anxious to get back to whatever they were doing (I imagine it involved torturing animals that PETA had rescued from product testing, than dining on their raw entrails) that they ACTUALLY CUT THEMSELVES OFF!!!!!!! That was amazing.
So now I have to pee and I am suffering from a rather severe case of bus-butt. I actually just got off of the phone with MA, a nice man named Kevin (telling point, he actually had to look for the information to help me because he usually doesn't answer the phones. His clerks do it for him, but they are at lunch. So the likelyhood is that if I had called about 10 minutes later I would have gotten one of those clerks, and would still be searching in vain for actual help). Kevin was so not used to helping people, City Employee Style, that he even gave me the number of the supervisor at Provider Relationis just in case the first number he gave me wasn't what I needed. If there was an election right now, I would write his name in for Mayor.
Okay, I have exorcised the demon that is MA and released the urine that was Jack's distended bladder. Now I must go and get some lunchtime grubbings, for I am hungry.
Before I go, Wifey has started a blog. It is http://joieimani2000.blogspot.com/ and when I get the chance I will be putting it up as a link over there on the right. It might be interesting to see her side of some of the stories I tell, but always remember one thing. Hers are probably all lies and fabrications and gross misrepresentations of the truth, while mine are even handed and tempered with the love and respect that all men should have for their partners. A feeling that it is a journey being undertaken together, and that is how it must be lived. Wifey? Not so much.
BSR
Now before I go any further, let me say that if you do not live in Maryland, there is always the chance that the state employees where YOU live are pleasant, hard working people who actually have a soul. But I would lay odds against it.
Anyway, straight MA patients are processed through the Dept of Health and Mental Hygiene. Apparently the employees of said august department are not screened to see if they have either of those qualities. I guess those who can, do...
I have currently spent approximately 90 minutes trying to reach someone in said department in order to question why two patients claims were denied. Because the number I have used for the last 1 1/2 years is no longer valid, and they didn't feel it was necessary to inform anyone that the contact number had changed, I have been calling every available number I could find to reach a human who could either help me or steer me in the right direction in order to get help. One of the Hens (Wonder Woman to be exact) gave me a number to call. From there it has been the equivalent of phone Lambada: the forbidden dance of speaking to a person. On the rare occasion that I did speak to a human, it became obvious that they were not who I needed to speak to. How obvious was it? As soon as I explained my situation (and on more than one call BEFORE I finished), I was told in no uncertain terms that they were not who I needed to speak with. On three seperate occasions they hung up on me after saying that, or as it was on ONE of those calls, before they even finished speaking. They were so anxious to get back to whatever they were doing (I imagine it involved torturing animals that PETA had rescued from product testing, than dining on their raw entrails) that they ACTUALLY CUT THEMSELVES OFF!!!!!!! That was amazing.
So now I have to pee and I am suffering from a rather severe case of bus-butt. I actually just got off of the phone with MA, a nice man named Kevin (telling point, he actually had to look for the information to help me because he usually doesn't answer the phones. His clerks do it for him, but they are at lunch. So the likelyhood is that if I had called about 10 minutes later I would have gotten one of those clerks, and would still be searching in vain for actual help). Kevin was so not used to helping people, City Employee Style, that he even gave me the number of the supervisor at Provider Relationis just in case the first number he gave me wasn't what I needed. If there was an election right now, I would write his name in for Mayor.
Okay, I have exorcised the demon that is MA and released the urine that was Jack's distended bladder. Now I must go and get some lunchtime grubbings, for I am hungry.
Before I go, Wifey has started a blog. It is http://joieimani2000.blogspot.com/ and when I get the chance I will be putting it up as a link over there on the right. It might be interesting to see her side of some of the stories I tell, but always remember one thing. Hers are probably all lies and fabrications and gross misrepresentations of the truth, while mine are even handed and tempered with the love and respect that all men should have for their partners. A feeling that it is a journey being undertaken together, and that is how it must be lived. Wifey? Not so much.
BSR
Monday, July 03, 2006
10 Things...
This is yet another in the recent string of movie previews with altered voiceovers and different music, making it look completely different. But it is Freakin' HILARIOUS!
As always, the link is in the title.
Hope you have off from work tomorrow, because I DO!!!!!
BSR
As always, the link is in the title.
Hope you have off from work tomorrow, because I DO!!!!!
BSR
Racial profiling at the Dude Ranch
Well, Wifey's official "Weeklong Birthday Celebration EXTRAVAGANZA" is coming to a close. Wednesday night we got a last minute invite to see the sequel of Pirates of the Caribbean. It is DAMN good. If'n you liked the first one, you will love this one. It is a little long (2+ hours) but it keeps you in the seat. Also, in case you didn't know that there was an extra bit at the end of the credits of the first movie (there is), there is also one at the end of this movie. The credits feel like they take as long as the movie, but it is a damn funny bit. Stick around through the never-ending credits and you will get a treat. Thursday we signed off on the re-fi of the house, so that day was pretty much shot. Friday I worked a double. During these few days, Wifey and Momm-o-in-law continued their tradition (pretty recent, if you consider some of the source material) of watching all of the Star Wars movies (yup, all 6) while eating crabs. Oh yeah, and playing the Star Wars Drinking Game (patent pending). I do not really know the rules, because every time I came home to a drunken wife covered in Old Bay and pork rinds (oh yeah, they have those too. Because there was an off chance that the meal could have been construed as "healthy" in some bizarre way, and you can't have that). They actually started Tuesday night, and continued into Wednesday until I came home from work. I believe there was more on Friday. I KNOW there was more drinking.
Saturday brought the HOLY CRAP SHE MADE IT TO 30 party. It went well. Pops gave me the grill he has had collecting debris for the last 2 years. It was rather interesting trying to clean that puppy out, but we got it done. Some chicken, some burgers and dogs, and after quite a bit of drinking, Larry the Upstairs Neighbor and I tried to grill bacon. Everything went well until we flipped it, and the bacon grease started making its way to the open flame. To put it mildly, after we turned the gas off, it still flamed for a good 5-10 minutes before finally dying out. And the bacon (which we were trying to cook on foil on the grill) looked to the world like ground zero of an atomic blast had permanently cast their ashes on the side of a wall. If you ever saw the filmstrip in school, you know exactly what I mean.
Now we come to Sunday. I took Wifey to go horseback riding yesterday afternoon, because she loves to do it and hadn't been in years. Well, I had dressed as if I was going to join her on the trail, and was prepared to do so, even though I had never been on a horse before. But it seems there are weight restrictions, and the first word in my name ain't "Big" fer nuthin. So I sent her off and prepared to run an errand or two whilst she rode the trails. As I was standing there watching her ride off, a family that had reservations for the next hour came up. They were there early and seemed pretty excited to be going horseback riding. It must be said at this time that the family was (and I can only assume still is) black. And to further set the picture for you, I was wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, a "Big Daddy" T-shirt (no surprise there to anyone who knows me), and a "Kwik-E-Mart" baseball cap. It is pretty obvious that I am not a ranch-hand. But the entire family immediately came to me telling me they were ready to ride and asking me questions on horse riding protocol and procedure. After getting them to calm down a little, I informed them that I had sent my wife off on a birthday trail ride, and I was just as clueless as to what they should do and whom they should ask as they were. The entire family seemed genuinely upset that I wasn't a cowboy. I am not sure, but I might have ruined their entire trip by not rustlin' up some dogies for them. But as I walked away to my truck (SUV, not F-150), I started to giggle, because I am fairly certain that the only reason they could have figured to come and ask me the questions they were asking me is if they assumed that I worked there, and since my attire was hardly worthy of being in a video on CMT, it leads me to believe that they thought I must work there because I am white. I was PROFILED, and I was found wanting. And that hurts as much as it makes me chortle.
Not really. I am not bothered by it, but it still amuses the hell out of me.
COWBOY UP YOU MOFO'S
BSR
Saturday brought the HOLY CRAP SHE MADE IT TO 30 party. It went well. Pops gave me the grill he has had collecting debris for the last 2 years. It was rather interesting trying to clean that puppy out, but we got it done. Some chicken, some burgers and dogs, and after quite a bit of drinking, Larry the Upstairs Neighbor and I tried to grill bacon. Everything went well until we flipped it, and the bacon grease started making its way to the open flame. To put it mildly, after we turned the gas off, it still flamed for a good 5-10 minutes before finally dying out. And the bacon (which we were trying to cook on foil on the grill) looked to the world like ground zero of an atomic blast had permanently cast their ashes on the side of a wall. If you ever saw the filmstrip in school, you know exactly what I mean.
Now we come to Sunday. I took Wifey to go horseback riding yesterday afternoon, because she loves to do it and hadn't been in years. Well, I had dressed as if I was going to join her on the trail, and was prepared to do so, even though I had never been on a horse before. But it seems there are weight restrictions, and the first word in my name ain't "Big" fer nuthin. So I sent her off and prepared to run an errand or two whilst she rode the trails. As I was standing there watching her ride off, a family that had reservations for the next hour came up. They were there early and seemed pretty excited to be going horseback riding. It must be said at this time that the family was (and I can only assume still is) black. And to further set the picture for you, I was wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, a "Big Daddy" T-shirt (no surprise there to anyone who knows me), and a "Kwik-E-Mart" baseball cap. It is pretty obvious that I am not a ranch-hand. But the entire family immediately came to me telling me they were ready to ride and asking me questions on horse riding protocol and procedure. After getting them to calm down a little, I informed them that I had sent my wife off on a birthday trail ride, and I was just as clueless as to what they should do and whom they should ask as they were. The entire family seemed genuinely upset that I wasn't a cowboy. I am not sure, but I might have ruined their entire trip by not rustlin' up some dogies for them. But as I walked away to my truck (SUV, not F-150), I started to giggle, because I am fairly certain that the only reason they could have figured to come and ask me the questions they were asking me is if they assumed that I worked there, and since my attire was hardly worthy of being in a video on CMT, it leads me to believe that they thought I must work there because I am white. I was PROFILED, and I was found wanting. And that hurts as much as it makes me chortle.
Not really. I am not bothered by it, but it still amuses the hell out of me.
COWBOY UP YOU MOFO'S
BSR
Friday, June 30, 2006
One for the road
Well, there was one other thing I wanted to share with the class. As always, click the title of the post for the link-y goodness. Also, I must apologize for using a line I obviously cribbed from the Don and Mike Show for the title of the last post. I have no problem stealing a good idea, that is how 99% of modern entertainment is created, and I am too damn tired to strive for the 1%. But I do believe in iving credit where credit is due, and I would have not used that if I hadn't been hearing that on their show for the last 3-5 years. Long time listener, none-time caller.
And just to make sure the cosmic scales are balanced, here is the link to their website, where you can listen live for FREE!!!!
www.donandmikewebsite.com
I plan on posting that over to the right as soon as my brain lets me. Also, I realized that Ballschwank had been linked to my site since pretty much Day 1, so that talk about putting it up there was pretty damn dumb. I feel like anasshat.
TWOFER!!!!!!!
BSR
And just to make sure the cosmic scales are balanced, here is the link to their website, where you can listen live for FREE!!!!
www.donandmikewebsite.com
I plan on posting that over to the right as soon as my brain lets me. Also, I realized that Ballschwank had been linked to my site since pretty much Day 1, so that talk about putting it up there was pretty damn dumb. I feel like anasshat.
TWOFER!!!!!!!
BSR
The Friday Favorite
Really, at this point I don't have much of anything to say. It has been a pretty boring day so far, except for when I had to hand deliver the bag of trash to the garbage men as they were pullingaway from the house, because I didn't realize they were coming so quickly, and we had 2-3 days worth of crab shells and other seafood related garbage in the kitchen can. And if you have never experienced the smell of 2-3 day old crab shells after sitting in the heat of Baltimore in late June-early July, well your olfactory senses have missed out on an experience that cannot adequately put into words.
So enjoy the article, and if the muse strikes me, more will follow.
BSR
So enjoy the article, and if the muse strikes me, more will follow.
BSR
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Where has the time gone?
Yes, hello my little love muffins. It has been over a month, but now I am back to let you know I can really...
Oh hell, I can't think of that song without thinking in cliche, so let's just move on.
I tried to put some pics up, but I do not know if they actually made it up. I am going to assume they didn't, because that is just how my life has been the last week or so, but there is no time for moping around. Do you know why?
IT IS WIFEY'S BIRTHDAY TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!oneoneone!!!
Yup, somehow, against all odds, she made it to 30. She's been shot and she has been in such a bad car accident that she was flown to Shock Trauma, and had to be paddled (no, not THAT kind of paddling. You pervert. There was NO canoeing involved you sicko) twice whilst being helicoptered away. And she is still here. Right now she is sitting on the couch at the house playing the Star Wars drinking game with her mom and eating day old crabs (it is better than it sounds, tyvm). And I am at work, listening to Don and Mike and pretending to work when anyone walks past. HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH! Fools!! I will only do as much work as they pay me for, and since I am forced to work two jobs to make ends meet, that should tell you why I goof off so much here.
So now the question is, where am I going to take her for dinner? Or will she be SOOO wasted from shots of whiskey intermingled with Smirnoff Ice Triple Black now with the refreshing taste of Lime that we will in fact be going nowhere, and I will wind up ordering a pizza and trying to watch scrambled Playboy Channel by 8 or 8:30? We were Yahoo IM'ing each other this morning/afternoon, but I haven't heard from her in 4 hours, and I am beginning to think that she is currently staring at the TV screen while Vader drops Han in carbonite, while slurring the words "that shit ain't right. VADER is an ASSHOLE! What? Oh shit, they mentioned the Force again. CHUG BITCH!"
It is possible.
Also, the refi on the house finally went through, and we settle tomorrow. So THAt will be a major reduction of stress both in terms of mortgage payments AND time spent trying to get it done. Now if only I could find that winning BIg Game ticket...
If it isn't up by the time you read this, look to the right the next timeyou come back for a link to the Ballschwank Blog. I will say no more, because to explain it would ruin the magic.
Finally (for now at least), check out the hot link here. We are less than two months from the greatest thing to ever happen in the entire history of the world. Not that I want to overhype it or anything.
Oh hell, I can't think of that song without thinking in cliche, so let's just move on.
I tried to put some pics up, but I do not know if they actually made it up. I am going to assume they didn't, because that is just how my life has been the last week or so, but there is no time for moping around. Do you know why?
IT IS WIFEY'S BIRTHDAY TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!oneoneone!!!
Yup, somehow, against all odds, she made it to 30. She's been shot and she has been in such a bad car accident that she was flown to Shock Trauma, and had to be paddled (no, not THAT kind of paddling. You pervert. There was NO canoeing involved you sicko) twice whilst being helicoptered away. And she is still here. Right now she is sitting on the couch at the house playing the Star Wars drinking game with her mom and eating day old crabs (it is better than it sounds, tyvm). And I am at work, listening to Don and Mike and pretending to work when anyone walks past. HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH! Fools!! I will only do as much work as they pay me for, and since I am forced to work two jobs to make ends meet, that should tell you why I goof off so much here.
So now the question is, where am I going to take her for dinner? Or will she be SOOO wasted from shots of whiskey intermingled with Smirnoff Ice Triple Black now with the refreshing taste of Lime that we will in fact be going nowhere, and I will wind up ordering a pizza and trying to watch scrambled Playboy Channel by 8 or 8:30? We were Yahoo IM'ing each other this morning/afternoon, but I haven't heard from her in 4 hours, and I am beginning to think that she is currently staring at the TV screen while Vader drops Han in carbonite, while slurring the words "that shit ain't right. VADER is an ASSHOLE! What? Oh shit, they mentioned the Force again. CHUG BITCH!"
It is possible.
Also, the refi on the house finally went through, and we settle tomorrow. So THAt will be a major reduction of stress both in terms of mortgage payments AND time spent trying to get it done. Now if only I could find that winning BIg Game ticket...
If it isn't up by the time you read this, look to the right the next timeyou come back for a link to the Ballschwank Blog. I will say no more, because to explain it would ruin the magic.
Finally (for now at least), check out the hot link here. We are less than two months from the greatest thing to ever happen in the entire history of the world. Not that I want to overhype it or anything.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Another thing I will never do
Just like the last one of these, this is a response to an actual occurrence. These occurrences are not always something that happened to me, but they are real occurrences. So let me say this...
I will never buy New York Strip Steak, or any other cut of meat, from a homeless person standing in front of Giant, or any other grocery store, who has been storing the meat down the front of his pants, or in any other article of clothing he is wearing, or from any area of said clothes.
I will never buy New York Strip Steak, or any other cut of meat, from a homeless person standing in front of Giant, or any other grocery store, who has been storing the meat down the front of his pants, or in any other article of clothing he is wearing, or from any area of said clothes.
Monday, May 15, 2006
My faith in man is restored by a gallon of diet green tea
I can probably be described as being ever so slightly cynical when it comes to the intentions of the average person. Usually I am right. But sometimes a random thing will show you that people care, at least about random crap.
I am tired a lot. It comes with the territory with the life that I lead. This is not a complaint, just a statement of fact. Because of my schedule, I can sometimes forget the little things. One of the things that helps me get through my days is diet green tea. It is like crack with antioxidants and ginseng, and I am completely addicted. I drink a lot of it. But I figure it is better for me than pretty much anything I can drink a lot of instead of water, and dammit, I like flavor in my beverages. So I consider it to be an acceptable vice.
About a week and a half ago, I was driving home from Target after pulling a 2 job double. It was about 11pm when I got to the car, partialyl consumed gallon of diet green tea in tow. I got in the car and started the drive to my bed, and blissful coma.
The path home from Target is all back roads, so there is no need for high speed driving. Being back roads it isn't overly populated nor is it heavily trafficked at that time of night, so there was no one behind me until I made the turn onto Belair Road (which is a pretty major in-the-city road in Baltimore). Suddenly a car pulls up behind me and at the light starts to honk and point at my car. Well I will admit that I was curious, but at 11pm on the east side of Baltimore, you don't stop and get out of your car when someone honks and points at you. So when ther light turns green I drive on. They pull up beside me and at the next light they roll down their window to let me know that I have a gallon of juice on my roof. Yup, I put it on top of the car as I was leaving Target, and forgot to put it IN the car before I pulled away. I realized what they were talink about, but by that time the light was turning green and there were a few cars behind me, and since it had stayed up there through all the twists and turns of the drive, I figured it would be safe for the remainder, which except for the turn onto the access road and the turn onto my road, were pretty straight shots at about 35 mph. Plus, I was now kind of curious if it WOULD stay up there for the rest of the trip. It was like an impromptu science experiment. I thanked them for telling me and they drove off, and I started to make my way down the road and to the house. There were two more lights before my turn, and at both lights, multiple people told me that there was a jug of juice on top of my car. I explained to all of them that I was trying to cool it off because the refrigerator at the house was broken, they would give me a funny look, and then move on. After I made the turn into the neighborhood, I drove past random groups of people, mainly high school and college aged kids standing outside talking and stoop sitting, both Baltimore neighborhood traditions. Each group I passed, oblivious to the fact that the previous group just shouted at me that I had a bottle of juice on top of my truck, would shout to me that I had a bottle of juice on top of my truck. I thanked each group for telling me and continued on my way, while they watched me drive off with juice on my hood, looking at me rather nonplussed at my lack of caring about the aforementioned juice.
I made it home without losing the tea, and with my admiration for society's can do come together (right now over me) attitude multiplied tenfold. Because sometimes, people really don't suck.
BSR
I am tired a lot. It comes with the territory with the life that I lead. This is not a complaint, just a statement of fact. Because of my schedule, I can sometimes forget the little things. One of the things that helps me get through my days is diet green tea. It is like crack with antioxidants and ginseng, and I am completely addicted. I drink a lot of it. But I figure it is better for me than pretty much anything I can drink a lot of instead of water, and dammit, I like flavor in my beverages. So I consider it to be an acceptable vice.
About a week and a half ago, I was driving home from Target after pulling a 2 job double. It was about 11pm when I got to the car, partialyl consumed gallon of diet green tea in tow. I got in the car and started the drive to my bed, and blissful coma.
The path home from Target is all back roads, so there is no need for high speed driving. Being back roads it isn't overly populated nor is it heavily trafficked at that time of night, so there was no one behind me until I made the turn onto Belair Road (which is a pretty major in-the-city road in Baltimore). Suddenly a car pulls up behind me and at the light starts to honk and point at my car. Well I will admit that I was curious, but at 11pm on the east side of Baltimore, you don't stop and get out of your car when someone honks and points at you. So when ther light turns green I drive on. They pull up beside me and at the next light they roll down their window to let me know that I have a gallon of juice on my roof. Yup, I put it on top of the car as I was leaving Target, and forgot to put it IN the car before I pulled away. I realized what they were talink about, but by that time the light was turning green and there were a few cars behind me, and since it had stayed up there through all the twists and turns of the drive, I figured it would be safe for the remainder, which except for the turn onto the access road and the turn onto my road, were pretty straight shots at about 35 mph. Plus, I was now kind of curious if it WOULD stay up there for the rest of the trip. It was like an impromptu science experiment. I thanked them for telling me and they drove off, and I started to make my way down the road and to the house. There were two more lights before my turn, and at both lights, multiple people told me that there was a jug of juice on top of my car. I explained to all of them that I was trying to cool it off because the refrigerator at the house was broken, they would give me a funny look, and then move on. After I made the turn into the neighborhood, I drove past random groups of people, mainly high school and college aged kids standing outside talking and stoop sitting, both Baltimore neighborhood traditions. Each group I passed, oblivious to the fact that the previous group just shouted at me that I had a bottle of juice on top of my truck, would shout to me that I had a bottle of juice on top of my truck. I thanked each group for telling me and continued on my way, while they watched me drive off with juice on my hood, looking at me rather nonplussed at my lack of caring about the aforementioned juice.
I made it home without losing the tea, and with my admiration for society's can do come together (right now over me) attitude multiplied tenfold. Because sometimes, people really don't suck.
BSR
Things I will never do
Welcome to the first in an occasional series where I will be telling you things that I will not do, not under any conceivable circumstances. I hope the reasons beind my choices will be abundantly clear, for I have no intention of explaining my decisions. I will be posting these as they occur, so there is no rhyme or reason to the frequency of them.
There, I think I have over explained them enough now. Let's move on to the first thing I will never do...
I will never buy condoms that are on clearance.
BSR
There, I think I have over explained them enough now. Let's move on to the first thing I will never do...
I will never buy condoms that are on clearance.
BSR
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Moving On/Locking and Loading
No, I am still not fully over Leo. I probably won't be for a while. But that doesn't mean that life stops. Wednesday nights are trivia night, I meet some friends at a bar/resteraunt in Timonium. Not the trivia with the board and the tv screens, but a dj asking questions and teams playing...its a lot of fun. We are competitive, but we go to have fun and hang out and hopefully win some house cash. Well, I went last night. I wanted to go and laugh. Of course, poor Long Arm (I am pretty sure I have mentioned him, and I might have given him a different name. I can't keep track anymore. He's my lawyer friend) sees the number written on my hand and starts kidding me about scoring some digits, and does the wife know. Well, the number on my hand is the number for the vet. When I called 411 Tuesday night, I didn't have paper, so I used what was available (isn't it weird how even in the middle of this and trying to deal with finding a dead pet in the middle of the floor, I had the thought that I wasn't going to pay 50 cents to have them autodial the number for me? How much of a flippin cheapskate can I be? Cat dead? Grieving? Check and check. Let the phone company connect me to the vet for a little more than the cost of a pay phone call? SCREW YOU BASTARDS!!!
Anyway, I told him what the number was, and he couldn't have felt worse. If this had been a Looney Tunes cartoon, he would have started shrinking or would have turned to the camera and held up a picture of a donkey and an arrow pointing at himself. I felt bad for him. I told him don't worry about it, but you could tell he felt awkward. Luckily for him, another guy on the team looked at my hand and started teasing me about scoring some digits. I just made a joke back at him and looked back at Long Arm and changed the subject. It wasn't long before we were into the game and joking around and generally having fun. I still think about him from time to time, but I am not going to build a shrine or anything. Not yet anyway.
Okay, now on to the business at hand. JJ is going to be in our midst for two weeks STRAIGHT. Yup, 11 working days. And while there are 2 weekends built in to offer the briefest of respites from her, they re fleeting compared to the hell that will be ensuing. Although she apparently isn't coming in tomorrow. So it's almost like a 3 day weekend for me. But, I know that my patience is going to be sorely tested. Anyone who hasn't bet on Psycho's over/under for when I pick her off Oswald style had better get their bets in now, because there is a good chance that if it is going to happen, it will happen before the end of May.
Now when she is here, I usually go into shut down mode, not really talking or looking up from my computer. I could be working or playing Freecell, I look really damn busy while she is sitting across from me. After two days, my jaw actually is slightly sore from the clenching I have been doing. In fact, twice in the time it took to type hat sentence, I had to force myself to relax my jaw. So it might be sanity at the cost of a couple of molars. I guess that is a valid trade-off. I did find out that she and her husband were discussing ways to get over sleep ailments (thank GOD she was walking away and I didn't actually have to hear her "cure". I don't know that I have the constitution to handle that). Also, it seems she needs to do some shopping for summer pants. The ones from last year just aren't fitting like they were then. Is it too late to warn you of disturbing mental images possible? Yup. Sorry.
Sorry, my jaw was locking up again.
I warned the Wonder Twins not to encourage her, and at least one of the Hens was saying the same thing to Jamaica at one point. It is going to be a FUN 2 weeks.
I need to prep for werk part deux, so I am gonna wrap this up now. But let me tell you real quick about the link. All you need to do is go to the photo and right click on it as if you were going to save it, and see the name the photo was given. If you don't laugh (unless they change it), you probably aren't the kind of person I want to have a beer with. Unless you are buying.
BSR
Anyway, I told him what the number was, and he couldn't have felt worse. If this had been a Looney Tunes cartoon, he would have started shrinking or would have turned to the camera and held up a picture of a donkey and an arrow pointing at himself. I felt bad for him. I told him don't worry about it, but you could tell he felt awkward. Luckily for him, another guy on the team looked at my hand and started teasing me about scoring some digits. I just made a joke back at him and looked back at Long Arm and changed the subject. It wasn't long before we were into the game and joking around and generally having fun. I still think about him from time to time, but I am not going to build a shrine or anything. Not yet anyway.
Okay, now on to the business at hand. JJ is going to be in our midst for two weeks STRAIGHT. Yup, 11 working days. And while there are 2 weekends built in to offer the briefest of respites from her, they re fleeting compared to the hell that will be ensuing. Although she apparently isn't coming in tomorrow. So it's almost like a 3 day weekend for me. But, I know that my patience is going to be sorely tested. Anyone who hasn't bet on Psycho's over/under for when I pick her off Oswald style had better get their bets in now, because there is a good chance that if it is going to happen, it will happen before the end of May.
Now when she is here, I usually go into shut down mode, not really talking or looking up from my computer. I could be working or playing Freecell, I look really damn busy while she is sitting across from me. After two days, my jaw actually is slightly sore from the clenching I have been doing. In fact, twice in the time it took to type hat sentence, I had to force myself to relax my jaw. So it might be sanity at the cost of a couple of molars. I guess that is a valid trade-off. I did find out that she and her husband were discussing ways to get over sleep ailments (thank GOD she was walking away and I didn't actually have to hear her "cure". I don't know that I have the constitution to handle that). Also, it seems she needs to do some shopping for summer pants. The ones from last year just aren't fitting like they were then. Is it too late to warn you of disturbing mental images possible? Yup. Sorry.
Sorry, my jaw was locking up again.
I warned the Wonder Twins not to encourage her, and at least one of the Hens was saying the same thing to Jamaica at one point. It is going to be a FUN 2 weeks.
I need to prep for werk part deux, so I am gonna wrap this up now. But let me tell you real quick about the link. All you need to do is go to the photo and right click on it as if you were going to save it, and see the name the photo was given. If you don't laugh (unless they change it), you probably aren't the kind of person I want to have a beer with. Unless you are buying.
BSR
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
A short visit
Yesterday was a day of contradictions. Niji and David got engaged yesterday. Wifey and I were supposed to be there to join the celebration David had planned (he must have been pretty confident that she would say yes. That is why I got Wifey drunk at a party first. Lowered her resistance a bit. Once she sobered up, I knew she would be too embarassed to break what amounted to an oral contract). However, when I got home in between work and the celebration, I went downstairs and found Leo laying on the floor by the basement door with his eyes open. But he didn't look right. I mentioned last week that he has been sick for a while. When I went to check him, I knew. He was dead. I called Wifey and told her to come home instead of heading to Annapolis for the party. I called the Vet's office (I still have the number on my hand. I had to call 411 because I didn't have the number in front of me and didn't want to go looking through the phone book. There was no paper nearby, so I wrote it on my hand). I knew he was gone, but I wanted to let them look at him anyway. So I put him in a box and took him to the vet's office. It didn't take the vet long to second my opinion. I kept his collar, it is on my rear view mirror right now.
I know it is a little bizarre to compare the engagement of two dear friends to the passing of a housepet. And I am not even thinking about the fact that he was only with us for about 8 months, when we took him in from the streets (hence the title of this post), because 8 months or 8 years, he was a part of our lives, and a part of the family. Even Wifey, who does not handle grief well (her words, not mine), said "He was just a cat" in regards to the $150+ cost of a private cremation and a take home box of ashes offered by the vet's office, which seems like a bit of a racket to me. I chose the group cremation and they can dispose of the ashes. What am I going to do with them? I hope it doesn't sound too callous, but who puts their pet's ashes on the mantle next to Grandpa? Does some person have a mausoleum with Rex next to his ex? And apparently they gauge cost (a little under $40 for Leo) based on weight. As I signed the invoice (which felt weird. It was a very antiseptic transaction, and it didn't feel right to see a paper with the word "invoice" bold faced and center justified at the top as I signed over the body of a pet for them to take care of in a manner that is, I hope, respectfully handled. Is that how it is handled at funeral homes? Does the bill say "invoice" on the top? Can't they find something a little more human to put at the top?), I noticed it said "for group cremation under 20 lbs. It was one of those surreal moments where I am standing there waiting for my credit card to approve for the (for lack of a better term) disposal of a family pet, and I am signing an invoice for "animal under 20 lbs. It was one of those morbidly funny moments to me, how businesslike it was. How unfeeling the document was. And when she stapled my copy of the receipt to my copy of the invoice, she handed them to me, and it seemed she was surprised that I told her she could just throw those away. She asked me if I was sure. I don't know how it sounded, I hope it didn't come off as dismissive or rude, but I looked at her with tears in my eyes and told her that it wasn't like I could return it, so why did I need a receipt? What would I do with the invoice? File it? Frame it? Give Wifey another reminder of him being gone? Tuxedo is still trying to figure it out. I know she saw him before I did. I closed the door to the basement before I picked him up and put him in the box I took him to the vet's in, I didn't want her down there where he was laying. And last night, as I was downstairs doing something, she came down and was exploring. I followed her as she followed what I assume was his path, right up to where I found him. She sniffed around where he was laying when I found him, then moved to the window and looked up there for him, came back, sniffed some more and looked at me. That broke me again. In fact, I am getting a little teary eyed right now remembering it. But eventually she will move on, and so will we. More than anything, I think she is going to miss having a playmate while we are out of the house.
Wifey and I discussed bringing in another cat, but we both think that if and when we are meant to have another cat, it will happen. We got him by accident. We were taking care of Tuxedo, who needed protection, and when she started getting into the house, we kind of just accepted that feeding her out in back of the house wasn't good enough for her. I am not really sure how Leo even got into the family.I remember he was what I would call a neighborhood porch cat, trying to get in whatever house he could (I think he lived with a family that moved away and left him/lost him, so he just expected to get into another house). For some reason we let him in, and he decided he liked it there. And he was just a strange cat. At times he could be really damn annoying, CONSTANTLY crying to be let out, even in the middle of snowstorms and torrential downpours. He was fond of bitching, to say the least. But there were times when he was just like some kind of zen master. He looked almost perma-stoned, his head back a little, eyes half open, just laying wherever he happened to be, the window sill or the couch or in the middle of the floor, and he would just watch all of us with a look of bemused detachment. He just didn't want to be bothered by our petty lives. Maybe in a little while, we will find another cat walking about who needs to be loved, or we could go to the pound or the shelter and rescue a cat or kitten. But right now I personally can't deal with "replacing" him.
The house will be different without him. Rest in Peace buddy.
I know it is a little bizarre to compare the engagement of two dear friends to the passing of a housepet. And I am not even thinking about the fact that he was only with us for about 8 months, when we took him in from the streets (hence the title of this post), because 8 months or 8 years, he was a part of our lives, and a part of the family. Even Wifey, who does not handle grief well (her words, not mine), said "He was just a cat" in regards to the $150+ cost of a private cremation and a take home box of ashes offered by the vet's office, which seems like a bit of a racket to me. I chose the group cremation and they can dispose of the ashes. What am I going to do with them? I hope it doesn't sound too callous, but who puts their pet's ashes on the mantle next to Grandpa? Does some person have a mausoleum with Rex next to his ex? And apparently they gauge cost (a little under $40 for Leo) based on weight. As I signed the invoice (which felt weird. It was a very antiseptic transaction, and it didn't feel right to see a paper with the word "invoice" bold faced and center justified at the top as I signed over the body of a pet for them to take care of in a manner that is, I hope, respectfully handled. Is that how it is handled at funeral homes? Does the bill say "invoice" on the top? Can't they find something a little more human to put at the top?), I noticed it said "for group cremation under 20 lbs. It was one of those surreal moments where I am standing there waiting for my credit card to approve for the (for lack of a better term) disposal of a family pet, and I am signing an invoice for "animal under 20 lbs. It was one of those morbidly funny moments to me, how businesslike it was. How unfeeling the document was. And when she stapled my copy of the receipt to my copy of the invoice, she handed them to me, and it seemed she was surprised that I told her she could just throw those away. She asked me if I was sure. I don't know how it sounded, I hope it didn't come off as dismissive or rude, but I looked at her with tears in my eyes and told her that it wasn't like I could return it, so why did I need a receipt? What would I do with the invoice? File it? Frame it? Give Wifey another reminder of him being gone? Tuxedo is still trying to figure it out. I know she saw him before I did. I closed the door to the basement before I picked him up and put him in the box I took him to the vet's in, I didn't want her down there where he was laying. And last night, as I was downstairs doing something, she came down and was exploring. I followed her as she followed what I assume was his path, right up to where I found him. She sniffed around where he was laying when I found him, then moved to the window and looked up there for him, came back, sniffed some more and looked at me. That broke me again. In fact, I am getting a little teary eyed right now remembering it. But eventually she will move on, and so will we. More than anything, I think she is going to miss having a playmate while we are out of the house.
Wifey and I discussed bringing in another cat, but we both think that if and when we are meant to have another cat, it will happen. We got him by accident. We were taking care of Tuxedo, who needed protection, and when she started getting into the house, we kind of just accepted that feeding her out in back of the house wasn't good enough for her. I am not really sure how Leo even got into the family.I remember he was what I would call a neighborhood porch cat, trying to get in whatever house he could (I think he lived with a family that moved away and left him/lost him, so he just expected to get into another house). For some reason we let him in, and he decided he liked it there. And he was just a strange cat. At times he could be really damn annoying, CONSTANTLY crying to be let out, even in the middle of snowstorms and torrential downpours. He was fond of bitching, to say the least. But there were times when he was just like some kind of zen master. He looked almost perma-stoned, his head back a little, eyes half open, just laying wherever he happened to be, the window sill or the couch or in the middle of the floor, and he would just watch all of us with a look of bemused detachment. He just didn't want to be bothered by our petty lives. Maybe in a little while, we will find another cat walking about who needs to be loved, or we could go to the pound or the shelter and rescue a cat or kitten. But right now I personally can't deal with "replacing" him.
The house will be different without him. Rest in Peace buddy.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
I'm on to you all
Okay, this is gonna be a quickie (of course, if you ask Wifey, they ALL are, but we have different concepts of time. At least in certain circumstances). I just want to let you all know that I am aware of your nefarious plot. It must have been omitted from my calendar, this "Everybody Do Everything It Is In Your Power To Do If At All Humanly Possible To Get In Ron's Way Wherever He Is Going Today" Day. That's okay, I will thwart you. From the MTA bus that decided to stop (not break down, just STOP) in the right hand turn lane of a very busy intersection where I make a right turn every morning in order to get to work, to the three yahoos that decided to pick that particular time to also stop, to the car right behind me that stopped approximately 3 inches from my rear bumper, effectively trapping me in space, to the trash truck that decided that it would be a good time to grab the trash can RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, even if that meant cutting me off and slamming its brakes on (forcing me to follow suit), and apparently city budget cutbacks have forced all municipal vehicles to be sold without turn signals in order to save money on bulbs, to the CORVETTE that was doing around 8 miles under the 25 mph speed limit on the last road before I arrive at work. 2006 Corvette and it can't go faster than idle speed? WTF?!?!?!?!?
Also, it seems that Wifey and I were accidentally poisoning the cats. I bought a name brand cat food the other day (not mentioning the brand for fear of legal reprisal, but contact me and I will let you know on an individual basis). One cat is sick, and one cat is apparently very horny (if the lambada-esque dance she has been doing is any indication), and Wifey called the vet. The vet said it is the food that is doing all of the damage. Like I said to Wifey when she IM'ed me the info, I am surprised, because I remember using this food for my cats growing up and there never being a problem. I don't think it is our cat specific-type issues with the food from the reaction that the vet apparently had (I say apparently because I was not the one on the phone talking to him. Wifey was). I guess the brand has gone downhill since the glory days. So if you have cats, drop me a line and I will tell you what the food was so you know to avoid it. If you hate cats or have an ex (or someone you are planning to put in "ex" status soon) that has cats and you want to screw them up, drop me a line and if I feel your desire to kill kitties (pic to your right excluded) is justified, I will also tell you the brand.
George Clooney and Texas Whoppers will probably have to wait until tomorrow.
BSR
Also, it seems that Wifey and I were accidentally poisoning the cats. I bought a name brand cat food the other day (not mentioning the brand for fear of legal reprisal, but contact me and I will let you know on an individual basis). One cat is sick, and one cat is apparently very horny (if the lambada-esque dance she has been doing is any indication), and Wifey called the vet. The vet said it is the food that is doing all of the damage. Like I said to Wifey when she IM'ed me the info, I am surprised, because I remember using this food for my cats growing up and there never being a problem. I don't think it is our cat specific-type issues with the food from the reaction that the vet apparently had (I say apparently because I was not the one on the phone talking to him. Wifey was). I guess the brand has gone downhill since the glory days. So if you have cats, drop me a line and I will tell you what the food was so you know to avoid it. If you hate cats or have an ex (or someone you are planning to put in "ex" status soon) that has cats and you want to screw them up, drop me a line and if I feel your desire to kill kitties (pic to your right excluded) is justified, I will also tell you the brand.
George Clooney and Texas Whoppers will probably have to wait until tomorrow.
BSR
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Tom Cruise movies and The Boob Thief
As always, the link has nothing to do with the post, it is just a fun little story. I love TheSmokingGun . But on to business.
Apparently there are at least two people clamoring for my review of MI:3. Wow. I feel like Ebert, but with lips and a neck. And I get laid. Other than that, it is eerily similar. So lets give the old BSR one word review
Bitchin'
Yup, it is a fun movie. JJ Abrams gets a good performance out of Tom Cruise (no small task), and Phillip Seymour Hoffman is just a badass. I always knew he could act, but to see him play evil, well it is scenery chewin' time, and Phil has one hell of an appetite. But this isn't about nuance and depth and inner monologues. Mission Impossible is about ONE thing, making your eyes glue themselves to the screen with one cool damn thing after another while you shovel that $8 drum of popcorn with "golden flavored topping" (I actually use the stuff to re-lube my gear shift the other day. WD-40 has NOTHING on golden flavored topping) and sucking down that 1.5 gallon size Diet Coke with enough ice in it to reverse global warming (but hey, free refills. And I am thinking about trying to set the Guinness World Record for longest pee duration in a public restroom - Urinal Division). Ving Rhames is his usual fun self, Lawrence Fishburne is cool (even if his teeth are a little like corn nubs. Somehow he pulls it off). The British guy with the middle name Rhys (pronounced "Reese". Is it just me or has there been about 500 British guys with the middle name "Rhys" popping up in every other damn movie made? What is it with that name and pensive brooding and impaired oral hygiene?). And because of that movie, I now have a new career goal. I want to be a remote held to the thigh of the Asian chick in the movie. The one held on by a garter belt. I don't care what I would be a remote for (but I have some ideas if she is reading. Yeah, right). Oh. My. DAMN.
Now on to more pressing matters. The BOOB Thief. The Boob Thief also goes by the name of Ben. Ben is my mortal enemy. Ben is, to the best of my knowledge, less than a year old. Let me explain. Wifey works in an office (at least some of you that are reading this are looking over your cubicle wall at her right now and saying "Yeah, we know. Dumbass". Well screw you and your elitist attitude! But anyway, in this office are other employees (the aforementioned elite), and some of them are female. I am painfully aware that one of them got knocked up and had a kid. A boy named Ben. It seems that Ben is the cutest thing EVER. At least that is what I am told. Repeatedly. Well, if his only crime was cuteness, I would be fine with his continued existence in my world. I have never claimed to be cute, and I have no real desire to have that added to the list of adjectives that are used to regularly describe me. Well, it seems that he has a fetish. A fetish for my wife's breasts. Now if you ask Wifey, she will tell you that she has perfect breasts. And since, as Wesley pointed out, there are very few perfect breasts in this world, it would be a shame to ruin them. AND THAT IS WHAT HE IS DOING!!!!! Not ruining them in any physical way, but ruining my enjoyment of them. Whenever he is brought to the office, he immediately makes a bee-line for Wifey's Grand Central Stition (get it? Huh?!?). Now for the rest of the day will be IM's from Wifey cooing about how cute he is and how adorable he is and all that crap. Well let me tell you something Boob Thief. I am ON to you! The longer you rest your perfect little head on my Wifey's bosom, the longer I have to wait to get to use them for my own nefarious purposes. And I only have a limited window until we start having kids of our own, and then I don't get them for at least a couple of years. He gets her motherly instincts all whirled up, which is good from the standpoint that she wants to go home and practice making babies the old fashioned way, but bad because she starts plotting on how to use them for our eventual brood and then I don't get to play hide and go seek with my friends Lefty and Nips. And that is just wrong.
Also, I need to make a point clear here. Wifey and I damaged the bed the other day. And by damaged the bed I mean we bent the bedframe. If you know me, you can probably imagine me being able to do that without any help. But when libido calls, sometimes you have to crawl to position. Just don't crawl to the foot of the bed on a regular frame. Well, we took care of the problem the next day, we got a new Heavy Duty Lifetime Warranty bedframe for a reasonable price. And the salesman threw in two free pillows for to sweeten the deal (more on pillows as weapons in a moment). But (and this is a MAJOR but), I guess Wifey just HAD to let her mother come over the one day that the bed as in a state of limbo, with one end being held up by a personal sized igloo cooler I have had since my high school football days. And she just HAD to let her go to the bathroom, which is downstairs next to the bedroom. And she just HAD to not block her view and MOMM-O version 2.0 just HAD to notice. AND WIFEY COULDN'T LIE TO HER!!!!!!! I mean come on, I am not naive enough to think that Mv.2 was unaware that we had consummated our marriage by now, and I don't expect her to have a big problem, since she wants grandkids as much as my parents do (possibly more, since my parents have my niece and nephew from my sister and her hubb-o). But it was the bottom leg of the bed that broke off. And why is that a problem? Because you wouldn't break off the bottom leg, the one by the foot of the bed, if you were having regular old Walton's Family approved sex. She would have been in the middle of the bed, with her head at the top. In order to snap off that leg, we had to be going for some bizarre synchronized swimming, cirque de soleil type maneuver. And I am willing to bet she doesn't want to picture her daughter doing THAT (I can just hear it now. "Daughter, why is there a hole in that wall? And where are the ceiling tiles? Why did you need to reinforce that beam in the ceiling?"). And that is why I have banned Mv.2 from making any kind of contact with me for the month of May. No phone calls, no instant messages, no being at the house when I come home, no coming in when I am already there. Not because I don't love her, but because I cannot fathom the thought of making eye contact with her. And apparently Wifey clued her in to reading this. ARRRGH!!! I put up semi-pornographic pictures of Disney characters and Wifey tells her mom to read? Now that I think about it, I might have to extend the ban until June.
And one final thing before I end this thing. We have already established that Wifey like to treat sleepy time like she is Germany and I am France (there is an obvious Maginot Line joke here, but for all I know I have made it previously. I am too lazy to check, and now it is too late to make the joke. TPPPBBBBBBBTH). Well, let me add that I am not a very cuddling person when it comes to sleep. I sweat quickly and easily, and having someone pressed or draped against me can only cause the rivers to flow. I need air, and will spend a lot of time during the night kicking my covers off to cool down, then getting chilly and pulling them back up. I have apologized to Wifey privately, and now I do so publicly. I am sorry I am not a cuddler. That being said, Wifey likes to bring extra pillows to bed. Not those stupid little decorative pillows that people with too much money have all over their beds and couches, but standard regulation sized pillows. Okay, I can deal with that. But while it may start as innocent cuddling with sleep gear, it soon turns violent. And by that I mean the pillow will somehow magically migrate from her arms to her ass, and as she turns away from me, she bends and contorts and uses her fluff down doom to claim the bed's Kashmir. Like a padded badonk-a-donk bulldozer, she flattens the rainforest of the bed that is me. This morning I told her we were going to have to re-think her use of pillows as potential WMD's. I am all but sure I am going to lose the battle, but I will not go down without a fight.
Now I must take my leave of you. I have to get back to work, and I have to allow lunch to finish running its course (yup. That is the nicest way of saying "I gotta take a shit" as there is. You can use that). But let me leave you with this. Either tomorrow or Friday, I promise a review of the Burger King Texas Whopper, and to reveal to you that while I am a raging heterosexual, I am officially gay for George Clooney.
Stay tuned. And taste the rainbow!
BSR
Apparently there are at least two people clamoring for my review of MI:3. Wow. I feel like Ebert, but with lips and a neck. And I get laid. Other than that, it is eerily similar. So lets give the old BSR one word review
Bitchin'
Yup, it is a fun movie. JJ Abrams gets a good performance out of Tom Cruise (no small task), and Phillip Seymour Hoffman is just a badass. I always knew he could act, but to see him play evil, well it is scenery chewin' time, and Phil has one hell of an appetite. But this isn't about nuance and depth and inner monologues. Mission Impossible is about ONE thing, making your eyes glue themselves to the screen with one cool damn thing after another while you shovel that $8 drum of popcorn with "golden flavored topping" (I actually use the stuff to re-lube my gear shift the other day. WD-40 has NOTHING on golden flavored topping) and sucking down that 1.5 gallon size Diet Coke with enough ice in it to reverse global warming (but hey, free refills. And I am thinking about trying to set the Guinness World Record for longest pee duration in a public restroom - Urinal Division). Ving Rhames is his usual fun self, Lawrence Fishburne is cool (even if his teeth are a little like corn nubs. Somehow he pulls it off). The British guy with the middle name Rhys (pronounced "Reese". Is it just me or has there been about 500 British guys with the middle name "Rhys" popping up in every other damn movie made? What is it with that name and pensive brooding and impaired oral hygiene?). And because of that movie, I now have a new career goal. I want to be a remote held to the thigh of the Asian chick in the movie. The one held on by a garter belt. I don't care what I would be a remote for (but I have some ideas if she is reading. Yeah, right). Oh. My. DAMN.
Now on to more pressing matters. The BOOB Thief. The Boob Thief also goes by the name of Ben. Ben is my mortal enemy. Ben is, to the best of my knowledge, less than a year old. Let me explain. Wifey works in an office (at least some of you that are reading this are looking over your cubicle wall at her right now and saying "Yeah, we know. Dumbass". Well screw you and your elitist attitude! But anyway, in this office are other employees (the aforementioned elite), and some of them are female. I am painfully aware that one of them got knocked up and had a kid. A boy named Ben. It seems that Ben is the cutest thing EVER. At least that is what I am told. Repeatedly. Well, if his only crime was cuteness, I would be fine with his continued existence in my world. I have never claimed to be cute, and I have no real desire to have that added to the list of adjectives that are used to regularly describe me. Well, it seems that he has a fetish. A fetish for my wife's breasts. Now if you ask Wifey, she will tell you that she has perfect breasts. And since, as Wesley pointed out, there are very few perfect breasts in this world, it would be a shame to ruin them. AND THAT IS WHAT HE IS DOING!!!!! Not ruining them in any physical way, but ruining my enjoyment of them. Whenever he is brought to the office, he immediately makes a bee-line for Wifey's Grand Central Stition (get it? Huh?!?). Now for the rest of the day will be IM's from Wifey cooing about how cute he is and how adorable he is and all that crap. Well let me tell you something Boob Thief. I am ON to you! The longer you rest your perfect little head on my Wifey's bosom, the longer I have to wait to get to use them for my own nefarious purposes. And I only have a limited window until we start having kids of our own, and then I don't get them for at least a couple of years. He gets her motherly instincts all whirled up, which is good from the standpoint that she wants to go home and practice making babies the old fashioned way, but bad because she starts plotting on how to use them for our eventual brood and then I don't get to play hide and go seek with my friends Lefty and Nips. And that is just wrong.
Also, I need to make a point clear here. Wifey and I damaged the bed the other day. And by damaged the bed I mean we bent the bedframe. If you know me, you can probably imagine me being able to do that without any help. But when libido calls, sometimes you have to crawl to position. Just don't crawl to the foot of the bed on a regular frame. Well, we took care of the problem the next day, we got a new Heavy Duty Lifetime Warranty bedframe for a reasonable price. And the salesman threw in two free pillows for to sweeten the deal (more on pillows as weapons in a moment). But (and this is a MAJOR but), I guess Wifey just HAD to let her mother come over the one day that the bed as in a state of limbo, with one end being held up by a personal sized igloo cooler I have had since my high school football days. And she just HAD to let her go to the bathroom, which is downstairs next to the bedroom. And she just HAD to not block her view and MOMM-O version 2.0 just HAD to notice. AND WIFEY COULDN'T LIE TO HER!!!!!!! I mean come on, I am not naive enough to think that Mv.2 was unaware that we had consummated our marriage by now, and I don't expect her to have a big problem, since she wants grandkids as much as my parents do (possibly more, since my parents have my niece and nephew from my sister and her hubb-o). But it was the bottom leg of the bed that broke off. And why is that a problem? Because you wouldn't break off the bottom leg, the one by the foot of the bed, if you were having regular old Walton's Family approved sex. She would have been in the middle of the bed, with her head at the top. In order to snap off that leg, we had to be going for some bizarre synchronized swimming, cirque de soleil type maneuver. And I am willing to bet she doesn't want to picture her daughter doing THAT (I can just hear it now. "Daughter, why is there a hole in that wall? And where are the ceiling tiles? Why did you need to reinforce that beam in the ceiling?"). And that is why I have banned Mv.2 from making any kind of contact with me for the month of May. No phone calls, no instant messages, no being at the house when I come home, no coming in when I am already there. Not because I don't love her, but because I cannot fathom the thought of making eye contact with her. And apparently Wifey clued her in to reading this. ARRRGH!!! I put up semi-pornographic pictures of Disney characters and Wifey tells her mom to read? Now that I think about it, I might have to extend the ban until June.
And one final thing before I end this thing. We have already established that Wifey like to treat sleepy time like she is Germany and I am France (there is an obvious Maginot Line joke here, but for all I know I have made it previously. I am too lazy to check, and now it is too late to make the joke. TPPPBBBBBBBTH). Well, let me add that I am not a very cuddling person when it comes to sleep. I sweat quickly and easily, and having someone pressed or draped against me can only cause the rivers to flow. I need air, and will spend a lot of time during the night kicking my covers off to cool down, then getting chilly and pulling them back up. I have apologized to Wifey privately, and now I do so publicly. I am sorry I am not a cuddler. That being said, Wifey likes to bring extra pillows to bed. Not those stupid little decorative pillows that people with too much money have all over their beds and couches, but standard regulation sized pillows. Okay, I can deal with that. But while it may start as innocent cuddling with sleep gear, it soon turns violent. And by that I mean the pillow will somehow magically migrate from her arms to her ass, and as she turns away from me, she bends and contorts and uses her fluff down doom to claim the bed's Kashmir. Like a padded badonk-a-donk bulldozer, she flattens the rainforest of the bed that is me. This morning I told her we were going to have to re-think her use of pillows as potential WMD's. I am all but sure I am going to lose the battle, but I will not go down without a fight.
Now I must take my leave of you. I have to get back to work, and I have to allow lunch to finish running its course (yup. That is the nicest way of saying "I gotta take a shit" as there is. You can use that). But let me leave you with this. Either tomorrow or Friday, I promise a review of the Burger King Texas Whopper, and to reveal to you that while I am a raging heterosexual, I am officially gay for George Clooney.
Stay tuned. And taste the rainbow!
BSR
Friday, April 28, 2006
Just take Belair Road north until you hit Nevada
First let me say that I am NOT going to apologize for these pics. The only nasty one is the Disney one, and if you know anything about Disney, you know that they had that coming (no pun intended). Also, as far as the link goes, I have been waiting for that to happen since I was about 4 and now I have been vindicated.
I planned on giving my review of MI:3 that I saw last night, but I am running out of time because I have to work tonight. I will get to it first thing next week.
HAPPY FRIDAY YOU BASTICHES!
BSR
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Murderous Acid Flashback Kittens and TBI Bake Sales
Okay, let me begin by saying I am in the middle of a hellacious 2 week period. Between the two jobs, I don't get a sleep in day until Saturday the 6th of May. I open both days this weekend. *whine whine whimper whimper*. Why am I telling you this? Because I am an attention whore and want your sympathy, even if it is given under false pretenses.
Both of our cats are bat-shit crazy. No real surprise there, 99% of ALL cats are nucking futs, if you catch my meaning (I know, it wasn't the most subtle anagram). I do not know if I have mentioned their names yet, so I will now. We haev taken in two strays, an orange tabby named Leo, and a black and white mixed named Tuxedo. Leo is a boy, Tuxedo is a girl. I am now thoroughly convinced that Leo is in a permanent state of wake and bake. His eyes are always at least half closed and except for when he is plotting a way to escapr the house for a little alley catting, he moves as if the air is about 3 times thicker than it is. It is almost like it is taking a supreme effort to make it look effortless, and it shows. If he was fat and liked lasagna he could be Garfield. Not that those two things are the only requirements. Hell, I am fat, and I love lasagna. But I am not Garfield. although Wifey does treat me like I am Odie from time to time. But anyway, he is just James Dean with fur, but I have uncovered his hidden past. My cat was a trained assassin for the CIA. I am going to post a picture of him on a mission that will prove it.
As far as Tuxedo goes...well...she is just plain stupid. She is a crackhead. This morning she spent at least 30 minutes playing with a Cheerio that had apparently fell on the floor and missed sny previous attempts at cleaning. I say "at least" because the 30 minutes were before I left for work. She was still going strong while Wifey did her morning routine. For all I know she is still batting the damn thing around. Also, she has a habit of getting her claw stuck in things. When she goes to the furniture and/or the cushions and/or the bed, she invariably gets a claw stuck in it and will stand there for a while, trying in vain to figure out what the hell happened and how she can get free. Apparently "PULLING" is not an option. The best though, is when she is walking down the steps to the basement (where our bedroom is, as well as the bathroom, utility room, and the ever important litter box is. I have witnessed on more than one occasion where she gets her claw stuck in the carpeting as she is just walking down the stairs. She will stop on a step, for some reason a claw will pop out, and there she is completely stuck. And let us not forget when she will stop on the stairs because she suddenly has an overwhelimg desire to lick herself (hey, we all would if we could. Well, maybe not the butthole thing, but there are certain areas...maybe I have said too much), and she will then proceed to lick herself and then tumble down the stairs becuase she has lost her balance. Again, I have seen it 3 times. Who knows how often the dumbass actually does it. I work two jobs, Wifey has a full time job and is currently helping plan a summer camp, so neither one of us is home that much (and if you don't believe me, look in the sink. The dishes tell the story). I would not be surprised if Tuxedo rolls down the stairs 3-5 times a day. Maybe it is fun. But it HAS to cause brain damage, and from watching her in action, she ain't got a whole lot of wiggle room there.
Also, one more thing about Tuxedo. For about a month and a half, she has been stalking something in the house. At first we thought it was a mouse. But now I am convinced that there have been no mice since they moved in and chased one througfh the crawl space and into the ceiling of the basement, when they fell through and broke my nightstand. Even the MICE knew then that those damn cats were too damn crazy for them to hang out in the house. So if there is no mouse, what is she hunting? Currently the most plausible theory is that she is suffering from some some sort of Vietnam flashback. And yes she is only a year or so old. But with those 9 lives, you never know.
I have to get to the TBI Bake Sale, but before I do, let me note that it is currently 11:27 am on Wednesday April 26th, and JJ just walked in. And for the last 2.5 minutes (yes I am counting) she has been trying to figure out where her pencil is. "Where's my pencil? PEN-CILLLL? Phooey, I cannot find my pencil. I know I had it..." The word "pencil" has lost all meaning to me. It looks and sounds like a made up word. Also, whenever she says "therapy", it sounds like "thurpee", like a child with a lisp wants a frosty drink from 7-11. It doesn't matter what I rant about, she will be there like that annoying sound that Jeff Daniels and Jim Carrey made in Dumb and Dumber, only more constant.
Now, on to the Bake Sale. Well, it isn't really a Bake Sale. TBI (which stands for Traumatic Brain Injury) is a department here at the hospital. From the overhead announcement (which sounds more than vaguely like it is used as a training ground for the people who make announcements for Amtrak and Light Rail. Not quite Peanut's adults, but awful damn close), I heard that TBI is doing "something" in the Grand Hall. Refreshments will be served and it seems they will be selling something. But from the way the announcement wa worded, it will be the TBI patients doing the selling. And since my brain is immediately drawn to the bizarre outcome, I just keep seeing people with bandages and gauze wrapped around their heads intermingling with the extras from "One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest", trying to haggle with me for a trinket. And if I can't out-haggle a guy who thinks he is Napoleon or a lady who calls everybody "Fred" and then gives them BIG hugs, well, I am not the negotiator I think I am. Honestly, I don't think that is how the shindig is going to shake down, but you have to admit that it is a funny visual. Powder blue pajamas, hospital issue slippers, and what can only be described as a hospital turban trying to make a deal with you on the price of a cherry pie.
BSR
Both of our cats are bat-shit crazy. No real surprise there, 99% of ALL cats are nucking futs, if you catch my meaning (I know, it wasn't the most subtle anagram). I do not know if I have mentioned their names yet, so I will now. We haev taken in two strays, an orange tabby named Leo, and a black and white mixed named Tuxedo. Leo is a boy, Tuxedo is a girl. I am now thoroughly convinced that Leo is in a permanent state of wake and bake. His eyes are always at least half closed and except for when he is plotting a way to escapr the house for a little alley catting, he moves as if the air is about 3 times thicker than it is. It is almost like it is taking a supreme effort to make it look effortless, and it shows. If he was fat and liked lasagna he could be Garfield. Not that those two things are the only requirements. Hell, I am fat, and I love lasagna. But I am not Garfield. although Wifey does treat me like I am Odie from time to time. But anyway, he is just James Dean with fur, but I have uncovered his hidden past. My cat was a trained assassin for the CIA. I am going to post a picture of him on a mission that will prove it.
As far as Tuxedo goes...well...she is just plain stupid. She is a crackhead. This morning she spent at least 30 minutes playing with a Cheerio that had apparently fell on the floor and missed sny previous attempts at cleaning. I say "at least" because the 30 minutes were before I left for work. She was still going strong while Wifey did her morning routine. For all I know she is still batting the damn thing around. Also, she has a habit of getting her claw stuck in things. When she goes to the furniture and/or the cushions and/or the bed, she invariably gets a claw stuck in it and will stand there for a while, trying in vain to figure out what the hell happened and how she can get free. Apparently "PULLING" is not an option. The best though, is when she is walking down the steps to the basement (where our bedroom is, as well as the bathroom, utility room, and the ever important litter box is. I have witnessed on more than one occasion where she gets her claw stuck in the carpeting as she is just walking down the stairs. She will stop on a step, for some reason a claw will pop out, and there she is completely stuck. And let us not forget when she will stop on the stairs because she suddenly has an overwhelimg desire to lick herself (hey, we all would if we could. Well, maybe not the butthole thing, but there are certain areas...maybe I have said too much), and she will then proceed to lick herself and then tumble down the stairs becuase she has lost her balance. Again, I have seen it 3 times. Who knows how often the dumbass actually does it. I work two jobs, Wifey has a full time job and is currently helping plan a summer camp, so neither one of us is home that much (and if you don't believe me, look in the sink. The dishes tell the story). I would not be surprised if Tuxedo rolls down the stairs 3-5 times a day. Maybe it is fun. But it HAS to cause brain damage, and from watching her in action, she ain't got a whole lot of wiggle room there.
Also, one more thing about Tuxedo. For about a month and a half, she has been stalking something in the house. At first we thought it was a mouse. But now I am convinced that there have been no mice since they moved in and chased one througfh the crawl space and into the ceiling of the basement, when they fell through and broke my nightstand. Even the MICE knew then that those damn cats were too damn crazy for them to hang out in the house. So if there is no mouse, what is she hunting? Currently the most plausible theory is that she is suffering from some some sort of Vietnam flashback. And yes she is only a year or so old. But with those 9 lives, you never know.
I have to get to the TBI Bake Sale, but before I do, let me note that it is currently 11:27 am on Wednesday April 26th, and JJ just walked in. And for the last 2.5 minutes (yes I am counting) she has been trying to figure out where her pencil is. "Where's my pencil? PEN-CILLLL? Phooey, I cannot find my pencil. I know I had it..." The word "pencil" has lost all meaning to me. It looks and sounds like a made up word. Also, whenever she says "therapy", it sounds like "thurpee", like a child with a lisp wants a frosty drink from 7-11. It doesn't matter what I rant about, she will be there like that annoying sound that Jeff Daniels and Jim Carrey made in Dumb and Dumber, only more constant.
Now, on to the Bake Sale. Well, it isn't really a Bake Sale. TBI (which stands for Traumatic Brain Injury) is a department here at the hospital. From the overhead announcement (which sounds more than vaguely like it is used as a training ground for the people who make announcements for Amtrak and Light Rail. Not quite Peanut's adults, but awful damn close), I heard that TBI is doing "something" in the Grand Hall. Refreshments will be served and it seems they will be selling something. But from the way the announcement wa worded, it will be the TBI patients doing the selling. And since my brain is immediately drawn to the bizarre outcome, I just keep seeing people with bandages and gauze wrapped around their heads intermingling with the extras from "One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest", trying to haggle with me for a trinket. And if I can't out-haggle a guy who thinks he is Napoleon or a lady who calls everybody "Fred" and then gives them BIG hugs, well, I am not the negotiator I think I am. Honestly, I don't think that is how the shindig is going to shake down, but you have to admit that it is a funny visual. Powder blue pajamas, hospital issue slippers, and what can only be described as a hospital turban trying to make a deal with you on the price of a cherry pie.
BSR
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Welcome...TO THE SHORTHAND
No, the link has nothing to do with the post. It is just something that has made me laugh since I first saw it, lo those many years ago.
Okay, since I now have more readers (even if some of them are in fact coerced into reading by Wifey, who can be rather convincing when she wants to be), I thought I should maybe make clear what some of the nicknames I use really mean. And since some of them have evolved, it can only help me too..
These are in order. I do not know what order they are in, but they are in SOME kind of order...
Wifey - hopefully self explanatory.
Moleville (or any mole reference really) the basement at the hospital where I am employed.
Asian - also known as Asian Mustard Lady. She got the name from her unwavering support for the mustard included in most Chinese carry-out orders. During a lengthy discussion here in Moleville by the hens about their favorite mustard. Which brings me to...
The Hens - the collection of women that I work with here in the basement of the hospital. Their predilection towards gossiping, usually followed by "Gurrrrrrrrrrrrrlllllllllll..." or something of that ilk, usually makes me want to own the Get Smart Cone of Silence (or whatever it was called). To give you an idea, for the last 15 minutes the discussion has been on the one winner of the latest Mega Millions jackpot (a multi-state lottery, this time won by 1 person in Ohio. The jackpot for this drawing was 265 million dollars). Well, after everyone expressed how much they cannot believe that one person won the whole amount, the conversation turned to how they hope that the person who won is poor and not old, because it always seems that old rich people win the big money. One of the hens is now talking to herself about how she would take the lump sum, because (muttering. Cannot make out the words here). The other two hens have left to go upstairs to the cafeteria to get lunch. She is STILL talking.
Mother Hen - she actually has her own office (the vast majority of us are in cubicles). She will often bring in bagels or doughnuts or something like that, I think to make up for the fact that she can be rather short (rhymes with witch) sometimes (sometimes = 90%, but that is pretty much splitting hairs)
Wonder Twins - an evolution of WW (Wonder Woman) and Jamaica, two women who work in the same cubicle section as me. Definite members of the Hens, also quite opinionated on pretty much EVERY subject one can bring up. Because one of them can't eat chili without the other one farting, they have become one entity to me. In fact, when one is out of the office for any length of time, the other starts to wander about the office like the man in the 24 hour grocery store at 3 in the morning on a Tuesday, walking about in his pajamas searching in vain for the frozen peas.
JJ - JabberJaws. Named after the Hanna Barbara cartoon, she is an older lady who spends (it seems) every possible moment of her life talking. She talks to everyone in the office. She talks to herself. She talks to the medical charts she is working on. And so on. Also, she has no filter to know what to talk about and what NOT to talk about. Like the whole inseam-zipper problem mentioned in the post right below this one.
Aside
The third hen is still talking. Now she is talking about going to a fat farm and getting a personal trainer. I can only assume that this line of voiced thought is a tangent from how she would spend the money if she ever won the lottery and became a millionaire. I do not know if that is in fact how she got to that point, but for the sake of clarity of her self conversation, I hope so. Also, the Wonder Twins just walked back in, and their lips are also flapping to beat the band. Any minute now WW will pull up the local news on her computer, turn up the volume on the video part al lthe way so that we can ALL hear what is going on here in "Charm City", and by doing so will give The Hens conversation fodder for the rest of this glorious afternoon.
The Lurker - the only person here in Moleville I can truly trust. I trust her enough to let her read my blog. If the rest of the people down here read it, well, it would be UNPLEASANT to say the least.
Psycho - from the R U A Psycho link to the right. Another blogger, and the first official reader of this site besides family and friends. An excellent blog to read, and it is low fat and high fiber, so as to lower your cholesterol.
I think that just about covers it. If there are any I am forgetting, let me know and I will add them.
BSR - Big Shirtless Ron. The name of my blog and my own little shout-out to myself. It is like a good red wine. Jammy, yet unpretentious.
Okay, since I now have more readers (even if some of them are in fact coerced into reading by Wifey, who can be rather convincing when she wants to be), I thought I should maybe make clear what some of the nicknames I use really mean. And since some of them have evolved, it can only help me too..
These are in order. I do not know what order they are in, but they are in SOME kind of order...
Wifey - hopefully self explanatory.
Moleville (or any mole reference really) the basement at the hospital where I am employed.
Asian - also known as Asian Mustard Lady. She got the name from her unwavering support for the mustard included in most Chinese carry-out orders. During a lengthy discussion here in Moleville by the hens about their favorite mustard. Which brings me to...
The Hens - the collection of women that I work with here in the basement of the hospital. Their predilection towards gossiping, usually followed by "Gurrrrrrrrrrrrrlllllllllll..." or something of that ilk, usually makes me want to own the Get Smart Cone of Silence (or whatever it was called). To give you an idea, for the last 15 minutes the discussion has been on the one winner of the latest Mega Millions jackpot (a multi-state lottery, this time won by 1 person in Ohio. The jackpot for this drawing was 265 million dollars). Well, after everyone expressed how much they cannot believe that one person won the whole amount, the conversation turned to how they hope that the person who won is poor and not old, because it always seems that old rich people win the big money. One of the hens is now talking to herself about how she would take the lump sum, because (muttering. Cannot make out the words here). The other two hens have left to go upstairs to the cafeteria to get lunch. She is STILL talking.
Mother Hen - she actually has her own office (the vast majority of us are in cubicles). She will often bring in bagels or doughnuts or something like that, I think to make up for the fact that she can be rather short (rhymes with witch) sometimes (sometimes = 90%, but that is pretty much splitting hairs)
Wonder Twins - an evolution of WW (Wonder Woman) and Jamaica, two women who work in the same cubicle section as me. Definite members of the Hens, also quite opinionated on pretty much EVERY subject one can bring up. Because one of them can't eat chili without the other one farting, they have become one entity to me. In fact, when one is out of the office for any length of time, the other starts to wander about the office like the man in the 24 hour grocery store at 3 in the morning on a Tuesday, walking about in his pajamas searching in vain for the frozen peas.
JJ - JabberJaws. Named after the Hanna Barbara cartoon, she is an older lady who spends (it seems) every possible moment of her life talking. She talks to everyone in the office. She talks to herself. She talks to the medical charts she is working on. And so on. Also, she has no filter to know what to talk about and what NOT to talk about. Like the whole inseam-zipper problem mentioned in the post right below this one.
Aside
The third hen is still talking. Now she is talking about going to a fat farm and getting a personal trainer. I can only assume that this line of voiced thought is a tangent from how she would spend the money if she ever won the lottery and became a millionaire. I do not know if that is in fact how she got to that point, but for the sake of clarity of her self conversation, I hope so. Also, the Wonder Twins just walked back in, and their lips are also flapping to beat the band. Any minute now WW will pull up the local news on her computer, turn up the volume on the video part al lthe way so that we can ALL hear what is going on here in "Charm City", and by doing so will give The Hens conversation fodder for the rest of this glorious afternoon.
The Lurker - the only person here in Moleville I can truly trust. I trust her enough to let her read my blog. If the rest of the people down here read it, well, it would be UNPLEASANT to say the least.
Psycho - from the R U A Psycho link to the right. Another blogger, and the first official reader of this site besides family and friends. An excellent blog to read, and it is low fat and high fiber, so as to lower your cholesterol.
I think that just about covers it. If there are any I am forgetting, let me know and I will add them.
BSR - Big Shirtless Ron. The name of my blog and my own little shout-out to myself. It is like a good red wine. Jammy, yet unpretentious.
Asian is committed to learnnding (the misspelling is on purpose)
Yeah, she is back. Wandering about. Actually she just walked out, but not before sharing with everyone what she learned while helping her daughter with her homework last night.
Quick aside, I don't know why I never noticed this before, or maybe it has changed, but as I was sitting here listening to her talk ad nauseum to everyone here in Moleville, she kept laughing. And finally I placed what her laugh sounds like. You know how Barney Rubble laughs, right? Well give Barney's laugh about a half dose of helium, and voila! That is Asian's laugh.
Also, after two whole weeks of blissful peace, JJ is back and Lord if she isn't making up for lost time than I went for a walk wearing a turtleneck sweater-dress and some nice strappy sensible pumps the other day. So I don't know what is going to happen today, but it should be interesting to say the least.
Okay, so Asian, after harassing EVERYBODY else in the hospital, came down to chirp and cluck at all of us. And when the Alpha Hen starts clucking, the rest will surely follow. And. They. Did. So after all the usual chit chat, she is about to leave when *EPIPHANY* she decided to share with us what she gleaned from her daughter's schoolbooks last night. BTW - I am pretty sure that her daughter is in either Elementary school or Middle school. So what that says about the learning curve in that household I will leave up to your final judgement. She started telling us that "It wasn't just the Jews that Hitler killed you know".
...Yes, I did. I actually have a personal stake in this. But I would think that most everybody who does not subscribe to the Mel Gibson "Holo-what?" school of thought is aware that it hasn't just Jewish people hunted down and tortured and murdered. Gypsies (my Momma's side of the family. Where do you think the name came from?) were killed too. In fact, more Gypsies were killed per capita than Jews were. Hell, my mother would be an endangered species if Gypsies were not people (Gypsies are made of people! THEY'RE MADE OF PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). Sorry, couldn't resist that one. Anyway (and this is where I had to stop myself from giggling. Really, it isn't the subject matter, it was the delivery), than she started talking about how he killed all the "cripples". AND "the gays". Yup. "The GAYS". And the way she said it made it sound like she was putting the quotes around it. The best way to describe it is as if a really old person was talking about how her friend got "the cancer", in that semi whisper way of speaking, like you are afraid that if you say it out loud, you'll get it too. Asian obviously doesn't want to "catch gay", so she said it like that, rather affected.
Oh, and she also learned that Hitler committed suicide, which means he can't go to Heaven (yes that is a quote). Because I am sure THAT is what kept him out. Fear mongering? War-hawking? STATE SPONSORED GENOCIDE? Yeah, God let those go into the Holy Shredder. But put a gun to your head and hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Hell you go!
Personally I am willing to bet that at best old Adolph was rather far back on the waiting list, to say the least. Being forced to sit at the bar while those with reservations get seated at the table with the Father. Yeah, and that is being generous. More than likely he is in Hell being forced to prepare meat according to the strictest Kosher standards, while those who were lame here on Earth dance around him and "the gays" stand there and constantly ridicule his fashion sense and choice of window treatments.
So that was fun.
Also, as mentioned earlier, JJ is back, back with a VENGEANCE! And she is in rare form. So far I have heard about how the sun room is almost finished, how she is going to wait to furnish said room until she and her "I don't know what I did in a past life but for the love of God I am SORRY!" husband go vacationing in the Adirondacks this winter. Because nothing says fun vacation like having to lug hundreds or thousands of dollars of furniture hundred's of miles.
The last ten minutes of personal bliss has been spent listening to her and the Wonder Twins talk about pants shopping. She just said "I'm not tall, but I have a large crotch measure. Sometimes I have to buy a size bigger because of the zipper. Because when you sit down you push out. Ouch."
WHYGODWHYGODWHYGOD WHAT DID I DO AND HOW CAN I REPENT? THE MENTAL PICTURE IS MAKING ME GO BLIND! WHYWHYWHYWHY?
And just to make sure you are suffering like me, just picture a turkey necked old lady with the body of saggy Hershey's Kiss (she just keeps getting wider as you move towards the feet. Not to unlike Jabba the Hut really). And now picture this woman going COMMANDO and then sitting down. You realize quickly that she is in pain because she immediately starts to adjust the offended area.
You're welcome.
Also, she apparently thought she was done with March's charts, but it seems this is not the case. Because whenever she is not regaling us with EVERY POSSIBLE PIECE OF MINUTIAE REGARDING HER TRIP she keeps muttering to herself about how there are charts from March and she was sure that they were all done and did they give her charts twice and oh my goodness...
...And they ask me why I drink.
BSR (still waiting on your responses to this)
Quick aside, I don't know why I never noticed this before, or maybe it has changed, but as I was sitting here listening to her talk ad nauseum to everyone here in Moleville, she kept laughing. And finally I placed what her laugh sounds like. You know how Barney Rubble laughs, right? Well give Barney's laugh about a half dose of helium, and voila! That is Asian's laugh.
Also, after two whole weeks of blissful peace, JJ is back and Lord if she isn't making up for lost time than I went for a walk wearing a turtleneck sweater-dress and some nice strappy sensible pumps the other day. So I don't know what is going to happen today, but it should be interesting to say the least.
Okay, so Asian, after harassing EVERYBODY else in the hospital, came down to chirp and cluck at all of us. And when the Alpha Hen starts clucking, the rest will surely follow. And. They. Did. So after all the usual chit chat, she is about to leave when *EPIPHANY* she decided to share with us what she gleaned from her daughter's schoolbooks last night. BTW - I am pretty sure that her daughter is in either Elementary school or Middle school. So what that says about the learning curve in that household I will leave up to your final judgement. She started telling us that "It wasn't just the Jews that Hitler killed you know".
...Yes, I did. I actually have a personal stake in this. But I would think that most everybody who does not subscribe to the Mel Gibson "Holo-what?" school of thought is aware that it hasn't just Jewish people hunted down and tortured and murdered. Gypsies (my Momma's side of the family. Where do you think the name came from?) were killed too. In fact, more Gypsies were killed per capita than Jews were. Hell, my mother would be an endangered species if Gypsies were not people (Gypsies are made of people! THEY'RE MADE OF PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). Sorry, couldn't resist that one. Anyway (and this is where I had to stop myself from giggling. Really, it isn't the subject matter, it was the delivery), than she started talking about how he killed all the "cripples". AND "the gays". Yup. "The GAYS". And the way she said it made it sound like she was putting the quotes around it. The best way to describe it is as if a really old person was talking about how her friend got "the cancer", in that semi whisper way of speaking, like you are afraid that if you say it out loud, you'll get it too. Asian obviously doesn't want to "catch gay", so she said it like that, rather affected.
Oh, and she also learned that Hitler committed suicide, which means he can't go to Heaven (yes that is a quote). Because I am sure THAT is what kept him out. Fear mongering? War-hawking? STATE SPONSORED GENOCIDE? Yeah, God let those go into the Holy Shredder. But put a gun to your head and hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Hell you go!
Personally I am willing to bet that at best old Adolph was rather far back on the waiting list, to say the least. Being forced to sit at the bar while those with reservations get seated at the table with the Father. Yeah, and that is being generous. More than likely he is in Hell being forced to prepare meat according to the strictest Kosher standards, while those who were lame here on Earth dance around him and "the gays" stand there and constantly ridicule his fashion sense and choice of window treatments.
So that was fun.
Also, as mentioned earlier, JJ is back, back with a VENGEANCE! And she is in rare form. So far I have heard about how the sun room is almost finished, how she is going to wait to furnish said room until she and her "I don't know what I did in a past life but for the love of God I am SORRY!" husband go vacationing in the Adirondacks this winter. Because nothing says fun vacation like having to lug hundreds or thousands of dollars of furniture hundred's of miles.
The last ten minutes of personal bliss has been spent listening to her and the Wonder Twins talk about pants shopping. She just said "I'm not tall, but I have a large crotch measure. Sometimes I have to buy a size bigger because of the zipper. Because when you sit down you push out. Ouch."
WHYGODWHYGODWHYGOD WHAT DID I DO AND HOW CAN I REPENT? THE MENTAL PICTURE IS MAKING ME GO BLIND! WHYWHYWHYWHY?
And just to make sure you are suffering like me, just picture a turkey necked old lady with the body of saggy Hershey's Kiss (she just keeps getting wider as you move towards the feet. Not to unlike Jabba the Hut really). And now picture this woman going COMMANDO and then sitting down. You realize quickly that she is in pain because she immediately starts to adjust the offended area.
You're welcome.
Also, she apparently thought she was done with March's charts, but it seems this is not the case. Because whenever she is not regaling us with EVERY POSSIBLE PIECE OF MINUTIAE REGARDING HER TRIP she keeps muttering to herself about how there are charts from March and she was sure that they were all done and did they give her charts twice and oh my goodness...
...And they ask me why I drink.
BSR (still waiting on your responses to this)
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
My life on display. Or, My wife uses me to make her co-workers snort.
I know, long title. Before I begin my ranting, I want to steal two things I just read on www.baltimoresun.com on Rick Maese's blog. One is a quote from him, and he other is a quote he pulled from a New York sportswriter. First his own quote...
The worst thing a blogger can do is continually apologize for his absence. So let's just skip that. I'm back blogging. I'll be here every day. Enjoy the veal. Let's get right into it...
So no more apologizing from me if I go off the radar for a few weeks. TPPBBBTTTTHHH!
Secondly (and much funnier IMHO)...
Two weeks into the season and Jorge Julio has already worn out his big welcome in the Big Apple.
Check out this excerpt from Joel Sherman of the NY Post in Sunday's newspaper:
Jorge Julio provoked the largest Saturday home crowd in Mets history to actually chant "Bring back Benson," though it never specified Kris, Anna or the 1980s sitcom. At this point, any of those would be more acceptable. All is forgiven, Anna; maybe that low-cut Mrs. Claus outfit was not so bad. After all, Anna's big mouth was never going to hurt the Mets as much as Julio's bigger ERA.
Now I would like to say something here. And since this is my blog, I will. TPPBBBTTTTHHH!
(and if you are not a sports fan or not a baseball fan or care not for my opinions on Baltimore and its sports scene, please feel free to scan past this and move to the section wherein the title will actually make sense)
1) I was not one of the people who had a problem giving up Julio for Benson. A few people did. They were and in all likelihood still are morons. They should not be allowed to voice their opinions on anything that is of interest to me, because they will just annoy me again, and not capitulate when they are proven wrong. Shakespeare probably said it best when he said "Verily thou are a stupid head". And he used it in iambic pentameter. Damn he was good.
2) I never wanted Benson to go off the air either. If for no other reason then Rene Ajouboudbvkjdf (or whatever the hell his last name is) needs to work without latex all over his face. And I was waiting for the Swedish lady to break out into a Madeline Kahn-like "I'm Tired" song EVERY time she was onscreen.
3) If Kris Benson doesn't have a problem with his wife dressing like a trollop, why the hell should it bother you? Personally, I am hoping my wife gets a good look at the Mrs. Claus outfit she wore (as well as some of those other outfits, like anything she has worn in FHM/Maxim/Stuff pictorial) and thinks to herself "I bet my husband would love to see me in that. Maybe I will wear it while I cook him a gourmet meal and he sits on the couch in his underwear scratching himself and belching. He is SOOOOO hot when he is yelling at the TV during a football game. It makes me want to service him when I see him in those boxer briefs with the holes, and when you add in that delicate scent of Miller Lite and chili on his breath, well I can't contain myself. I have to RAVISH him then"
You live in your world, I will live in mine. And before you ask, yes the sky is blue in my world. And the grass is green. And legal. And portly is just a word that describes going in a certain direction while at sea, just without as much commitment to the turn as if you had said "port".
Now, all about the title. Let me re-read it so I know what the hell I am supposed to be talking about. Oh yeah, I remember now.
It seems that Wifey has been having all of her female coworkers read this excursion into self gratification. Which brings me to another thought I wish my wife would have. It involves the Secretary Pool and a pool. But that is for another time...
So she has co-workers reading my blog (I still hate the word blog. Can you all help me? I think we need to come up with a new word, one to replace "blog". Please leave your suggestions in the comments section). According to her, they seem to like it, which is good. But the frogurt is cursed, which is bad (3 people will get that, and they are the ones who always quote that scene with me. I love inside jokes). But I feel a little weird knowing that a bunch of people who only know me from Wifey's description of me are now getting a view into my warped little mind. It is making me fear the Christmas Party, and that is a good 8 months away. And if there is any kind of summer cook-out for her company, well, just say a little prayer for me now, don't save it till the morning after.
One final thing before I go (although I am feeling the bug and may post again today if I get some good material from here. It is a distinct possibility), I want to give a quick shout out to the Lurker and her ninja pajamas that she wore to work yesterday. 99% of the people in this building could NOT have pulled that off. It was like Hugh Hefner's and Bruce Lee's closets made sweet love and her outfit was their precious child of their inseamed loins. So KUDOS to you Lurker. And Quaker Oats to the rest of you for being here.
I noticed yesterday that I ended my post by referring to myself in the third person, but not just in the third person, but with a nickname. And not just a nickname, but an abbreviation of said nickname. I looked at it today, and honestly, I didn't know how to feel about it. So when you submit your entry for the word that we will be using to replace "blog" (and one day we will get this word into the dictionary!), do ol' BSR a favor and let him know how you feel about him referring to himself as BSR (or maybe ol'BSR, but then I will have to start using phrases like "good buddy" and "breaker breaker". *shudder*)
The worst thing a blogger can do is continually apologize for his absence. So let's just skip that. I'm back blogging. I'll be here every day. Enjoy the veal. Let's get right into it...
So no more apologizing from me if I go off the radar for a few weeks. TPPBBBTTTTHHH!
Secondly (and much funnier IMHO)...
Two weeks into the season and Jorge Julio has already worn out his big welcome in the Big Apple.
Check out this excerpt from Joel Sherman of the NY Post in Sunday's newspaper:
Jorge Julio provoked the largest Saturday home crowd in Mets history to actually chant "Bring back Benson," though it never specified Kris, Anna or the 1980s sitcom. At this point, any of those would be more acceptable. All is forgiven, Anna; maybe that low-cut Mrs. Claus outfit was not so bad. After all, Anna's big mouth was never going to hurt the Mets as much as Julio's bigger ERA.
Now I would like to say something here. And since this is my blog, I will. TPPBBBTTTTHHH!
(and if you are not a sports fan or not a baseball fan or care not for my opinions on Baltimore and its sports scene, please feel free to scan past this and move to the section wherein the title will actually make sense)
1) I was not one of the people who had a problem giving up Julio for Benson. A few people did. They were and in all likelihood still are morons. They should not be allowed to voice their opinions on anything that is of interest to me, because they will just annoy me again, and not capitulate when they are proven wrong. Shakespeare probably said it best when he said "Verily thou are a stupid head". And he used it in iambic pentameter. Damn he was good.
2) I never wanted Benson to go off the air either. If for no other reason then Rene Ajouboudbvkjdf (or whatever the hell his last name is) needs to work without latex all over his face. And I was waiting for the Swedish lady to break out into a Madeline Kahn-like "I'm Tired" song EVERY time she was onscreen.
3) If Kris Benson doesn't have a problem with his wife dressing like a trollop, why the hell should it bother you? Personally, I am hoping my wife gets a good look at the Mrs. Claus outfit she wore (as well as some of those other outfits, like anything she has worn in FHM/Maxim/Stuff pictorial) and thinks to herself "I bet my husband would love to see me in that. Maybe I will wear it while I cook him a gourmet meal and he sits on the couch in his underwear scratching himself and belching. He is SOOOOO hot when he is yelling at the TV during a football game. It makes me want to service him when I see him in those boxer briefs with the holes, and when you add in that delicate scent of Miller Lite and chili on his breath, well I can't contain myself. I have to RAVISH him then"
You live in your world, I will live in mine. And before you ask, yes the sky is blue in my world. And the grass is green. And legal. And portly is just a word that describes going in a certain direction while at sea, just without as much commitment to the turn as if you had said "port".
Now, all about the title. Let me re-read it so I know what the hell I am supposed to be talking about. Oh yeah, I remember now.
It seems that Wifey has been having all of her female coworkers read this excursion into self gratification. Which brings me to another thought I wish my wife would have. It involves the Secretary Pool and a pool. But that is for another time...
So she has co-workers reading my blog (I still hate the word blog. Can you all help me? I think we need to come up with a new word, one to replace "blog". Please leave your suggestions in the comments section). According to her, they seem to like it, which is good. But the frogurt is cursed, which is bad (3 people will get that, and they are the ones who always quote that scene with me. I love inside jokes). But I feel a little weird knowing that a bunch of people who only know me from Wifey's description of me are now getting a view into my warped little mind. It is making me fear the Christmas Party, and that is a good 8 months away. And if there is any kind of summer cook-out for her company, well, just say a little prayer for me now, don't save it till the morning after.
One final thing before I go (although I am feeling the bug and may post again today if I get some good material from here. It is a distinct possibility), I want to give a quick shout out to the Lurker and her ninja pajamas that she wore to work yesterday. 99% of the people in this building could NOT have pulled that off. It was like Hugh Hefner's and Bruce Lee's closets made sweet love and her outfit was their precious child of their inseamed loins. So KUDOS to you Lurker. And Quaker Oats to the rest of you for being here.
I noticed yesterday that I ended my post by referring to myself in the third person, but not just in the third person, but with a nickname. And not just a nickname, but an abbreviation of said nickname. I looked at it today, and honestly, I didn't know how to feel about it. So when you submit your entry for the word that we will be using to replace "blog" (and one day we will get this word into the dictionary!), do ol' BSR a favor and let him know how you feel about him referring to himself as BSR (or maybe ol'BSR, but then I will have to start using phrases like "good buddy" and "breaker breaker". *shudder*)
Monday, April 17, 2006
The dangers of assumption
I just got to type the word "ass", but since it is in the middle of a bigger, safe word, it is okay. I love technicalities.
Anyway, I just wanted to share with you all a conversation that Wifey and I just had on Yahoo IM. Please note that I am not in any way compensated for my mention of Yahoo IM or mentioning that my wife and I use it almost every day because we are both at work and this way we can spend a little virtual time together. I am not a paid endorser. Not by my choice mind you. I would gladly take any pittance they would offer me. I have said before and I will say again, I am relatively young, relatively newly married, and relatively broke. And my relatives will no longer loan me money, so I will accept it from any viable source. So here you go, here is the conversation...
wifey: Well there's sun out now and I'm going for a walk in about 15 minutes.
wifey: Okay.
BSR: hey, I am back
BSR: you back yet?
w: yay!
w: I am now.
w: It's HOT outside.
BSR: it is warm, yes
BSR: but I don't think I would say it is "hot"
w: Yes.
w: You didn't just go walking. In turtleneck sweater dress.
w: It's hot.
BSR: you don't know that I didn't do that.
BSR: Don't Assume.
w: You didn't.
w: Uh huh.
BSR: have you been here with me all day?
BSR: Is it possible that I went shopping?
BSR: Maybe at Fashion Bug or the Avenue?
BSR: Is it not possible that I got some sensible pumps?
w: You bought a turtleneck dress.
w: Something strappy and flattering to the ankles?
BSR: and that I went for a walk because I felt so free and alive?
BSR: I didn't say that I DID, I'm just saying that you don't know if I didn't.
w: Strappy and flattering to the ankles eh?
w: Free. And. Alive.?
w: Oh dear. Lord.
Now what are we to learn from that?
1. That I am more than willing to embarass (I got to type "ass" again) myself for both friends and strangers in order to get a chuckle.
2. I am not afraid to put an image in your head of me in a turtleneck sweater dress and fashionable strappy pumps, and if you know what I look like, you know how brave that thought is for me, and how nauseating it might be for you.
3. If my current career goals do not pan out, I have a possible second career as the host of Straight Eye for the Portly Cross Dressing Guy.
That I can pull off typing the word "strappy" and still feel okay with myself (no small feat really).
And before I go, one final update...
According to wifey, after the alarm went off today, I accused her (in my sleep) of trying to kill me. I know she is trying to kill me. She thinks I have the wealth of Raymond Burr and the aim of Aaron Burr. I in fact have the wealth equivalent to Ray Romano's acting ability and the aim of flouride toothpaste.
Lastly, Wifey just added an additional; post to the IM, one that I think ties up a lot, not so much here as in general. Here it is...
Boobies. Are. Sweaty.
...and to that I say...Thank you Lord for the impromptu wet t-shirt contest you have given me. Truly you do love me to bless me with dinner AND a show.
BSR luvs sweaty boobies!
Anyway, I just wanted to share with you all a conversation that Wifey and I just had on Yahoo IM. Please note that I am not in any way compensated for my mention of Yahoo IM or mentioning that my wife and I use it almost every day because we are both at work and this way we can spend a little virtual time together. I am not a paid endorser. Not by my choice mind you. I would gladly take any pittance they would offer me. I have said before and I will say again, I am relatively young, relatively newly married, and relatively broke. And my relatives will no longer loan me money, so I will accept it from any viable source. So here you go, here is the conversation...
wifey: Well there's sun out now and I'm going for a walk in about 15 minutes.
wifey: Okay.
BSR: hey, I am back
BSR: you back yet?
w: yay!
w: I am now.
w: It's HOT outside.
BSR: it is warm, yes
BSR: but I don't think I would say it is "hot"
w: Yes.
w: You didn't just go walking. In turtleneck sweater dress.
w: It's hot.
BSR: you don't know that I didn't do that.
BSR: Don't Assume.
w: You didn't.
w: Uh huh.
BSR: have you been here with me all day?
BSR: Is it possible that I went shopping?
BSR: Maybe at Fashion Bug or the Avenue?
BSR: Is it not possible that I got some sensible pumps?
w: You bought a turtleneck dress.
w: Something strappy and flattering to the ankles?
BSR: and that I went for a walk because I felt so free and alive?
BSR: I didn't say that I DID, I'm just saying that you don't know if I didn't.
w: Strappy and flattering to the ankles eh?
w: Free. And. Alive.?
w: Oh dear. Lord.
Now what are we to learn from that?
1. That I am more than willing to embarass (I got to type "ass" again) myself for both friends and strangers in order to get a chuckle.
2. I am not afraid to put an image in your head of me in a turtleneck sweater dress and fashionable strappy pumps, and if you know what I look like, you know how brave that thought is for me, and how nauseating it might be for you.
3. If my current career goals do not pan out, I have a possible second career as the host of Straight Eye for the Portly Cross Dressing Guy.
That I can pull off typing the word "strappy" and still feel okay with myself (no small feat really).
And before I go, one final update...
According to wifey, after the alarm went off today, I accused her (in my sleep) of trying to kill me. I know she is trying to kill me. She thinks I have the wealth of Raymond Burr and the aim of Aaron Burr. I in fact have the wealth equivalent to Ray Romano's acting ability and the aim of flouride toothpaste.
Lastly, Wifey just added an additional; post to the IM, one that I think ties up a lot, not so much here as in general. Here it is...
Boobies. Are. Sweaty.
...and to that I say...Thank you Lord for the impromptu wet t-shirt contest you have given me. Truly you do love me to bless me with dinner AND a show.
BSR luvs sweaty boobies!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
The Bed of Manifest Destiny and waking up to Operatic Vikings
Well, it has been a few days, and I am finally getting back into the routines of the daily grind. But not willingly, thank you very much. But to fill you in on the last 48 hours or so...
Tuesday night brought a spat between me and the missus. Long story short, she was already mad about something, and I didn't exactly help matters. But all is good now, thanks to some open communication between her and myself (one of the things I like most about our relationship is that we have been able to keep the lines open even when we are very mad) and also Pat (who is more like my own little Larry from 3's Company minus the gold chains and plus actual talent with comedy) and his sacrificing a container of chocolate peanut butter ice cream to She Hulk (my wifey when angry. Don't make her angry. You wouldn't like her when she is angry). But there is peace in the household again. Although I think there might have been just a hint of resentment. And that led to last night. And this morning...
Apparently last night Wifey became her own little version of Westward HO! (and no I am NOT calling her a ho. I thought I should make that PLAINLY clear, because the water just cooled down and I have no desire to get it boiling again). She started the night on what you could call "her" side of the bed. But that was not meant to last it seems. By this morning I was doing the equivalent of a high wire act on the edge of the bed, various body parts dangling over the edge like an awning over the floor below. That was slightly inconvienent, to put it mildly. But she has been known to want to Lewis and Clark the sleeping arrangements in the past, and apparently my side of the bed is the far end of the Louisiana Purchase. Maybe I ned an Indian guide.
But even that wasn't the morning shock that her alarm clock was. I know I have mentioned previously that she will set the alarm, but it is never loud enough to wake her from her sacred Odin-Sleep, so I have to keep tapping her until she grunts and rolls over and slaps the hell out of the clock. Honestly I don't think she is hitting the snooze bar so much as she is just stunning the damn thing so that it will shut up for a while. That is why the cats will only sit on MY side of the bed to meow about how sad their lives are. But anyway...
It seems that she got the message about setting the clock in a way that actually causes her to move without me having to be the stimulus to her response. There is one tiny unforseen problem with this. If it was loud enough to wake me up before, but not loud enough to rouse her, just how loud does it have to be in order to wake HER up, and how will that decibel level affect my rem stage?
Well to answer your question, it depends. And by that I mean it depends on what the alarm clock is set to. A standard alarm sound would have been omewhat jarring, but like most of you I am becoming a little immune to that sound. After 33 years, even waking up to it isn't quite as bothersome as it was in the past. But was that the sound? Nooooooooooooooo...
Was it some radio station? Yes it was. Was it the radio station we usually listen to in the morning because it has what I have found to be the best and most complete traffic updates and it has them about every 10 minutes? Nooooooooooooooooooooo...
I do not know what radiio station it was. I have never heard anything like what I heard this morning, except for when the Vikings started singing the Operatic Spam in Monty Python. But was it Vikings singing Monty Python? Noooooooooooooooooooo...
It was (and I cannot find any better way to describe this) as if a gaggle of Operatic Vikings decided to steal that old Gregorian Monks Chant idea, but just to keep it fresh, they decided to do a CD of whale songs. And record it at 45RPM just so they could play it at 33 1/3.
(Sidebar - I am not completely sure that "Operatic" is a word, but I like it, so it stays. And if it isn't a word, well it damn well should be)
I will admit that the sound DID wake up wifey. However, it also caused my heart to stop beating ever so briefly, and also my testicles to become so frightened that not even a borderline boiling hot shower could fully rouse them and make them un-tortise themselves. In fact, around 11 o'clockthis morning, I had what could almost be described as a second puberty as my testes dropped again, finally convinced that it was again safe to dangle in the way that only they can.
I humbly apologize for any lasting images now in your head.
So what is to become of all of this? Well, one of two things will be happening. Either I convince her to go back to the old way of waking up, which was annoying for me, but not nearly as catastrophic to my psyche nor to my reproductive organs. OR I will be changing the station on the alarm clock, adjusting the volume ever so slightly, and if I *ACCIDENTALLY* turn off the alarm clock, well, she doesn't have to get up that early anyway. She deserves to sleep in. And I deserve to keep my balls whee they are.
Tuesday night brought a spat between me and the missus. Long story short, she was already mad about something, and I didn't exactly help matters. But all is good now, thanks to some open communication between her and myself (one of the things I like most about our relationship is that we have been able to keep the lines open even when we are very mad) and also Pat (who is more like my own little Larry from 3's Company minus the gold chains and plus actual talent with comedy) and his sacrificing a container of chocolate peanut butter ice cream to She Hulk (my wifey when angry. Don't make her angry. You wouldn't like her when she is angry). But there is peace in the household again. Although I think there might have been just a hint of resentment. And that led to last night. And this morning...
Apparently last night Wifey became her own little version of Westward HO! (and no I am NOT calling her a ho. I thought I should make that PLAINLY clear, because the water just cooled down and I have no desire to get it boiling again). She started the night on what you could call "her" side of the bed. But that was not meant to last it seems. By this morning I was doing the equivalent of a high wire act on the edge of the bed, various body parts dangling over the edge like an awning over the floor below. That was slightly inconvienent, to put it mildly. But she has been known to want to Lewis and Clark the sleeping arrangements in the past, and apparently my side of the bed is the far end of the Louisiana Purchase. Maybe I ned an Indian guide.
But even that wasn't the morning shock that her alarm clock was. I know I have mentioned previously that she will set the alarm, but it is never loud enough to wake her from her sacred Odin-Sleep, so I have to keep tapping her until she grunts and rolls over and slaps the hell out of the clock. Honestly I don't think she is hitting the snooze bar so much as she is just stunning the damn thing so that it will shut up for a while. That is why the cats will only sit on MY side of the bed to meow about how sad their lives are. But anyway...
It seems that she got the message about setting the clock in a way that actually causes her to move without me having to be the stimulus to her response. There is one tiny unforseen problem with this. If it was loud enough to wake me up before, but not loud enough to rouse her, just how loud does it have to be in order to wake HER up, and how will that decibel level affect my rem stage?
Well to answer your question, it depends. And by that I mean it depends on what the alarm clock is set to. A standard alarm sound would have been omewhat jarring, but like most of you I am becoming a little immune to that sound. After 33 years, even waking up to it isn't quite as bothersome as it was in the past. But was that the sound? Nooooooooooooooo...
Was it some radio station? Yes it was. Was it the radio station we usually listen to in the morning because it has what I have found to be the best and most complete traffic updates and it has them about every 10 minutes? Nooooooooooooooooooooo...
I do not know what radiio station it was. I have never heard anything like what I heard this morning, except for when the Vikings started singing the Operatic Spam in Monty Python. But was it Vikings singing Monty Python? Noooooooooooooooooooo...
It was (and I cannot find any better way to describe this) as if a gaggle of Operatic Vikings decided to steal that old Gregorian Monks Chant idea, but just to keep it fresh, they decided to do a CD of whale songs. And record it at 45RPM just so they could play it at 33 1/3.
(Sidebar - I am not completely sure that "Operatic" is a word, but I like it, so it stays. And if it isn't a word, well it damn well should be)
I will admit that the sound DID wake up wifey. However, it also caused my heart to stop beating ever so briefly, and also my testicles to become so frightened that not even a borderline boiling hot shower could fully rouse them and make them un-tortise themselves. In fact, around 11 o'clockthis morning, I had what could almost be described as a second puberty as my testes dropped again, finally convinced that it was again safe to dangle in the way that only they can.
I humbly apologize for any lasting images now in your head.
So what is to become of all of this? Well, one of two things will be happening. Either I convince her to go back to the old way of waking up, which was annoying for me, but not nearly as catastrophic to my psyche nor to my reproductive organs. OR I will be changing the station on the alarm clock, adjusting the volume ever so slightly, and if I *ACCIDENTALLY* turn off the alarm clock, well, she doesn't have to get up that early anyway. She deserves to sleep in. And I deserve to keep my balls whee they are.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
I'm back, and I am ready to leave
First of all, let me say that Maine was fabulous. Second of all, let me say that due to the time the train left (both ways) and the fact that the wife and I pulled all nighters the night before we got on said trains in order to pack and get everything together, we did not accomplish train-nookie. I know, I am disappointed too. Probably much more so than you are. But, I was given plenty of attention during my birthday weekend, so I am okay. Now if I can only convince her to put on that cowgirl outfit...
It is incredibly gorgeous there, and Nicky and Frank took wonderful care of us. However, we still managed to lock ourselves in the bedroom Saturday night. And in a house where they don't lock the front door. Why? Because they don't HAVE to. It is that safe up there, not to mention mind numbingly beautiful, and peaceful. Now wifey understands why I keep saying that I want to move there. How did we do it? Anyone who knows us knows how easily we accomplish what should be impossible, and how completely we manage to achieve it.
(BTW - later on this week I will be posting pictures. I have to get them off the new digital camera I bought. Hee hee hee hee)
Now on to the end of last week, namely Thursday. Getaway day, as it were. Of course, I had to work both jobs, so it was going to be a gauntlet day no matter what. But still, Thursday is now my boss' SCHEDULED DAY. Of the three places she has to oversee, two get two days a week, and one gets one. I am the one. And I am very much okay with that. And now that I know WHAT day I am going to see her, it makes planning my workload to allow my busy goofing off schedule (like right now for instance) that much easier. I am pretty sure that I have mentioned that my ACTUAL boss (in other words, not the one who runs the dental office, but the one who actually hired me and is in charge of my project) is very cool and I really do enjoy working for her/with her. But she is making it hard on me to not get myself in trouble. It started last week when she called me to check in on my progress and in the course of conversation she told me that she got extensions, or a weave, or whatever the technical term is. Okay, I know her only as a woman with short hair, but I am going to prep myself for this. But nothing can prepare you for your boss walking in and saying "Ta-DAAAAAA" while modeling her new, expensive fake hairdo. Her pride and joy. Her mullett.
Yup. She chose to get a mullett. Her hair (as mentioned earlier) was short. The top was a little poofy, nothing bad, and it was a good look for her. Well she kept the top and got extensions in the back. Now she looks like a puffy Cher if she were to commit to doing 2 years at the Sands in Vegas. Or maybe Branson MO. How can I look at her the same way? More importantly, how can I not say something. Those who know me know that I cannot help myself sometimes. It is part of my impish charm. How long until I screw up and say something. Anybody want an over/under for THAT?
I really need to go, get back to work. But some things need to be shared.
It is incredibly gorgeous there, and Nicky and Frank took wonderful care of us. However, we still managed to lock ourselves in the bedroom Saturday night. And in a house where they don't lock the front door. Why? Because they don't HAVE to. It is that safe up there, not to mention mind numbingly beautiful, and peaceful. Now wifey understands why I keep saying that I want to move there. How did we do it? Anyone who knows us knows how easily we accomplish what should be impossible, and how completely we manage to achieve it.
(BTW - later on this week I will be posting pictures. I have to get them off the new digital camera I bought. Hee hee hee hee)
Now on to the end of last week, namely Thursday. Getaway day, as it were. Of course, I had to work both jobs, so it was going to be a gauntlet day no matter what. But still, Thursday is now my boss' SCHEDULED DAY. Of the three places she has to oversee, two get two days a week, and one gets one. I am the one. And I am very much okay with that. And now that I know WHAT day I am going to see her, it makes planning my workload to allow my busy goofing off schedule (like right now for instance) that much easier. I am pretty sure that I have mentioned that my ACTUAL boss (in other words, not the one who runs the dental office, but the one who actually hired me and is in charge of my project) is very cool and I really do enjoy working for her/with her. But she is making it hard on me to not get myself in trouble. It started last week when she called me to check in on my progress and in the course of conversation she told me that she got extensions, or a weave, or whatever the technical term is. Okay, I know her only as a woman with short hair, but I am going to prep myself for this. But nothing can prepare you for your boss walking in and saying "Ta-DAAAAAA" while modeling her new, expensive fake hairdo. Her pride and joy. Her mullett.
Yup. She chose to get a mullett. Her hair (as mentioned earlier) was short. The top was a little poofy, nothing bad, and it was a good look for her. Well she kept the top and got extensions in the back. Now she looks like a puffy Cher if she were to commit to doing 2 years at the Sands in Vegas. Or maybe Branson MO. How can I look at her the same way? More importantly, how can I not say something. Those who know me know that I cannot help myself sometimes. It is part of my impish charm. How long until I screw up and say something. Anybody want an over/under for THAT?
I really need to go, get back to work. But some things need to be shared.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
A few quick thoughts on syrup scented bathrooms and vampires in the basement
Howdy all! First of all, let me say how great it is to know that there are at least 3 people reading this without my prompting them. I know this because two of them commented, and the third told me he read the last post. I feel like Channel 45 back in the early days, before they joined up with fox, hell, before Captain Chesapeake even. But eventually I will find my affiliation and will climb to a solid 4th in the ratings. And then, look out Equalizer-era CBS!
Okay, let me get this out of the way. or some unknown reason, for the last week or so, the men's room here in Moleville has smelled stongly of maple syrup. I find this disturbing on many levels, the least of which is the fact that I have had absolutely NO craving for IHOP recently, and I love IHOP. So this is making me angry.
Next (and this is for The Lurker, a co-worker down here who will randomly read this and comment. Lurker is the only person I trust down here to read this thing), for some reason, it seems that a co-worker who shall henceforth be known as Soop (for Sooper Shopper. She has what can only be described as a mutant power to know the sale prices of every grocery store in the greater Baltimore Metro area, and to use this power to find the best rate for crab meat and Cheerios) has been eating Garlic Bread for breakfast on a regular basis, I would say 3 times a week on average (a week being strictly Mon-Fri for the sake of comparison). Now, you might wonder, how do I know this? Is it her breath? No. Her breath is not the issue. The problem is that she brings it to work, and then puts it in the microwave to cook it before having breakfast at her desk. Before I continue, I will freely admit to have eaten a few everything bagels here in Cubicle World in my time. Lately my breakfast of choice has been Kashi Twigs and Branches cereal, with enough fiber to clean out Jabba the hut from your lower intestine, but I digress. Everything bagels do have some garlic on them, and when toasted you can smell some garlic. But this aroma is beyond the pale. And when all you want to do is drink your coffee and wake up, the last thing you want to smell is the Olive Garden right next to you, because with 3 metric tons of garlic odor in your nose the Sugar Free French Vanilla creamer in your coffee starts to dance on our tastebuds in a whole new way. Not a combination I will be submitting to Glade for their next scented candle anytime soon.
Let's see, what else has been happening. OH YEAH, I remember. For the last two days, I have been subjected to middle aged to upper middle aged women (I have not yet cut them in half to count the rings, and a gentleman never up and asks. And neither do I), have been actively discussing their sex lives, mainly their history of losing virginity and so forth. *shudder* My mini vacation CANNOT start soon enough.
Oh yeah, one other thing. Mother Hen has been pissing me off a little lately. Small stuff, but annoying. Like when I turned in my petty cash request (I am sometimes called on to go on the road to courthouses across the state to gain judgement on deadbeats), I forgot to put the reason I was requesting mileage, namely the place I went to. Well, instead of just saying, "Ron, can you fill out this portion of the authorization request that ou forgot to fill out, she literally tossed it at my feet and said "You gotta fill it out all the way. Until then you ain't getting paid!" Well fuck you very much too. When you add in that it seems more and more likely that SHE was the one who called my boss about my music instead of talking to me directly, and she is officially on the poopy list. And yes, I am aware that I just said "poopy" exactly one sentence after dropping the "F" bomb. But it is my blog dammit! I will self edit as I please.
I will try to post again before the trip, but if I don't, stay tuned for pictures. I am planning on buying a digital camera before the trip and will have to share the glory that is Maine with all of you that have never gotten to experience it.
Until then, I leave you with an example of the World's Worst Contraceptive, as created in the mind of my friend Patrick in the EMMS show during the Comedy Fest this past weekend (we made over $1000 for Autism Awareness and had excellent response from the crowds. If you live in the greater Baltimore area, look for the Autism is PSA that was shot for the Festival to be aired on most if not all local stations during April, which is Autism Awareness Month. The last kid who speaks, who is also one of the first kids to speak, is Zachary, my buddy Greg's oldest son and who is autistic himself. He did GREAT in the spot and we are all VERY proud of him). Okay, long interlude, let me set up the joke again. World's Worst Contraceptive, by Patrick...
Bounty, the Slower Knocker Upper.
If you don't think that is funny, I'm going to Shtaaaaaaaaaaaaad
Okay, let me get this out of the way. or some unknown reason, for the last week or so, the men's room here in Moleville has smelled stongly of maple syrup. I find this disturbing on many levels, the least of which is the fact that I have had absolutely NO craving for IHOP recently, and I love IHOP. So this is making me angry.
Next (and this is for The Lurker, a co-worker down here who will randomly read this and comment. Lurker is the only person I trust down here to read this thing), for some reason, it seems that a co-worker who shall henceforth be known as Soop (for Sooper Shopper. She has what can only be described as a mutant power to know the sale prices of every grocery store in the greater Baltimore Metro area, and to use this power to find the best rate for crab meat and Cheerios) has been eating Garlic Bread for breakfast on a regular basis, I would say 3 times a week on average (a week being strictly Mon-Fri for the sake of comparison). Now, you might wonder, how do I know this? Is it her breath? No. Her breath is not the issue. The problem is that she brings it to work, and then puts it in the microwave to cook it before having breakfast at her desk. Before I continue, I will freely admit to have eaten a few everything bagels here in Cubicle World in my time. Lately my breakfast of choice has been Kashi Twigs and Branches cereal, with enough fiber to clean out Jabba the hut from your lower intestine, but I digress. Everything bagels do have some garlic on them, and when toasted you can smell some garlic. But this aroma is beyond the pale. And when all you want to do is drink your coffee and wake up, the last thing you want to smell is the Olive Garden right next to you, because with 3 metric tons of garlic odor in your nose the Sugar Free French Vanilla creamer in your coffee starts to dance on our tastebuds in a whole new way. Not a combination I will be submitting to Glade for their next scented candle anytime soon.
Let's see, what else has been happening. OH YEAH, I remember. For the last two days, I have been subjected to middle aged to upper middle aged women (I have not yet cut them in half to count the rings, and a gentleman never up and asks. And neither do I), have been actively discussing their sex lives, mainly their history of losing virginity and so forth. *shudder* My mini vacation CANNOT start soon enough.
Oh yeah, one other thing. Mother Hen has been pissing me off a little lately. Small stuff, but annoying. Like when I turned in my petty cash request (I am sometimes called on to go on the road to courthouses across the state to gain judgement on deadbeats), I forgot to put the reason I was requesting mileage, namely the place I went to. Well, instead of just saying, "Ron, can you fill out this portion of the authorization request that ou forgot to fill out, she literally tossed it at my feet and said "You gotta fill it out all the way. Until then you ain't getting paid!" Well fuck you very much too. When you add in that it seems more and more likely that SHE was the one who called my boss about my music instead of talking to me directly, and she is officially on the poopy list. And yes, I am aware that I just said "poopy" exactly one sentence after dropping the "F" bomb. But it is my blog dammit! I will self edit as I please.
I will try to post again before the trip, but if I don't, stay tuned for pictures. I am planning on buying a digital camera before the trip and will have to share the glory that is Maine with all of you that have never gotten to experience it.
Until then, I leave you with an example of the World's Worst Contraceptive, as created in the mind of my friend Patrick in the EMMS show during the Comedy Fest this past weekend (we made over $1000 for Autism Awareness and had excellent response from the crowds. If you live in the greater Baltimore area, look for the Autism is PSA that was shot for the Festival to be aired on most if not all local stations during April, which is Autism Awareness Month. The last kid who speaks, who is also one of the first kids to speak, is Zachary, my buddy Greg's oldest son and who is autistic himself. He did GREAT in the spot and we are all VERY proud of him). Okay, long interlude, let me set up the joke again. World's Worst Contraceptive, by Patrick...
Bounty, the Slower Knocker Upper.
If you don't think that is funny, I'm going to Shtaaaaaaaaaaaaad
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