I have my indifference to keep me warm

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

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

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

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

And I quote (from my own fevered brain):

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BSR

A Quick and Dirty Hit

It is Monday, and I felt the need to begin with some pirates and space bears (not to mention wacky robots and the skeleton of a dwarf). The wolf and the space ships shaped like derby hats (or acorns, I cannot decide) are also a nice touch.

I am not in the best of moods. Day job is pissing me off lately (I am tempted to just have a gigantic bitch session, but it would feel a little much like self centered whining, and even I have my limits when it comes to begging for pity, no matter what Wifey says. If it keeps up, prepare yourself for "The Whining"), and I have an ear infection right after kicking a cold. I am taking antibiotics so strong that I can actually taste the color blue. But (and it is the ability to notice things like this that is both my blessing and my curse) I am beginning to get worried about the possible side effects of this current medication. It seems that this medication may decrease the effectiveness of some birth control pills. I was supposed to ask my doctor or pharmacist for more information, but I neglected to notice this oh-s0-vital warning in time before I left the pharmacy the other day. Now that is bad enough news, especially since Wifey and I are not planning on having a child in the next 9-10 months or so. We will have to be careful because apparently my doctor or pharmacist believes that I am on "The Pill". And if that weren't bad enough, I am now at an increased risk for yeast infections! I need to be wary of any vaginal itching or discharge!

If I start to suffer from any vaginal itching or discharge, a yeast infection is the LEAST of my worries, don't you think?

A Special Christmas

The one I put up has apparently been removed. And I need to keep this alive.

Here we go again (again)

Yes it has been a few weeks. One day shy of three to be exact. I have been sick, Wifey is sick right now, and the BCF (Baltimore Comedy Festival) is in less than 2 weeks. Plus there are those pesky two jobs to deal with. So I have been a little bit busier than usual. But I shall strive to fill you in on all the pertinent info. Let me bullet point it so that I can disseminate the information to you faster and then move on to topics that require more detail.

• A hearty congratulations to Target who decided to wait until a week after the release of the DVD of Borat to get some ancillary merchandise in (2 shirts, neither one seemingly of very high quality). Both have the character of Borat on them. One says "Nice", the other "High Five". Way to stay on top of the trends Target!


• I have been married to Wifey for almost a year and a half, and have been in a relationship with her for over 5 years. Until this week, I never knew that when she was sick that everything smelled like fried chicken to her. I find that to be an awesome side effect of being sick, and fervently wish for it to be contagious. Also, I can only pray that our children are similarly blessed. Imagine the agony of being sick being muted by having everything you come in contact with smell like you are in Popeye's. How cool would that be?


• This morning on the drive in I was at a stop light and looked at the traffic waiting to come in the other direction. I saw 5 dump trucks in a row, all waiting out the light like me. To the vast majority of the population that would be completely innocent, but to me it was immediately a group of German terrorists smuggling gold, and it took every ounce of strength in my still half asleep, no coffee yet this morning body to not jump out of my car (or as close as I ever get to jumping out of anything), scream "Chester A. Arthur!" as my battle cry, and pull one of those guys (yes, I am assuming that the dump truck drivers were men. Woe to the gender-specific job profiler!) out of the cab and search him for a bundle of 10 quarters. Why my brain makes these kinds of connections (and rather quickly considering the time and the complete lack of artificial stimulation coursing through me) is one of those things that is either one of those things that draws you to me or makes you not want to invite me over to the house without first locking up all the soup spoons for fear that I will bend them Uri Gellar style.


• I have it on good authority that there is no Rule 6.


• I found a couple of old tapes that I made for a show I directed and have spent the last couple of days of commuting time listening to them. I would like to editorialize my opinions of these tapes, but I feel I cannot objectively opine on their meaning or whatever window into my psyche they may reveal. But they have been great fun for me, and I get the feeling that I will be avoiding radio for a while so I can listen to them a few more times.


• JabberJaws is back from a 2 week vacation. I entered my personal Cubicle Death Row to her sitting at her desk mumbling about the numbers she was entering into the system. It was just me and her. It was the longest 20 minutes of my recent life. I put on the Stevie Wonder, The Definitive Collection CD and tried to drown her out of my head. So far I have been unsuccessful, but the Lurker and Wonder Woman have joined me here and that has lessened the blow. Now she is grumbling something about old music. Since I have no idea how old the old bat is, I can only assume that to her, old music is fife and drum and that this "rock and or roll" (and possibly "jigaboo" music as I have heard the old guard refer to it) is as annoying to her as my Metallica albums were to my parents all those years ago (I knew to keep my NWA tapes only on headphones. They could handle loud guitar and screaming, but I don't think they were ready for the revolution)


• Finally, I need to tell the Ronnettes (and by extension Wifey) that my bid for President has very little overall to do with whether or not I do in fact take off my shirt and fulfill the prophecy of my blog's name or if it will just continue to be a vaguely identifiable reference to The Simpsons that only geeks like me and Larry the Upstairs Neighbor and I (and also my good friend C3PO the translator lawyer) get. The fact that the original email by one of the Ronnettes said that she would vote for me only if I did remove my shirt has evolved into a thread worthy of X-Files-o-philes (which I REALLY hope is the name for big fans of the show, because that would be awesome!) of bantering back and forth, with Wifey (seemingly) getting jealous. Of course, Wifey had to work into the thread a reference and picture of the 2 guys from Supernatural. Because, as I am sure you remember, "that show is made of awesome". And this week, for some reason, it smells like fried chicken.

Let me share the transcript of this thread with you (the names are removed to "protect" the "innocent"...

You’ll get our vote if we can finally see you shirtless!!!! J

I second that motion

All you hussies need to back off!

What’s the problem? I say if he doesn’t do
it, that’s false advertising!

Indeed

Again.
Whatever.
Some more.
Wenches

Hater!!!!! J

You’re psychosis is frightening

Ha hahaha hahaha Ha

Watch out, [name deleted]! I hear a demonic laugh! You might want to get your
sword and salt ready!

I know! I’m just going to have to call the hottest demon hunters ever to
help: [this is where the picture was]

What we? You have ulterior motives missy

That is where it ends. So now let me make a few points on this.

• I fail to see how demon hunters and TV shows that make Wifey moist and me somewhat pointless in her life (as long as she as them to fantasize over, along with her Sean Bean guy, I am basically window dressing with an extra limb if you catch my drift) have to do with my being the leader of the free world.


• It really wouldn't be false advertising unless I was actually elected. Big Shirtless Ron is just a name of a site. I never made a claim that I was the Ron in question. Yes it might be implied, but it is not implicitly me. And even so, I never make a claim as to WHEN I am shirtless. I could be shirtless right now (and wouldn't THAT be a fun way to freak out JJ. Hell, now I'm tempted to sit here and do my work in my boxers just to see what would happen. But I won't). I could be shirtless in my home (which I am quite frequently). But I will make this pledge right now. If I am in fact elected, I WILL give every supporter who requests it a signed 8x10 glossy of me posing completely shirtless (if you vote twice I might be bottomless too. With three, you get egg roll).


• I really don't have a third point, but I said I was going to make a few points, and at this point I had only made 2. Since it is universally accepted that 2 is a couple and 3 is a few, I felt the need to make a third point here, even if that point is just making the point that I have no actual third point.

See how Presidential I am? Not only did I keep my word by making three points, I used enough circular reasoning/double speak to confound the average person, thereby ensuring that I can package my words can be packaged any number of ways in order to either confirm or deny whatever platform I am currently supporting or railing against depending on the special interest group that is trying to buy my vote with their $500 plate fund raiser. I hope you are listening Order of the Blind Left-Handed Dentists with Tourettes Syndrome. Get that rubbery chicken and those waxy green beans on those plates and let's get a move on here. I need campaign coffers and a battle/war chest. Those are the things hey always mention on CNN and Face the Nation as the candidate's best friend.

Also, my old college buddy Middle Name Morgan sent me a link to the guns and dope party, urging me to affiliate with a party for all of the benefits that it entails. I will consider it, and I do like a lot of their platform policies. However, their reliance on ostriches is a little disturbing. Check it for yourself...

My Dear Friend,

I support your decision to run for
Commander-in-Chief. However, although running as an independent has both its
advantages and allure, having the backing of an actual political party may add
dignity and, if I may, a sense of gravitas. A suggestion: http://www.maybelogic.com/gunsanddopeparty/

I am going to take his sage advice and continue to make myself available for any party that wants to contact me in order to have me run with them as my backer. Until that time I will stay independent and will act accordingly.

I really need to get back to work now. Have and excellent weekend (I know it is only Wednesday, but I also know that odds are I will not be back online until next week. But before I go, one final thought. I was (and still am, although I can't afford it like I could in middle school and high school) a comic book geek. Due to the aforementioned lack of finances, I do not collect regularly anymore. I rely on Larry the Upstairs Neighbor for all the good stuff, and I read Wizard magazine pretty much every month. So I am not over informed on the latest Marvel MEGA CROSSOVER EVENT OF THE MILLENNIUM, Civil War. I know a good bit about it from my sources, but that is as far as it goes. So I really had no idea that they were going to kill off Captain America, and even if I know for a fact that they will retcon (comic geek talk for using a new story to go back and rewrite what happened, kind of a mea culpa, 4 color deus ex machina literary device) or just straight out deny the finality of the move with some convoluted explanation, I am still bothered by the death of ol' Cap. So I particularly liked this picture I saw (I hope this posts. You who are old friends of this thing know that me and picture posting don't always get along). Goodbye for now my little minions.

Quick and dirty addition. Blogger decided to post the picture up top. So now you went through this long ass post and now finally understand what the hell it is supposed to mean. Don't you feel complete now? I know I do.

BSR

And so the masses speak!

It has been all of 2 or 3 days since my big announcement, and already I have a volunteer to be my personal Secret Service escort (although if Fineous won't block the occasional Wifey forehead flick I don't know if I trust him to jump in front of a bullet for me. I might have to make him the Secretary of SNIP! btw - that's an inside joke, don't even try to figure it out), and I have 2 votes, but they are qualified with special requests. Now I have plans to be the President who finally stands up to special interest groups and stops the pandering to the lobbyists. However, in the interest of fairness I feel I must share the requests of my first official supporters, who I expect to see on the campaign trail any moment now. Spread the word my pretties, spread it!

First comment... You’ll get our vote if we can finally see you shirtless!!!!

and the second... I second that motion

Well ladies, first of all you will have to clear that with the First Wifey. Secondly, while I have no intention of making this a habit, if I do in fact win the election, I will pose for you with as few clothes as you wish. I might even have some glossies printed up.

Speaking of Wifey's role in the administration (and if we weren't speaking of it, we are now dangit!), she is openly campaigning for Secretary of Defense of Head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. To those requests I have unequivocally said "no". Anyone who knows Wifey knows how dangerous she is unarmed, or armed with only a butter knife of plastic spoon and her always with her propensity for accidental carnage. If you think I am going to let her be anywhere near the football you are crazier than I thought you were, whoever the hell you are (yes, I think you are all crazy. Even YOU). That being said, why even become President if you don't get to be all nepotistic and crony-ish (I don't know if they are words, but if they aren't I will decree them to be after the nomination. Kneel before Mirriam Webster, son of Jor-El!), so I will gladly accept any and all requests for official positions in my Cabinet or for any other appointments. However, in order for your request to be accepted, you must give me valid reason why you should have this position. And if this reason is presented in Haiku style, all the better.

As far as the positions go, pretty much all of them are open and available. The only one that anyone might have dibs on is Ed Norris (the former commissioner, not the local actor made good) for Secretary of Defense. He has no idea that I am planning on appointing him, and I would have to issue an executive pardon first, but I would probably need at least one person I haven't yet been drunk with or slept with (or in a few cases both) in an advisory position. And since he is (from what I have heard on the radio) one of the most rationally positive thinkers I am aware of, I wouldn't mind having him bending my ear. Besides, I figure he could clean up a lot of the bullshit currently blocking up the system.

Okay, I await more responses now, and am eager to hear questions regarding policy. Remember, the email to contact me is bigshirtlesspresident@gmail.com . All emails will be answered.

Join me next week for the running diary of the class I was sent to by my day job. 7 hour class, I lasted all of 70 minutes. As soon as the first break hit I rolled out and had a delicious, reasonably priced meal at Cracker Barrel. But until then, take care my pets, and let's keep moving all the way to Washington!

BSR in 2008

In the immortal words of Nathan Detroit, "ALLRIGHT ALREADY!!!!!"

Yeah, I promised you big news last week. But I can't resist the build-up. And besides, I forgot that I promised big news (luckily for you Larry the Upstairs Neighbor reminded me). But without any further delay...

Let me digress for a moment. I have always been fascinated by American History. I love reading books about it (ask Wifey). It is not a passion for me like sports or comedy, but it is one of my favorite diversions (and yes I could spend an entire weekend watching the History Channel and its brethren). Politics are not nearly as fascinating to me, excepting for where it intertwines with history (but the thing is that they intertwine a lot, so I have a somewhat keen interest in the topic).

To digress from the digression, last night Wifey not only threatened to kill me (I know she has been plotting this for some time. It is the main reason I don't insure myself more heavily. As long as she can't afford to live without me she has to keep me around. But if either of us hit the Lotto, I'm a grease stain on the pavement. Avenge Me!!!!!!!!!!). I often get silly tired at night around bedtime. Most of you have been so tired that you start laughing for no reason, or had some other kind of similar reaction. Well, I get like that 4-5 nights a week for stretches at a time. It is just one of those things, and I know it can be frustrating for Wifey. However, there was no call for her to suddenly proclaim that I am possessed, flick me right on the forehead, and start to tell me she is going to behead me and then burn me and cover me with salt (I think that was the order she mentioned them in. At that point I was too busy saying "son of a bitch that hurt!" regarding the flick on the forehead, right in the temple). This brings me to my point from a couple of weeks ago regarding Wifey's possibly unhealthy obsession with the show Supernatural and the like. However, for whatever reason the sword stayed on the wall and my head stayed on my neck, and I am able to make my big announcement to you.

For years I have said that if I didn't like the way the country was going I would do something about it. I would run for President. I meet all the requirements as outlined in the Constitution. I am (or will be by the time of the actual election next November) 35, I am a natural born American citizen, an I have never been convicted of a felony. And in case you were wondering, those are the only requirements.

So just in case you haven't figured it out, I am officially announcing my candidacy for President of the United States of America. I am running on an independent platform, I have no plans to affiliate myself with any political party. If any of the parties want to contact me in regards to running on their ticket, they may feel free to do so. In fact, I have created a email address specifically for comments and questions about my politics. I swear right now to answer every question I receive openly and honestly. You want to know where I stand on something? Ask me. I will answer. And what is this email address? Why it is bigshirtlesspresident@gmail.com .

I await your questions, and together we will march all the way to the White House!

Actually, I will probably drive. It would be a long walk and I don't want to be all out of breath and sweaty when I am sworn in.

BSPR

Yeah, it's a week late...

But Homestar Runner is still worth it.

http://www.homestarrunner.com/tgs12.html

BSR

5 Guys in a Limo

Like McDonalds, I'm lovin' it!

I am the very model of a modern major bootie hound

This is the kind of thing that pisses me off because I didn't think of it first.

The eye of the storm

I have to be careful, and quiet. Wifey is asleep right now. But she is the focus of this little post, and I dare not wake her up.

I am beginning to think that she has an obsession bordering on the unhealthy. That obsession is "Supernatural". I know she loves the show, and that is fine with me. It is a decent enough show, the episodes I have watched with her I have enjoyed, even though the show isn't really my cup of tea. But I am beginning to worry about her, and am now exploring 12 step programs (a program for addiction to a program? It's like a Dr. Seuss rehab!). I came home tonight to her just beginning to watch the episode from last night (that she watched last night while it was broadcasting but still felt the need to record). She says that it was only her second viewing, but as I listened to her quote lines from it with amazing accuracy (when she wasn't gut laughing and tee-heeing and basically laughing like ZZTop...a-haur-haur-haur-haur...ever heard La Grange?), I got the distinct feeling that she might have been telling a fib. I have no way of proving this theory, but sometimes your gut instinct is right on the money.

Now here is the thing. I know there are a few shows that I watch fervently, making sure I record them if I won't be able to watch them when they are broadcast (unless they are a show I can catch OnDemand with le digital cable). However, I don't both watch AND record, unless I am recording it for someone else to watch. And if I do record it for whatever reason, I don't watch it again (at least once, if not 3 or 4 times), constantly rewinding so I can re-re-live the best parts. Of course, this IS the show that Wifey describes as being "made of awesome". What does that mean you ask? Hell if I know I respond. You know her? You ask her to explain. And watch as she bounces around the room like Tigger while making squealing noises and panting (and possibly ruining underwear) while thinking of the two leads on the show.

I need to make it clear that I am okay with her having crushes on these two. I like to tease Wifey about her obsessions with Sean Bean and the guy who played the blond vampire on Buffy. I tell her that the vampire is as gay as the day is long and would therefore have no interest in her. She defends his heterosexual libido until she runs out of breath. Lather, rinse, repeat. It's not like I go all Tim Hardaway on the guy. It's just that he is so British and sunken cheeked that I am convinced that he must love roosters. And yes, I am calling pretty much all British actors gay. Prove me wrong. And send your hate mail to me care of Ronnie Patriot. Besides, I get Maxim and Stuff (and until its recent untimely demise, FHM. By the way, how do I get a refund on the balance of my subscription to that?) every month, and they are about a half of a Mother-May-I baby step away from being porn. If you ever read any of those, play my favorite magazine based game since the "you have to find the rabbit on the cover before you can read the issue of Playboy" game we played in college, where a subscription to Playboy is almost one of the pre-reqs to getting your degree. But I digress...

Grab an issue of one of those men's magazines and flip through it until you get to one of the photo layouts. And then find all the pictures where they had to airbrush out at least some nipple. It averages 4.something last time I checked.

So it's not like either one of us is being a prude here. But her need to watch this show (and the fact that just watching an episode that you just watched about 24 hours ago wore her out so much that she needed to pass out on the couch almost immediately) tell me that I might have to seek professional help for her. Is there a Rorshack test for the CW?

Okay, gonna run now so I can get to bed. BSR is tired, and he has to go into the day job tomorrow (Saturday) in order to get caught up on a few things. But I will leave you with this...in the next week I am going to have a MAJOR announcement. One that will affect EVERY ONE of you. What is this big announcement? Check in next week and you will find out.

BSR (the cliffhanger King)

how long can this go on?

I can't help it, it is too damn funny to me. But if I can't get this image out of my head soon, I am going to have to go low carb.

more

I hope I am never too old for this kind of humor.

Words don't do it justice

Safe for work, as long as fart noises are okay.

I was going to bring sexy back, but I forgot my receipt

I love customer service.

BSR

STOP CALLING ME!

Wifey told me that there is a small clamoring for a new post out there in the Ronnettes realm, and who am I to keep them from entertainment?

Before I get too deep into this I need to say something. Like 99% of the population we have caller ID on the home phone. Well I do not know who "Unknown Caller" is, but I need to tell him (he is too aggressive to be a she) that he needs to go to the courthouse and get his rather unfortunate name changed, because I keep thinking that he is someone I don't know so I refuse to answer the phone. I just know that I am missing some important news, but he never leaves a message. Which is kind of rude if you think about it.

Okay, now I need to call out the "annoying c-words" that are at Wifey's office annoying her (I have been assured by Wifey herself that none of the Ronnettes are responsible for her being all crankified). Listen you schmuck(s), you are making it much more difficult for me to score with Wifey on those rare occassions that we are both home and conscious. I can't talk her out of her lacey underpinnings if she comes home and needs to vent for an hour and a half on how much you are pissing her off. And I got needs, people. So please, for my sake, wait until she is unable to accept tickets for the Ferris wheel before you work her nerves. I have already written off that week, so if you are going to work her into a gigantic ball of anger, THAT is the week to do it. On the plus side for me, if you wait until then to get her dander all a flutter, she will probably kill or at least maim you. That will eliminate a source of tension for her, which will allow me to release more of my own tension, as well as fill special balloons with the equivalent of a mid-major city's worth of potential people.

Now that Wifey is all blushing and cursing the day she ever told her co-workers about this site, I can move on to the business at hand...

I love my mother-in-law. I truly do. But she is going to have to learn that you do not start your car, leave it running, and go back in the house when you live on Belair Road in the city of Baltimore. Aberdeen? Go right ahead. Hell, anywhere in Harford County should be pretty much safe. But not when you live 20 feet from a stop for the 15 bus. It just ain't a sound business decision. And not only did we have to deal with all the stress of this, but since she used her regular set of keys, we had to change the lock on her door. Not to mention that my leather vest was in the car to be taken to the cleaners. Now, I am not going to argue with the $200 that insurance is paying us, but it is not easy to find a leather vest that compliments the portly gentleman without making him look like Dozer in Mask (the one with Eric Stoltz, not the one with Jim Carrey). "this is red..."

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Now, what the hell else is going on? Oh, I know. BM (Best Man) and his wife had their baby, a lovely little girl named Olivia. I say that she is lovely even though I have not actually met the little ball of skin and poopy diapers. I am just going to assume that she is lovely until I find out otherwise.

My other college friend (the one who is not Fineous) had her 2nd child, a cutie named Helena. Helena I have met in person. She is the size of a cup of yogurt. Which should help the family as they try and move furniture around for her to have some personal space. Almost any closet and a space heater will do for now.

Seriously, she is a doll (literally. I couldn't resist that one either). And both Moms and both babies are doing well, so it is good news all around.

There hasn't been any more discussion between Wifey and myself as far as us making life out of random DNA couplings as of yet. Now she is pining for a puppy from a lady she knows. It might slow down her clock, or at least hit the snooze bar for a while. And best of all, puppies are a lot cheaper, and when they shit on the floor you can just rub their nose in it and no one from Child Services comes to your door to bitch you out.

Now, it is only 2 days until Valentine's Day, and I know that a lot of guys out there are panicking about what to do for their lovely ladies (or their lovely bottoms if you are in Mt. Vernon. Hi Fuzz!). Well if you are looking here for advice you are a fool. I got Wifey drunk at a party and got her to say "yes" to marrying me, and she only keeps me around because I dress up for her. And that French Maid outfit chafes. Plus I am pretty sure that after the accident she figured that she had better tie the knot, because next time she might not be so lucky. Sure, you can do flowers and candy and be the most stereotypical asshat out there. Jewelry? I swear to all that I hold holy that if ANYONE pulls one of those "he went to JARED" moves, I will destroy you all. Stuffed animals? PAJAMAGRAM? What the hell do I know? I didn't get married until I was 32. so what is BSR doing for his lovely lady this Wednesday? Making a nice (hopefully romantic) dinner and drinking a gallon of pineapple juice.

If you know what that means kudos for you. I am hoping Wifey remembers. Because I don't cook while wearing a school girl outfit for just anybody, and I don't do it for free. And damn it woman, I am not some piece of meat, and yes I am ticklish there!

Now while you go bleach your brain of the thought of me in a plaid miniskirt, I will move on to other things.

BSR

A quick thanks

Thank you all for being so patient during my run of lack of time and/or writer's block. I am beginning to feel the mojo again. Mothers, lock up your daughters!

No Added Pressure HERE, TYVM

As you may recall, Wifey recently dropped the thought that she would like to start trying to have a child soon. Granted she told me in the middle of the night while lying in bed all but asleep, but still, communication is the key. And lately she has been oohing and aahing and generally cooing and making squeaky dolphin noises whenever anything remotely cute comes across her path. The pictures of kittens and puppies she got in her inbox the other day caused MUCH consternation as she squeaked and squealed and made dogs all over the neighborhood bark. She has actually put a picture of the Boob Thief up as her wallpaper at work. And God forbid she sees one of those old Michelin commercials. I might never get her back from one of those.

I am waiting for the day I come home to a wall full of those baby pictures by that one female photographer who always puts them in costumes and backgrounds so sickeningly sweet that I need a shot of insulin when I look at them. And yes, my sister has 4 or 5 of them in the half-bathroom in her house. Just what I need as I take a leak, babies in costumes that make their faces look like the middle of a sunflower staring at me. Makes it crawl back up every time.

Well, the guy who was the Best Man at my wedding and his wife are expecting any day now. He called me last night, but I didn't have an opportunity to call him back. I will strive for that tonight. And now I find out that good ol' Fineous Reese (he of the inverted blog to your right) and his lovely wife are also going to be Mommy and Daddy (not necessarily in that order). I find this out from Larry the Upstairs Neighbor who tells me the info (along with the knowledge that someone we both know is engaged. The fact that EVERY SINGLE PERSON he has told the news of the engagement to that knows this person has said "wait, he's not gay?" or has somehow referenced that his betrothed will make an excellent beard. So let's see how THAT plays out) last night. So I clicked on Fineous' blog and lo and behold, it is the big announcement. And there is even a public apology to me for me having to hear about it online instead of from him. So let me say this Mr. Reese, apology accepted, but completely unnecessary. Just name your first borne after me and all will be forgiven. BSR Reese has a nice ring to it, does it not?

Even if he chooses not to appease my most simple request, he is still forgiven. After all, he is a bud. And you don't stay friends for 16 years (ye GODS!) without being able to forgive something as simple as this. Or as simple as me. Hey Fin, call me.

Now to the task at hand. There is one major problem with all my friends (or their respective spouses) getting knocked up like rabbits in March. It opens a whole new category of people entering into the "when are you two going to have a kid" arena. Random requests from in-laws and outlaws and blood kin and so forth were tolerable, since we don't see most of them that much. But now that my friends are popping out heirs I am starting to really feel pressure to seed the field. To plant some crops. To put a bun in the oven. In other words, to knock up my wife.

Maybe if she promises to pose for pictures like Demi Moore did in Vanity Fair (or whatever damn magazine it was), I would feel a little better about the whole thing.

BSR

the Land of Lesbians

I am all for diversity. I believe that sexual orientation should be as much a factor in being hired as race or qualifications for the position (okay, maybe qualifications for the position should carry a LITTLE extra weight. I am just tired of hunting for a new job, because apparently I am qualified for but two things...Jack and Shit. And Jack left town. Remember, shop smart. Shop S-Mart. YOU GOT THAT?!?!?) The reason I bring this up is that the Target where I am employed has become a haven of Sappho. I don't know if it is a theme throughout the company or if my store just has a unique concentration of Butch's NOT NAMED Patrick, but lately it seems I can't take 3 steps without running into a lesbian. And by no means am I saying this is a bad thing.

First of all, I am off the market, so it isn't like I am hunting for a hot piece of Target Team Member in the utility closet during my state mandated break period. So there is no competition. I will say that the vast majority of Muff Divers Local 127 are more manly than pretty much the entire IT department here at the hospital, so there isn't a whole lot of temptation there to go thinking things like "she just hasn't had the right man yet". I am fairly confident that in most cases she IS the right man.

Secondly, there is nothing cooler than a woman taking the time to point out a hot woman that has entered the store, and it is even more awesome when she takes the time to check out the ass with you as she enters. Apparently most lesbians aren't into boobs like they are ass and thighs. Me, I appreciate the whole package. I'm just a renaissance man that way.

Last night one of the Local 127 was working in Guest Services when I walked over to drop off some re-shop (merchandise that needs to be re-shelved for those who don't know what "re-shop" means). She was staring intently at one of the registers, so asked her what was going on. She proceeded to tell me (in rather graphic detail) not only that there was a (for lack of a better term) "quality piece of ass" at Register 7, but what she would like to do to those "thick thighs" and "juicy ass". Now how she could tell the relative juice quantity in the posterior of this particular lady is beyond me. I know if you are shopping for melons you are supposed to shake them and sniff them and even knock on them. I am hoping that she did not do this, because odds are it would be misinterpreted, at least initially. Although it would be fun to try and fill out that report. I know spell-check would have a blast with it.

Working two jobs may suck the vast majority of the time, but at least I get to be complimented by lesbians with such kudos as "If only we didn't have the same taste in women", and "it's too bad you are a guy. You would make a great girlfriend". To which I could only reply "I was thinking the exact same thing about you".

BSR

Back from the abyss

Hey everybody. It has been awhile, I know. But it has been a long few weeks. Actually I really don't have anything of note to say right now, but I have felt remiss in my duties as the opinion-maker for my minions, and I just wanted to let you know that I am still thinking of you all, and hopefully I will soon have something worth telling you about.

But I wouldn't count on it.

BSR

Raindrops on roses...

One of my favorite things to do is listen to conversations being spoken in languages other than English. I don't like to be directly involved in them, just be in the periphery listening to them. Why, you ask?

Go on, ask. I won't tell you until you do.

I'm waiting...

Say it out loud. I don't care if you are at work or home or wherever the hell you are. Say "why?". No one will look at you any funnier than they already do. In fact, say it loudly. If nothing else, everyone else in your office will be less inclined to screw with your desk and desktop bric a brac.

Okay, thank you.

I love to listen to conversations in other languages because I love it when they have to say random words in English. It goes a little something like this...

"Dberoiub aeoifjv naer eiouf poirue e iu piu aeorui niaf n oern Coca Cola erfvjierio u aio r oun aeoruageroiun..."

That is always fun for me. So imagine my delight when I was randomly clicking the "next blog" button while a stoned Wifey plays "Simpsons Hit and Run" and randomly says things like "DAMMIT! and "Stupid black vans!!!", and I came across the little jem linked on the title. It is the best. And the pictures and titles of each post are completely senseless.

Nothing like a slice of down home awesomeness to start the New Year!

BSR

BUSH!!!!!

Now I can't stop.

James Brown's Celebrity Hot Tub!

I feel the need to celebrate the lives of both great men that passed away this past week.

Well well well...

Remembering a legend

I have always thought that Gerald Ford got a bum rap as President. He had an impossible job taking over as the hand picked replacement of Nixon BY Nixon. The country will miss him.

With that being said, this is fraggin' hilarious.

BSR

I love celebrating Memorial Day in March

and THAT is what will be happening sooner that you think. Yesterday was the day after Christmas. I had to work both jobs. When I went into Target I walked past the display of greeting cards. I expected to see the leftover Christmas cards on clearance, but there was not a Christmas card to be found on display. But guess what was there in their stead. I'll give you three guesses...

If you said "Valentine's Day" you made the right call!

DECEMBER 26TH and I am inundated with VALENTINE'S DAY CARDS?!?!?!?!? Why not a big display filled with seed packets for Arbor Day? Is it too early to Put out the Halloween costumes?

And why does Valentine's Day need a 2 month lead in? Is it just to torture the husbands/boyfriends of the world? We have finally gotten past the "subtle" hints for a Christmas gift that comes in a small box labeled Kays or Zales or Jared or some other damn place, and now we have to see and hear MORE ads for "show her you love her. Say it with diamonds". Sure, and next year I'll say it with bankruptcy (where is a high hat sound effect when you need it?). I am lucky that Wifey is not jewelry obsessed (although she DID make 3 separate "suggestions" for next year's Christmas gift. And also took each opportunity to remind me that she has a birthday and we have an anniversary before Christmas rolls around again. If anyone who reads this goes to one of those fancy Catholic churches I see on the television and in movies PLEASE light one of those cool altar candles for me. I have always wanted someone to do that for me and I don't think it has ever been done. And while I appreciate the sentiment, the one you have in the hallway next to the bathroom just doesn't have the same effect, even if it DOES make the entire house smell like sugar cookies or fresh linen or whatever fricking candle-of-the-month Yankee Candle is hawking this month).

In case you are wondering, Wifey is doing pretty well/good (I like to use improper grammar sometimes, but not all the time. This way I get to do both in one sentence) with her recovery. This surgery was a little more intense that the last one, and she will actually have to go for physical therapy this time. But she keeps promising me increased flexibility, and for that I will get her whatever damn resistance equipment she needs.

Also, last night we had a bit of a conversation.

--Sidebar--

Wifey has complained on more than one occasion about my inability to fall asleep when we go to bed. I will usually start to ramble on about any number of topics. And because my body is tired but my brain has too much information collected throughout the day to process, I will get kind of goofy at bedtime. Anyone who knows me knows that goofy is not much of a stretch for me anyway, but I do feel bad about subjecting Wifey to this. At least I did until last night. Last night I came home exhausted. I have not slept well for the better part of a month, and going back to the 2-a-day grind after 4 straight days of one or no jobs wore me out. So I laid down and got bundled up in my blankets and quickly began nodding off. Well Wifey came downstairs and got herself all ready for bed and decided that she wanted to talk. And talk.

AND TALK.

I was silently praying that the drugs they gave her for the pain would kick in and she would go into WifeyComaVille (soon to be a theme restaurant by Jimmy Buffet), but no such luck. I began to think that she hadn't taken any lately. And THAT is when she decided to drop the bombshell on me

--Sidebar to the sidebar--

Wifey's Mama gave each of us a movie and a book for Christmas. She gave me the Special Edition of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which I never bought because I have the original on video but have wanted to buy since it came out. So that was in fact an awesome gift. The book she gave me (and Wifey got her own copy of the same book) was "The Purpose Driven Life". I am looking forward to reading this book. But I was not expecting the personal inscription in the book (and the matching one in Wifey's book) that referred to the journey from birth through life through MORE BIRTH. If I didn't know better I would think she was pining for grandkids (it has always seemed weird to me that the parents of a female would want their daughter to get pregnant, even after she is married. That means that someone had to, well, you know. And at this point in my life I cannot fathom a parent, ESPECIALLY a father, being okay with someone touching his daughter even after she is made an honest woman. I do not see my ambiguity on this fading if Wifey and I have a daughter. God I hope we have all boys. I don't think I will survive the ulcers that having a daughter would give me). So it seems that the pressure cooker is finally on us. My parents have 2 grandkids already (courtesy of my sister and brother-in-law) so there is a release valve there. Mama-in-law has no such outlet for her desires. Well...

--back to original sidebar--

Wifey started talking about being ready to try and have a kid starting sometime next year.

I have wanted kids for a while (with Wifey I started thinking about it on or about our 3rd date, as I was trying to figure out a way to get her in the sack. Back then she was much better at holding her liquor, so that wasn't a viable option. I wound up having to use charm. I didn't know I had it. There is a good chance I don't. But whatever the hell it was, she bought it. YAY me!). When we first got serious enough to discuss marriage, she said that she wanted to wait 5 years. I said I didn't want to wait that long. She said she would consider 2 or 3, but she wanted us to have some time first. I agreed with her that it was a good idea, and I am glad she said it because we haven't exactly had a whole bunch of time with each other as it is. If we had some tiny poop machine in the house it might have become impossible to see each other at all. The news that she is thinking about getting ourselves ready to have kids as soon as next year (health and financial planning will be necessary) is something I have been waiting to hear her say.

But not on a Wednesday at 1:45 in the morning when I have an alarm clock that will be going off in less than 4 hours.

And here is the thing. I don't know if she did take any of her "happy fun pills" last night, and if she did I don't know what time she took them. I know that she was a little (okay, more than a little) legally stoned at my sister's house Christmas Day, and she mentioned my sister-in-law's munchkin as one of the impeti (what is the plural for impetus? Impetusses? Impetae?) for the decision. My fear is that hillbilly heroin and watching a tot wander about got her primordial maternal instincts all worked up into a frothy lather, but in a week she will be back on the propho-train, which means I am still playing for USC (please tell me you get that).

We didn't talk much about it after she dropped her "KNOCK ME UP" sign on my head and then rolled over to go to sleep. I left this morning before she was awake enough to realize that I had to go to work. I am waiting to see what conversations we have tonight. Rest assured I will let you know the good parts.

BSR

Why Letterman is better than Leno

Because Leno would never even think of this, let alone try it. This is Carson quality.

a Harry Potter movie I would go to see

boobs rule.




that is all.

Dick in a Box

I have been having trouble posting videos since I switched my blog over to the beta thing they want us all to be on so bad. And to make matters worse, the version of this that I posted a few weeks ago is no longer available on YouTube. So now I have been trying to re-post for a while. Hopefully this works and it will be on. Of course if you are reading this than it worked. If you are not reading this than it didn't, but that makes my disclaimer worthless.

I need more coffee.

Why "celebrities" suck

A recent post should tell you how I feel about Rosie O'Donnell, so I won't rant about her again. But she has once again ingrained herself into a story that she has nothing to do with. This time, however, she is bringing another media whore along for the ride.

(Does anyone else think that Barbara Walters is watching Rosie as she picks her cause of the week and realizes that she has become the captain of the Titanic and Rosie is the iceberg?)

Rosie has decided to go after the moral qualifications of Donald Trump after he decided to not fire her as Ms. USA (I no longer have the mental acuity to figure out how the hell he got control of Ms. USA or how the hell he still makes himself relevant to anything. Trump has whored himself out so much that he has actually become chaste again. How this is possible is beyond me, but I think it is true. Any day now he is going to start selling Trump brand Air, or some line of crap like that, and my head will explode from the sheer force of gazing at his hubris). Read the article HERE and then come back.

Okay, so Rosie talks trash about Trump. Trump comes back trashing her and saying that she isn't as popular a tv show personality as she claimed to be (and in a STUNNING display of self control Trump goes more than 30 seconds talking about television without pimping the new season of the Apprentice! Or more likely the article edited that part out). But the best part is the end...

"She's out of her mind. I will probably sue Rosie for a number of reasons. I'm worth a lot of money. She doesn't tell the facts," he added.

Did you see it? "I'm worth a lot of money". When I read that, all I could see in my head was Francis in "Pee Wee's Big Adventure". In fact, I am waiting for these two titans of piety to break into a "I know you are but what am I?" argument any minute now. And when it does happen, let us all hope that Matt Lauer is nearby with a camera and a microphone. Why Matt Lauer? I have no earthly idea, it just sounded right in my head. I think that Matt Lauer will bring balance to the cosmos somehow. I just don't know how as of yet. But as soon as I do I will let him know, because we all know that the cosmos could use a little more balance. And Jenga (see the next post for an explanation).

BSR

The office Christmas Party

Yes, the Christmas spirit is rearing its ugly head here in Moleville, as well as all around the hospital. The Dental Office has decorated to the point of nausea (but if I can get a picture of the penguin that they put my face on for you to see I will. Not for my own ego, but to prove that I no longer HAVE an ego), and BOTH offices are having their community Christmas meal. Moleville is doing brunch, Dental is going for the more traditional lunch. Both pot luck. Both out of luck if they are expecting my participation. I am too tired to pretend I like somebody's bean dip, and the schmuck who brought Dunkin Donuts to the pot luck is a lazy bum who should have put more thought into their effort and let ME be the one who picks up a dozen Boston Kremes (that is how they spell it there) on the drive in.

BTW - a big pet peeve of mine is that one person who signs up to bring plates (and sometimes will say that they are bringing napkins too). That is just a bullshit pot luck category. And here's the thing, you know you will see them again in about 6 months. At some point the office will do some kind of summer shindig, and you know this jackass will sign up to bring condiments. OOOOOOOHHHHHH! "You're going to bring mustard AND mayonnaise? Are you sure your budget can handle relish? Oh, this? This is my German potato salad. The recipe has been in my family for generations, brought from Europe when my grandparents immigrated here from Poland in 1925. But enough about that, is that HUNT'S ketchup? Wow, you shouldn't have!"

But anyway, I have chosen to exercise the right NOT to walk as far as office meals are concerned. And if I needed any extra motivation for my not joining the festivities, I have been given it in spades. SWAN (She Without A Nickname) decided to bring in her portable karaoke machine. Why would ANYONE feel the need to own one of these things? Do they really host parties and break the thing out and next thing you know it is the happening place to be? I always picture it like those old Jenga commercials. There is a party in this nice, swanky condo and 4 of the beautiful people that occupy this world are playing with little pieces of balsa wood that have been stacked in some random pattern. Well soon enough all the doctors and lawyers and impossibly successful people attending this soiree have stopped what they are doing and EVERYONE is watching the Jenga game. It is THAT fascinating. And everyone is "ooohing" and aahing" at every move, and perfect teeth are exposed with every genuine laugh that can only emanate from the soul of a truly content person as they vicariously enjoy the game of Jenga. And then, the look of surprise, nay, the look of HORROR when one of the players (I think it is the attractive blond lady) pulls the piece that makes the Jenga fall down. Followed by UPROARIOUS laughter and a few playful punches on the shoulder (and I am pretty sure I saw a high five somewhere in the background) as EVERYONE cheers and claps at the end of the most funnest game EVER!!! The only redeeming thing about Jenga is that as long as you have more than 2 players you have more than 1 winner. There is always one loser, but everyone else wins. And that can do nothing but improve your feeling of self worth, unless you REALLY suck at Jenga.

But I digress. Back to the personal karaoke machine. I just picture SWAN standing in her living room, disheveled in her work clothes that she never took off, a few candles lit as she sings "All By Myself" and fights off the tears. Why is it that I almost find the thought of that funny? I just cannot stomach the thought of JJ (who is here on a THURSDAY! 2 days in a row of this claptrap AND a holiday party marred with controversy, which I will get to in a minute) and some random guy from IT singing "Paradise by the Dashboard Light". Mother Hen breaking into her rendition of "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend"...you get the idea.

BREAKING CONTROVERSY NEWS!!!!!!!!!!

Somebody brought bagels from Panera (another bastard who stole my idea!), and JJ decided that they should be taken out of the container that they were brought in (that cardboard carrying case thing). And she took them out and put them on a tray. And she used her bare hands. Now we get to the two sides to this. One, I don't want JJ (or anyone else who hasn't just washed their hands) touching food that I am going to eat. But on the other hand, the way the Hens have gone off the deep end about this (pulling each other into remote corners of the office to share this information and cluck disapprovingly at her) seems a bit extreme for an old lady that pulled a few bagels out of a box. It is not like we work in the OR and she just stepped out of surgery here. A little reason is all I ask for (and will never get as long as I am here).

Okay, I gotta run. Brunch starts in less than half an hour, and I have to post something else before I get the hell out of here.

BSR

The Trouble with Tinsel

Sometimes you have to promote yourself, right? Besides, this is funny and YOU know it!

BSR

Keeping it Light on a Tuesday

If you are like me and starting to really feel the stress of the holidays, you need this too. You come here to view the bizareness that is my brain, well this might just be my theme song.

BSR

My Christmas Gift To You

I would give this to a bunch of you, but Wifey would make it so that I would never be able to give it again, so I will save it for her. But wrapping it will be fun. Not as much fun as her unwrapping it, but fun nonetheless.

Just follow these three simple steps:

1. Cut a hole in a box.
2. Put your junk in that box.
3. Make her open the box.

Justin Timberlake is officially a funny mofo. He makes damn good pop music, and now he has moved up a couple of notches in my book.

BSR

I totally forgot to mention this

So like most men I like tohave something to read when I am on the crapper. I think it is a genetic thing, why men need to read to excavate the end of the food chain. But be that as it may, because of this, I have a couple of magazines and a book or two at work that I will take with me when I go above ground. One of the books on my shelf is the latest by Brad Meltzer, Book of Fate. If you have the chance I suggest you pick it up, it is a fun read. Within the plot of the story the Freemasons are used pretty liberally (this seems to be a theme lately. I am calling it the Dan Brown Effect). Well, my real boss (not the one I have to deal with upstairs from time to time) came to see me at my cubicle last week before she left for her Christmas vacation, and she noticed the book on my shelf. But it isn't the name of the book or the author that she noticed. It was the sign of the Masons on the spine that she saw. She asked me if I was a Freemason. Thankfully for me I just answered with a generic "no" and didn't make any flippant comments. This is a good thing because she then told me that her husband was a Freemason. And all I could think was that I had better be careful, lest I bring the wrath of the organization down on me. Which means that I had better conduct my job search with care.

If he was also a Scientologist, I would be totally screwed.

BSR

F$@k You....Letterman

This is how I plan to quit either one (or hopefully both) of my jobs.

A change is (hopefully) a'brewin'

I am once again openly lookingfor new daytime employment. I am officially tired of having two jobs and want to experience all that my digital cable has to offer. It isn't really anything that has happened at one job or the other that has me unhappy, it is just the general level of exhaustion that has enveloped me. It could very well be that after the holiday season ends and my hours at Target are cut back to more normal levels that I will feel differently. But even so, I would love to have evenings and weekends for myself (and for Wifey) for a change. It has been pretty much a constant for the last 5 years, and I think I have earned it. Of course, I may be in the minority in having that opinion.

I just hope that if I am blessed with a new job, that it gives me as much ammunition and material as the ones I have now have given me.

Also, a quick, open apology to Post Script (an old college friend). I am very sorry that Wifey and I didn't make it out to the Gathering of the P's (long story). We were just both too exhausted, and even when we talked about going and decided that we would go and make an appearance, we wound up vegging out and just staring blankly at whatever we were doing and never made it to the "put on clothes you can wear out in public" part of going out. And to the Honorary P, happy belated birthday. I hope your "29+2" birthday was everything you hoped it would be and more. I will endeavor to make it to "29+3". I promise.

BSR

I am so damn old

Last night while at Target, someone got on the walkie to ask for help in locating a product for a guest. It was obvious that the team member had no idea what the product was. As she was asking about it, you could hear the confusion in her voice, and her hesitation to speak the name of the product for fear of saying it wrong, and the underlying suspicion that the guest was just messing with her was palpable.She finally got the name of the product out. It was at that point that at least 2 people spoke as if this was in fact a made up thing because they had also never heard of it. And what was this product that was causing all of this consternation?

Silly Putty.

I am going to go and have some Metamucil and lie down until Matlock comes on.

Oh my sciatica.

Welcome...to the SAPPY

Okay, I am on the downward hill to 34. After that, it is 35 and then straight on to 40. In all seriousness, I am okay with that. I have never minded getting older. I always figured that it beat the alternative. But like any person, I have had to come to grips with the fact that I am not 25 any more and I cannot do what I used to. I cannot go out to the bar on Tuesday night, drink until close, get to bed at 3, wake up at 7 and get to work and actually perform my assigned tasks. Hell, I can barely stay up until 12 anymore without losing some serious functionability(and I don't care if that is a made up word. It works perfectly for what I need it for).

The big thing I have had to come to grips with is that my career is not where I thought it would be. I am not living as an actor, getting paid to entertain people. I also didn't plan on meeting Wifey and making the name more than just prophecy. I didn't plan on buying a house in the city and planning on raising a family (eventually, when I can get Wifey drunk enough to let me finish what we started without a thin layer of lubricated recycled tire in the way).

And this led me to the question that I had to answer: If I never accomplish what I had set out to do, if I am destined to live a life of anonymous servitude to unseen corporations, would I be happy? Is it enough?

What surprised me is how quickly I answered the question. I didn't have to think about it at all. The answer is yes. I may not have "made it" like I thought I was going to, but I made it like I found out I wanted to. Do I want to work 2 jobs, 65+ hours a week? Do I want to wear a polyester guards uniform and be laughed at by a bunch of Calvert Hall punkasses who are just waiting to turn 16 so Mommy and Daddy can buy them a new Hybrid or Jeep or whatever the cool car of the month is? No. Do I want to toil away in obscurity just for the "bitchin" pension plan and the corporate matched 401K (depending on the job)? Not really. But if I never move past this staion in my life, will I be able to look at myself in the mirror and be satisfied in who I am? Yup. Because I know that I am going to be a good father, and I will find a way to provide for my family, and anything else is gravy.

But that doesn't mean I will be satisfied performing at Spots when I am 55, doing "To Kill A Mockingbird" or "Fiddler On The Roof" AGAIN. I want to at least be doing the same old community theatre claptrap at Everyman. Is that too much to ask?

BSR

Violated

Okay, I had another dr. appointment today at the wound center for that ongoing leg thing. Last week my dr. said to me that he wanted ultrasounds done on both my legs to check for any possible problems caused by the built up fluids flowing back up my legs. Okay, no problem. It is precautionary, and I am all about being precautious. So I go in this morning, they cut the boots off (which they have to do weekly) and send me down to have the tests done. THIS is where the fun begins. The lady at the front desk of the wound center office gives me directions. I follow them and end up at the desk that she described to me. But they have no record of me having an appointment. I tell her that they scheduled it last week from the wound center. She searches and nothing. She asks around the office if there was an add-on. Nothing. So she tells me to have a seat and they will figure this out. Eventually it is discovered that I was sent to the wrong place. The lady who sent me here comes down to lead me to the correct place. I get there at 10:09am. I know this because my appointment was for 10am and I asked the front desk what time it was so I could sign in. I sign in and have a seat, and wait.

And wait.





And WAIT.

Now Wifey needs the truck, and I was told by the wound center that I should be done by 11am no problem. I still have to go back up to them and get new boots. I finally get tired of waiting after I hear them tell some guy that just signed in that the wait shouldn't be more than about 15-20 minutes. I chuckle because I have already been waiting for 52 minutes (yup I was counting). I see them call back the third person that arrived after me. I ask them when I am going to be brought back. They ask me when I signed in. I tell her it has been almost an hour. She says "nuh-uh" (thank God she used layman's terms. If she had denied me in dr. speak I would probably still be there scratching my head in confusion). I show her where my name is on the now discarded list that had been all scratched off except for my name (it is folded back to expose the next page that is about 15 names deep with 13 of them scratched off, which means that the patient has been seated in the back). She asks for my insurance card. SHE COULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT A DAMN HOUR AGO?!?!? But at last I am brought back to the men's changing room and given the "Holy crap he's friggin' HUGE" robe to put on (they had to go to another room to get it. I am pretty sure that it is usually reserved for women who have entered their fourth trimester. And yes I know I said "fourth" and "trimester". THAT is the joke dammit!

And now we get to the violation. I was told to strip down to my underbritches (I was allowed to keep my shirt on under my robe. Yay for humility!), an I was taken to an examination room. There I met Jan (pronounced "Youn", like "young without the final "G" sound), the East German woman who obviously moved to the states once the Wall fell and all the torture jobs got outsourced to the Phillipines. She has me lay on the examination table, and pulls out a sheet to lay across my upper legs. I am thinking that we are in for a relatively simple procedure, so I put my head back. And then...

I know that women subject themselves to all sorts of degrading exams when they see their GYN. I don't know the precise nature of these exams, but I have heard enough talk to know that stirrups are not fun and that there is apparently some tool that looks like a duck's bill made of metal that remains at a constant temperature of 24 degrees Kelvin.In the grand scheme of things, a man's visit to the proctologist consists of a minute or two of "So Doc, do you like to go BOWL-OWL-OH-MY-GOS-HOLY-SHIT! and then you take an extra minute to sit down in the car. I would not begin to compare my experience to the pain and discomfort that a woman has to experience. But that being said...

MOTHER FUCKER! I try not to drop the big enchilada of curse words, but that is the only way I can vocalize what happened next. Jan takes the sheet and goes to tuck it into the gown, and also into the leg of my boxers. And THERE WAS CONTACT! It isn't like she went to give me a happy ending, but still, an "excuse me" would have been nice. If you are going to cut me off on the freeway. you could at least wave. And if you are going to make uninvited contact with General Jiggly, say something. "Sorry", "Whoops!", "Impressive"...ANYTHING! And then she squirts about 2 quarts of what felt like cold 10W30 on my inner thigh and followed that by taking some kind of scanning instrument and jabbing it into the crease between my thigh and my island of fun and prizes. No warning. And when I inevitably tense up she tells me to stop resisting. "Stop resisting"? What the hell is this, Gitmo? She picks about 4 spots on the thigh and just grinds the thing into my flesh. And all I could think was that if this is how all ultrasounds are done, no wonder babies come out crying. Oh my Damn!

This continues on the other thigh. By this point I have become used to the torture and can at least mentally prepare myself for the impending emasculation. And before you ask, yes there was cockular contact with the other leg too. Not to mention nutular contact too.

What does all of this mean? It means that I have officially been re-entered into the world of "Bad Touch". I will probably feel dirty of a few days. And there is a good chance that when I am finished here I am going to drink a bottle of wine. Maybe two.

Honestly, I can really see the humor in this. By the time she started on my second leg, I was in full Ferris Bueller mode, constantly "looking at the camera" to make sure that the audience knew that I knew just how absurd this all was.

9 Times...

An Open Letter

To Rosie O'Donnell - or, the dyke who cried "HATE":

Shut! Up! How the hell was what Kelly Ripa said the slightest bit homophobic?!? (Confused? See HERE)

It is actions and statements like that that cause actual cases of hatred and bigotry to be belittled or ignored. "I don't know where that hand has been"? How did you get that it was homophobic, especially since Clay Aiken has never claimed to be homosexual? Who are you to publicly out him? Who made you the arbiter of decency and the watchdog for the homosexual community? Who made you anything more than a loudmouth, annoying shrill lump of flesh who can't act (check THIS, THIS, and THIS if you need proof of her complete lack of ability)? For all of us, please, shut the hell up!

I would say she needs a man, but something tells me that it wouldn't do her much good. Wouldn't do much for the guy either.

To the punks who keep stealing condoms from Target:

I appreciate the desire to have safe sex. I practice it myself sometimes (and sometimes I even have a partner to practice it WITH me). But I do not condome your safe sex at the expense of my 401K, dammit!

To everyone who commented on my attire at work on Thursday:

Yes, I am a large man wearing the jersey of a large man. I get it. Let it go. If I really was Tony Siragusa, do you really think I would be working there? Seriously, get a grip.

To the Boob Thief:

Those. Are. Mine. If you are that desperate for a pillow, I will start a collection to get you one. But Wifey's God-given love pillows are not for you to drool on. I swear to all that I hold holy, if I EVER catch the scent of Similac on them, I am going to be VERY angry with you.

To Wifey:

Stop encouraging him.

To that bitch who works with Wifey:

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!! Suck it bitch!

To the Ronnettes:

I am not feeling the love like I used to. You need to rectify that, and soon.

I'm waiting...

To HBO:

$80 for the Sopranos Season Six Part I? Who the hell are you kidding? I have two words for you all. Price. Point. Stop being so greedy. I already paid you once for the honor of watching the show, don't bend me over the cash register for the honor of being able to watch it again. Bada Bing, Bada Bite me.

To me:

Stop complaining so much. If you keep this up, you'll start to sound like Rosie O'Donnell.

BSR

I can take a hint

So I have been working from home a lot lately, what with the leg issues and all. Some days I go in for a half day, some days I stay home the entire day. I left early on Thursday and stayed home on Friday. I didn't know of any problems, and both my bosses are aware of the issues and it was their idea to let me work from home anyway. Apparently I was wrong.

I go to my cubicle there in the basement, and what do I see? Well, everythng seems nominal, but then I look down. And guess what I DON'T see...

my chair.

Yup, my chair is gone. I don't know where it is. I try to take a chair from an empty cubicle (a co-worker who has moved to a better job, now there is no one working there, and I am told that the chair has to stay in the empty cubicle. I am offered another chair by the person that said I couldn't have the empty cubicle one, but the thing is obviously on it's last legs (or wheels as the case may be), and I have the distinct feeling that I would go through that chair like a hot knife through melted butter. So I wind up grabbing a non-wheeled chair that has been used for holding random boxes while it sits in the corner, all lonely and neglected. So now I have a new friend, and I am going to requisition a new chair. I am going to ask for a real nice leather one and see how high end I can go before they put the kibosh on me.

Welcome back, huh?

Also, on a side note, one of my bosses asked me what my shirt size is. It seems that in the course of 3 years (I just started my 3rd year there at the end of November) the "Christmas Gift" for all the employees of the hospital has gone from a $25 gift card to a local grocery chain to some kind of gift basket, to a polo shirt. Yes, BSR will be "S" no more. I might still be "F"'ed, but I will no longer be "S". If only they had thought of this in time for my wedding...

B (soon to be less the "less") S R

IT HAS BEGUN!!!!!!

I like the holidays (and by "holidays" I mean the Thanksgiving/Christmas corridor. I am not a big fan of working retail during said corridor, but the season itself usually brings out the best in people...eventually). I really do. But, like anything, there are things that annoy me (you had to see this coming). And more than almost anything else I am annoyed by the cavalcade of Christmas music that I am subjected to every damn year.

It probably started with my mother (not TOO Freudian I hope). My mother is one of those hardcore Christmas freaks, and it shows in her tastes in music. My mother would (and still will) listen to Christmas music at any time. There is nothing like being 12 and walking into your house after a long day of being 12 in late June, with kickball, bike riding, creek-exploring and the like, and hearing Nat King Cole singing about turkey and mistletoe. But by the time you reach 14 and up, and (by law I believe) have to become at least somewhat surly and withdrawn, it gets to be a bit much. And from early October on (pretty much what she would do is pull the "spooky sounds" tape out of the tape player and throw in the soundtrack to White Christmas). By mid November I was tired of it. By mid December I would start going nuts. And by December 26th, if I heard one more damn version of Frosty the Snowman, I was ready to kill. Of course, she kept playing the crap until the tree came down sometime around the spring thaw (artificial trees never seem as urgent in regards to removing them).

So that leads me to now, when I really just can't stand the stuff in anything but small doses. I learned to avoid any station advertising itself as "the Lite FM" from Thanksgiving until New Years, and once I moved out of the parent's place, it became easy to keep away from. I did my fair share of mall work, but you can block that out with enough effort, and when you are helping customers you really don't hear it anyway.

So what is happening here in Moleville? Well, one of the Hens has Christmas music playing, and it is as loud as it can be. And to make matters worse, Mother Hen told her to turn it up, and it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Luckily, before I had to speak up and make a few enemies (what with the string of profanities I was about to unleash), Wonder Woman piped up and called Mother Hen selfish, but did it in that way that only Hens can, so as to not cause hurt feelings. So I was saved from THAT potential trip to the unemployment line. At least for now.

I need to wrap this up, but I promise this week you will have a tale of "Tuxedo Freaks Out and The Fart That Cleared The Room". And yes, it all started around 5am, because crazy shit just can't happen to me during regular business hours.

All the cool kids are doing it...

Like most people, I was pretty disgusted at the Michael Richards tirade last week. Just in case you HAVEN'T seen it or heard about it (and if so, where the hell have you been?), go HERE and check it out. We will all wait for you? We promise. Without delving too deeply into the uses of the word "nigger" (yup, I am going to type out the whole thing. To me, saying "The N Word" is stupid. There are too many "N" words. Besides, it sounds like a program you might find on Showtime), and why it is in fact okay for use sometimes and by some people (I don't quite grok that. It makes the word the "Y" of the English language. "Sometimes Y, and sometimes nigger". Of course, this being Monday a lot of things are harder to understand). But my friends I am here for a much more specific reason, and that is he comments he made while making another public apology. This was number 3 of about 500 that he will do. And this one was on Jesse Jackson's radio program. While he was making his appearance, he said this...

Richards noted that the racial epithet he used is frequent in the entertainment industry, and acknowledged that it could have consequences.

"I fear that young whites will think it's cool to go around and use that word because they see very cool people in the show business using that word so freely," he said. "Perhaps that's what came through in that ... the vernacular is so accessible."

THAT might just be the scariest thought of them all. That somewhere in the world, there are some young whites that think that Michael Richards is a very cool person in the show business. If there are people THAT naive and moronic, this world is indeed doomed.

BTW - quick thought to chew on...Why is this outburst not getting the same kind of pariah status for Richards that the comment on Jews got Mel Gibson? Is Richards' slur less hurtful? Was Richards not drunk, so it must have been manufactured to shock and awe, not come from that "vino veritae" that Gibson was nailed with? I never did anything on the whole Mel Gibson thing. I still need to touch in on that.

But it will have to wait for another time. I need to go do what the very cool people in the show business are doing. I can't wait to start my new "Botox and Anorexia" diet.

BSR

Wierd Al Interviews Eminem

This is the clip that made me start posting all of these. This is a CLASSIC.

AL TV Clip-1987

I laughed so hard I almost made a little. Pretty much just 5 minutes of Al screaming, but still worth it.

Weird Al interviews Michael Stipe

yup, I am officially on a kick now. Don't like it? TOUGH.

White & Nerdy

Frickin' brilliant.

WTF?

I know you are wondering what the hell the blurb under the next post means. Or if you weren't, you probably are now. Well, I just wrote a nice long post about something, and because my computer and/or blogger is teh stoopid, it went away before posting. I do not have the energy to re-type it. Maybe tomorrow or Thursday. Until then, enjoy the movie clip below.

office space recut

Okay, I forgive you. Just don't let it happen again. In the meantime, this is my gift to you, my loyal minions. Now WATCH THE DAMN SHOW!!!