Items of note:
The Book of Mormon (score!)
Popcorn
1 “Do Not Disturb” sign (a record low)
Answers to your questions on Monday, and maybe Tuesday too. And also possibly Wednesday.
Archive for the 'work' Category
Hey did you see the head Italian child-raper was in DC yesterday? Yeah, it was totally awesome how all of his douchebag followers filled the city with their idiocy on the same day I had to drive to a meeting in Alexandria.
Actually, it was partially my fault. I should have given a wide berth to all the cars I saw that had bumper stickers that said, “God is my copilot” or “God is my pilot” or “Apparently God is a fucking douchebag of a driver and I’m a lobotomized asshole who will do anything a highly edited and poorly translated book of fairy tales tells me to do because I clearly have no idea how to fucking operate an automobile and neither does my pie-in-the-sky deity-of-choice”.
I really should have avoided every one of those goddamned be-Jesus-fished hate-moblies because the little magnetic fish pretty much acted as a warning sign for “watch out because I’m merging without signaling or checking my rear view” or “Der, what’s a steering wheel? Why isn’t Jeebus driving for me? I’m hungry. I need a new diaper. I wish I was watching Steve Wilkos right now.” or “I’m driving 5 miles per hour on the highway because I’m a fucking douchebag cocksmoker child-rapist-forgiving shitfuck dick-spinning turd-swallower and traffic scares me”.
So yeah, if you couldn’t tell by my tone, it was pretty much 40 miles of concentrated awesomeness on the way to DC. I finally got to my meeting, 30 minutes late because of those holy-roller nipple-twisters, and then later on the day looked like it might even be salvageable as the temperature increased to mild summer temperature ranges.
And when we jumped on 395 to head home we weren’t faced with nearly the volume of purified idiotic assholery that we had to steer through on our way down…
because they were all waiting for us on 295 north.
I swear, my next car is going to be a tank with a giant drill on the front so I can bore my way over or through those malevolent fuckwads who think it’s just fucking SUPER to get on the road during rush hour so they can see their high-grand-eagle do a cross burning at the local stadium, and my fucking death car of Righteous Fucking Justice Dispatched DailyTM will have an articulated arm with a branding iron on the end of it so I can stamp all the cheese-dicks in the middle of their fucking foreheads with the words “I’m a shitty fucking douchebag numbnuts dumbfuck of a driver and you should punch me in the nuts or ovaries right fucking now because I deserve it for being a fucking asshole and you should sterilize me too,” and I’ll have a quadraphonic sound system mounted on the roof constantly repeating “You are a shitty driver. Kill yourself” and I’ll be able to focus that shit at those fucks and turn the fucker all the way to 11 and watch the blood trickle out of their ears as for ONCE I am able to make my way down the road unimpeded.
Due to a conspiracy in coincidence, it looks like I’ll be spending the rest of this week in a suit. Which sucks because I hate wearing a suit, but even worse, because I only have two suits, and they’re probably going to be pretty nasty after 4 days of continuous use.
Today I have an event for work that has me in a suit, tomorrow I have another work event that calls for the old suit and tie, then on Thursday I’m going down to Annapolis to argue about my tax assessment for my house and afterwards have to head to the viewing for my aunt, and Friday is the funeral. I’m hoping that my suit isn’t walking around by itself by then.
I guess if one of the suits gets a bit too ripe I can try and stuff myself into a third suit that I own that’s grown just a bit too small. Though I’m not sure what day would be best to be stuffed into the cotton/poly sausage-casing, since all of them require a full day of being in the suit. Sure, if I was just hanging around Glen Burnie I could wear the jacket, shirt, and tie like normal, and just put on some sweatpants and tennis shoes on the bottom.
You think I’m kidding, but that’s how you can tell when someone is about to get married around here. The groomsmen wear suit tops and pajama bottoms, and the bride has had tulle stapled to her nicest oversized t-shirt. It’s like a white trash pageant and I have a front row seat.
I’ve always hated wearing ties, and by extension really hated wearing suits, ever since I was forced to wear a tie in high school. I think I’ve blogged about it before, but for my entire freshman and sophomore year I wore the same tie every day. And for my entire junior year, I wore a different tie than the first two years, but I also wore it every day for the entire year. By the time senior year rolled around I had a horrible bitch of a girlfriend, but she had bought me a few more ties, so I was able to at least wear a different tie every day. I also came into some hideously ugly hand-me-down ties that I delighted in wearing to freak out the pretty-boys who wouldn’t be caught dead in anything less than Tommy Hilfiger.
But worse than all of that, I hate wearing blazers or sport coats. I fucking hate them. It makes me feel like a child molester dressed me. I realize that not everybody has a need to wear a suit on a semi-regular basis like I do, and I realize that the blazer is the perfect answer for them, but for me, it’s my least favorite piece of clothing. I’d rather be stuck in a suit, or even a tux all day, rather than having to wear a goddamned blazer. I hate everything about them. I hate the stupid gold buttons. I hate feel of the material. I hate how they never seem to fit right, no matter how much they cost, or even if they’ve been tailored. They make me feel like I should be growing a porno mustache and selling used Trans Ams in the parking lot of an abandoned fast food restaurant.
I really don’t give a shit about what people think of me, or how they think I dress. If they don’t like the fact that I’m wearing corduroys, an old tshirt, an old hoodie, and wool clogs, that’s awesome, because they can go shove a badger up their asses. However, when I get dressed up, I want to feel good about the way I look. I still don’t give a shit about anyone else, but I’ll be damned if when I dress up I don’t go all the way. It’s important to me to not half-ass the way I look in a suit. I’ll be a donkey in Tijuana before you catch me in fucking blazer.
Oh man does it feel good to be back in my office. I underestimated how much of a creature of habit I am. The thing I missed most was listening to music while I worked. Sure, iTunes is a horrible piece of inflexible bloatware, but it’s nice to have a constant shuffle of music going all day long. Not having that sucked.
The other thing that really surprised me was how inefficient I was. Most days I can complete the totality of my daily work in an hour or two, and then handle any meetings, appointments, emails, and phone calls as they come along. I essentially spend my time on the internet waiting for work to appear before me. Then I complete that work in a few moments and go back to waiting. But yesterday I was hogtied by a laptop with no mouse and no access to a printer. Just those two things made it impossible for me to get things done quickly, never mind having to use Safari rather than Firefox, and my office’s webmail rather than Thunderbird. Egad it was like working in an office in 1998. It took me about 10 times as long to do anything. I guess it was okay though, because I was sharing my boss’ office all day long, and that probably reinforced the idea that I don’t just sit around all day, but am actually working on things.
Anyway, you probably don’t want to hear about any of that, which is why I put it first, so you would be forced to read it.
… um. And there’s nothing else. Yeah, life is boring right now. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.
I accidentally ate beef yesterday.
To many of you, this means nothing. Let me clarify: I don’t eat beef because it gives me horrible, jet-propulsion equivalent diarrhea. Typically when people ask me why I don’t eat beef I tell them that it upsets my stomach. This is simply a polite way of saying that my ass becomes an uncontrollable anti-aircraft cannon of sound-barrier destroying feces.
Typically the next question is, “So are you a vegetarian?”. Of course not. Meat is delicious. Our teeth have evolved for shredding flesh as well as mashing grains. We’re omnivores. We’re supposed to eat meat. We’re supposed to eat grains. Not eating any grains is as dumb as not eating any meat. Not eating meat is like looking at a hundred-million years of evolution and going, “Oh yeah? Well, nyah nyah, I think I know better.” You don’t know better. You’re an idiot. Anyway, yeah, meat is delicious. I could think of no meal finer than a warm, soft, freshly-baked roll stuffed with bacon, sausages, and a pile of shredded steak slathered in melted cheese, deep-fried, wrapped in back-bacon, and then stuffed into a Christmas goose. That shit would be delicious.
“Ah ha! I can see you’re lying again. You just now said you would eat steak!” Yeah, of course I would eat steak, but in this case, I have to concede a point to all those uppity, holier-than-thou vegetarians and vegans out there: beef, as grown, prepared, and served in America is less hygienic than licking the underside of the toilet seat after I’ve eaten beef. I’ll let you take a second to figure that one out. Done? Great. Beef in the US is swimming with disease and crammed with hormones and antibiotics even before it ever reaches the slaughterhouse. Yes, crammed with both disease and disease-preventatives. Too much of both, in fact. That doesn’t mean that the beef isn’t delicious, it just means you shouldn’t eat it. I would love to eat beef again, but after spending a few months off of it, even just a little makes me horribly sick. I watched Supersize Me and read Fast Food Nation back to back a few years ago, and after a few months of going off beef, I’ve never been able to eat it again without the aforementioned shit-Pollocking of the nearest toilet.
Most of you, I realize, stuff your mouths with beef on a daily basis with no ill-effects, and I have no problem with what you do during your free time, but I was talking about cows, not wangs you perverts. And certainly not cow wangs.
Anyway, yeah, I don’t eat the stuff, so yesterday at the buffet when my chicken parmesan turned out to be veal parmesan I was faced with a tough decision: stop eating and haul ass to the nearest toilet, bucket, or dumpster; or use the opportunity to eat the bejesus out of some beef. Many of you will have already guessed that I chose the latter, but I still feel compelled to explain my reasoning.
I figured that my intestinal system was like a community yard sale. On most days, the yard sale was filled with the junk of the surrounding community, and the poor bastard who hosted the yard sale would have to keep all the junk in his garage until the next yard sale. And of course as the stuff sat in the garage it would slowly matriculate into the house, forever occupying some darkened corner until it was forcibly removed. But beef is like this giant catapult, and instead of the people filling the guy’s yard, they just fill the catapult, knowing that it will eventually go off and they won’t have to worry about any of their junk cluttering anyone’s garage ever again. Do you see what I’m getting at?
I went apeshit double-whammy bananas on the rest of the buffet. Fried chicken with gravy? Why the hell not? Four slices of pie? Don’t mind if I do. Taco salad? Sure, it’ll be gone in 20 minutes anyway. I was my own personal Roman orgy, minus the sex of course. And the vomiting. And the togas. And the violence. Okay, so I wasn’t really like a Roman orgy at all except that I stuffed myself silly on food I don’t normally eat because I knew that even if I consumed 5700 calories, there would only be about 400 left in my system once the beef hit my large intestine.
Almost like clockwork I felt my tailpipe about to go “Old Faithful” in the middle of the ninth hand-sized cookie I was using as a spoon for my third bowl of soft-serve ice cream. I full-on sprinted to the bathroom and made it just in time. Of course I caused quite a ruckus (geyser allegory is never used lightly), and passing half-chewed food is never fun, but I honestly only have one regret:
the buffet wasn’t serving eggnog.
So, man, have I been a terrible blog owner lately. First there’s nothing to write about, then I go away for a week and a half, then I come back and again have shit all to write about. I can’t say exactly where I went, or what I did, but I did learn some new magic tricks and mind-reading games, as well as a few new drinking games. Because it’s always handy to trick someone into buying you a drink, and then playing a game that gets you so drunk you’re soiling your diapers less than an hour later. What? You don’t wear diapers? Oh. Well, neither do I. Moving on.
A buddy of mine has entered a short story in the Amazon.com short story competition. Because I’m a lazy bastard, I will use nearly the exact text he used when he told me to read it and write a nice review. “I’ve been selected as a semifinalist in Amazon.com novel competition, and I’m looking to shore up support for my book by getting anyone and everyone in the world to write reviews and post ratings for my book. In order to do this, obviously, I have to tell you where it is. It’s here.” So wander over and take a look at what’s he’s got going on, and be sure to give it a good review. Also, feel free to buy me something off my wishlist while you’re over there. Because I’m awesome.
Let’s see… what else is going on. I have a pretty big announcement for next week, so feel free to stop by on Monday to see what that’s all about. I’m not trying to be some hit-whoring blog-tease, it’s just that I haven’t written the post for the announcement yet. I can’t post something I haven’t written yet, jerks. Calm the crap down. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, the internet will go on.
Speaking of the internet, I haven’t yet had a chance to reacquaint myself with it since I’ve been gone outside of occasional dalliances into the ether in response to an email query. I’m completely and utterly behind news-wise. I have no idea what’s been going on in the primaries, or with the economy, or anything. The only news item I’ve heard recently was that Heath Ledger died, which sucks, because he always seemed to be one of those Hollywood types who wasn’t constantly stuffing his nose full of coke, shaving his head, and flashing his junk at the media. I think we’ve lost someone who could have been a fantastic lifetime actor, and that sucks. Proving there is no god, Richard Gere continues to live. Also, I have a flat tire. Woo hoo to spending money on shit I wasn’t anticipating!
The Missus and I were supposed to get tattoos for Holiday presents (the war on Xmas doesn’t end with the season, now does it?) for each other, and I’m struggling with ideas. I sort of had all my tattoo ideas laid out in my head, and when the guy at the shop advised me on why he thought one of my tattoo placement ideas wasn’t a good idea, it kind of sent my whole tattoo plan into flux. At the same time, I’ve been brimming with new ideas that I can’t get because I have a personal rule about waiting one year before getting an idea tattooed on myself. Also, please don’t suggest any ideas, because I don’t get stuff done that isn’t my own idea, and you might ruin a potential future idea I have. There’s nothing worse than seeing or hearing about a tattoo that I had only begun to formulate mentally.
I think aside from that stuff I don’t really have much going on right now, but you know I’ll let you know as soon as I see something bizarre/stupid/weird/funny. In the meantime, I will continue to sort through the ninety-hojillion emails I have left, and keep meeting with people. (This is, I think, my newest pet peeve. Almost worse than those that continually email me after having gotten my vacation message are people who schedule meetings back to back the day I get back to work. Don’t they realize I have better things to do then listen to them drone on about the decisions they reached in meeting when I wasn’t there?)
I’m busy playing catch-up. Entertain yourselves with these:
Hi, this is Anonymous Coworker and I’m not available to write this blog. I’ll be out of the intertubes from Friday, January 11th, until Wednesday, January 23rd. If you need to read a blog immediately, please go check somewhere else on the information superhighwebs. If you’re the other 99.9% of the internet population and you’re looking for boobies, you can find some here. (Vote for Dizzy Von Damn: 3rd column across, 8th row down.)
Any comments left between now and January 23rd will be replied to on or after January 23rd. Any comments requesting immediate action before January 23rd will have their email addresses forwarded to Chris Hansen with “Here’s a pervert for you” in the subject line.
