I Love Pole Vaulting

Don't you?

I Found My Balls!

Oh my god! I think I found my balls! They are inside my bedroom wall, running around, going crazy all day and night! Oh, it's not my balls, it's a squirrel. Never mind.

“Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks

I ran into a blog that documents the use of unnecessary quotation marks. May not sound exciting on the surface, but check it out. Very funny.

“Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks

Running With Sharp Objects

I guess sharp objects and kids aren't that bad of a combo...

During a service at St Paul's church in Cannon Falls, Minnesota, a 2-year-old girl found a screwdriver, started to run with it, and fell. The screwdriver pierced her skull just above her right eye. No brain damage occurred and no surgery was needed to extract the screwdriver. She is to make a full recovery. The news story says that she was playing with other children in a supervised area when the incident took place.

I'm curious about this "supervised area." Is this a shed in the back yard of the church where they keep hedge trimmers, gas tanks and screwdrivers? Or maybe it's actually a nice plush nursery, but with the extra special touch of screwdrivers laying around. My point being, why was there a freaking screwdriver in the children's play area? Bad church, that's a bad bad church, hope you learned your lesson.

Check out this 100% real, absolutely disgusting x-ray from the incident:

The Star Tribune telling of the story can be found HERE

Happy Holidays

It's back to the grind for me after a few days off from my day job. It was a true delight to be away from sales figures & statistics, my gray cubical walls, and the urinal that always contains unflushed urine.
Now on to more important matters, my favorite first line to a news story of 2007:

LOS ANGELES, Dec. 25 (UPI) -- A beefy gent wearing a red Santa hat and purple G-string in Los Angeles this holiday season not only didn't pass for Santa but failed a Breathalyzer test, too.

Paints quite a picture. Apparently this "beefy gent" was also wearing a blond wig, black leg warmers and a red lace camisole. The L.A. County Sheriff's Deputy Chief had this to say, "pretty sure this is not ... Santa Claus."

If you'd like to read the original story, here you go: Beefy Gent Story

All-Time Favorite Sports Photo

I'm sure most tennis players aren't worried about what they look like while they are battling it out on the court, and at any moment a photographer can capture a moment in time that may or may not paint the most flattering picture. So it is with heavy heart and no malice towards either of these fine gentlemen, that I present my favorite sports photo ever:

Abnormal Wear

I had to work this past Saturday morning. When I left my house, the temperature was four below zero, but more importantly, the temperature had only risen to 5 above when I got off and found my left rear tire completely flat.

I had as much fun as I possibly could while changing a tire in that sort of weather, then headed off to get the tire fixed. Unfortunately, the tire was damaged beyond repair, and due to what they called "abnormal wear", my road hazard replacement warranty did not apply. I purchased a new tire and left my car so they could attach it. When I picked up my car, I got in and started to drive off. I looked to where I keep my sunglasses and they were not there. I quickly glanced around and didn't see them, as I slowed to the side of the road. I cursed the unknown tire-replacing guy who surely had stolen my glasses...Then I found the glasses wedged in between the passenger seat and the door.

Looking back, I'm not sure why I easily jumped to the conclusion that somebody risked their job by nicking a heavily used pair of $10 sunglasses. Typically, I try not to jump to conclusions or blame someone without all the facts, but it was very sunny out that day and I really wanted to put on my sunglasses.

Here is an awesome rendering of me looking sad over my flat tire:

Peterson...

Another wife killer, another dude named Peterson.

If I were a woman, I would not marry a guy named Peterson. Irrational? Yes, but why take that chance?

Click here to read how Drew Peterson confessed to killing his 3rd wife to his now-missing 4th wife.

Do People Use Pencils Anymore?

I overheard a coworker today while on a sales call. She was at the point in the call where she was ready to give the person on the other line, her number, and she asked, "Do you have a pencil?"
It struck me odd, you just don't hear people ask if they have a pencil. Instead, it's usually, "Do you have a pen?"

If you're like me, and jeez, let's hope not, you used pencils a lot in school. K-12 for sure, and even college, but in my experience, I don't see many people whipping out pencils to jot down someone's number or to make a grocery list in the car on the way to the market. Adults rarely use pencils.

Search your feelings, you know it to be true. Sure, there are special circumstances in which a person may use a pencil. Maybe somebody who draws for a living, a designer or someone of that ilk, would possible maybe carry a pencil around instead of a pen, but as a whole, I'm going to stick to my assertion that most adults just don't use pencils.

Goats, Guns & Dairy Queen

I love America for all the freedoms I am afforded. I love America for the great highway system. I love America for its national pastime, baseball. But most of all, above any of that, I love America because of goats, guns & Dairy Queen.

Recently, a man in Wisconsin, angry at his wife because she didn't pick up beer from the store, shot the family's goats. He was on the phone with his wife, threatening that he'd shoot them if she didn't go back to the store for beer, and finally shot them when she refused to go back to the store.

According to the story, the 2 goats were beloved family pets.
"We took those goats swimming, we took them to Dairy Queen to get ice cream, they were completely leash-trained," the man's daughter said, "...they didn't deserve this."

If you'd like some tasty goat recipes, check out the follow link: Goat Meat Recpies

Misogynistic Advertisements of Yesteryear

I'm not sure you all know this, but in the past, women were portrayed in advertising as weak, housecleaning, followers. Thank goodness the world has matured and women are no longer seen as nothing more than a man's servant. In 21st Century advertising, women are seen as strong, oversexed, over-tanned babes who can't ever seem to find enough clothes.

Some of my favorite examples of advertisements from the early 20th Century can be found in a lovely postcard book entitled You Mean a Woman Can Open It...? The Woman's Place in the Classic Age of Advertising. You can check out the book at Amazon.com.

Here comes some sweet-ass misogynistic advertisements:

1952
A friendly warning about bringing home stale coffee.

1953

1930's
A little speed, er, vitamins for wifey, so she can get all the cleaning & cooking done.

1921
I guess if the answer is 'no', the next step would be for her to grab her weird ball of hair and leave.

1953

Cute Thanksgiving-Toddler-Falling-Out-Window- Type Story

In New York on Thanksgiving Day, a toddler fell out a window while his family was eating. The kid actually survived the 20' fall, and didn't even break a bone. (Check out the story here)

What is not mentioned in the story is the danger of giving PCP to your toddler, and clearly, this kid was tripping on PCP when he stepped to the window and tried to fly. PCP is the classic "think you can fly" drug. I may be in the minority here, but I really don't think toddlers should use it.

One of the relatives chimed in with, "It's a miracle."
Yeah, it is a miracle. It's a miracle that you didn't mistake the toddler for the turkey and tie his little fat legs together, pop him in the oven, baste him, carve him and eat him, while the turkey took PCP and learned to fly.

Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month

November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month. Right now, as we sit and breath, it is November and it is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month. Can you feel it?

My mom died three years ago from pancreatic cancer. It was quiet and fast. Less than 3 months from diagnosis to death.

So anyway, pancreatic cancer sucks. Of course, all cancer sucks, and as always, early detection is the best way to survive and even more so with pancreatic cancer,. So check ourself out. Check your balls, check your breasts, ask your doctor to check your internal organs, just be aware.

The 1-year survival rate is 15% and the 5-year survival rate is only 4%.
"These low survival rates are attributable to the fact that fewer than 10% of patients' tumors are confined to the pancreas at the time of diagnosis; in most cases, the malignancy has already progressed to the point where surgical removal is impossible." -Pancreatic.org

That is enough book learning for today. I just wanted to get the word out there, thanks for indulging me.

If you'd like to find out about research being done on pancreatic cancer, please check out the Lustgarten Foundation for Pancreatic Cancer Research.

This was my mom's garden:

I Have a Crush On Mary-Louise Parker

I've got a huge crush on Mary-Louise Parker.

She's on a show called Weeds on Showtime.
Here is a couple of photos of lovely Ms. Parker:

Is The Croup Real?

My nephew has the croup. Being a dumb-guy, I had no idea the croup was something you could get this day and age. I thought it was a disease from a bygone era that scientists had since slayed, like Polio, Syphilis, or erectile dysfunction. Turns out it is an illness that kids can get from 3 months of age to 3+ years, and it is easily treated in most cases.

It got me to thinking about other illnesses and diseases that I know nothing about.

Rickets, as it turns out, is the softening of bones in children, and not a fancy racquetball raquet. Although it has been under control in the U.S. for quite some time, it is the leading cause of illness for kids in developing countries.

I'm sure there's others I don't know about, but they will remain that way. For now, let's look at someone who obviously didn't have rickets as a child:

Wow. 100% rickets free.

Top Ten Douchebags

My friend Pistola Whipped and I were chatting about douchebags. Here is who we think are the biggest douches.

Top Ten American, British, German and Canadian Political or Celebrity Douchebags.

List by Pistola Whipped

10. Bryan Adams
9. Jay Leno
8. Jean Claude van Damme
7. The Rock
6. Sting
5. Dr. Phil
4. Phil Collins
3. Fred Durst
2. Carson Daly
1. Carrot Top



My List

10. Any Lead-Singer/Drummer
9. Paul Stanley
8. Dr. Phil
7. Par Ridder (Corrupt newspaper publisher who is in forced retirement with a multi-million dollar payoff)
6. Carson Daly
5. Robin Williams
4. Sting
3. OJ Simpson
2. Toby Keith
1. Jay Leno


Yet another list from Twinkles:

10. Don Henley

9. Tim Pawlenty (MN Governor)

8. Jesse Ventura

7. Kanye West

6. Rick Kupchella (Local TV news personality)

5. Lance Bass

4. Tim Blotz (Local TV news personality)

3. The Tiny Man in my Psych Class

2. Jim Rich/Randy Shaver/Eric Perkins (Local TV sports anchors)

1. Tom Lyden (Local TV news personality)

Who is on your douchebag list?

My Imaginary Conversation With My Dad

I was driving down the freeway by myself and I had a conversation with my father, in my head.

Me: Did you know that they widened east 694 by adding a lane where the shoulder used to be?

My dad: Oh yeah. Do you think that is why they put that sign on 94 just before the exit to 694 talking about using the shoulder?

Me: No. That sign is about using the shoulder on 94 to get on to 694 during rush hour.

My dad: I don't know, let's get some lunch.

Washed Up Child Stars or Hotties?

What happens when children become stars on some crappy sitcom, then the sitcom is canceled and they are left to fend for themselves with their home-schooled degree and retarded social skills? They usually end up being hotties.

Jessica Biel starred on 7th Heaven. She played a Pastor's daughter. And then she turned 17:


Shannen Doherty was the star of Beverly Hills 90210. Now she is the star of this jungle:

Lacey Chabert was on the hit show Party of Five in the 1990's. She played some part on the show, I'm sure she was great, here's a recent photo of her:

Soleil Moon Frye was a child actress who starred in the popular sit-com Punky Brewster.
Where is she now? She got married in 1998 and has one child. She is still acting. Here is a recent photo:


Up next is Alyssa Milano. She was every teenage boys dream girl when she starred in the 1980's sitcom Who's the Boss?.
Where is she now? She does plenty of cameo roles on TV and some movies, but here's a photo of her all grown up:

Up next, Danica McKellar. She played Winnie on the popular show Wonder Years. What is she up to now? I can't be too sure, but here's a photo of her:

Looks Like A Real Nice Apron

It's time for the Product of the Week.

This week we have a beautiful, but simple apron. It even comes with embroidery. There are usually 3 choices of embroidery, but right now, the only one in stock says, "Gourmet Goddess", but that's pretty sweet.

The website has this to say about the apron, "Domistyle brings a fresh and funky attitude to the kitchen with these unique designer aprons."

Earlier, I had this to say about the apron, "Look at how hot the apron is. It's so super hot. I can't believe how hot. Look at that craftsmanship! Superb. How could you pass on an apron like that? Soooooooo hot."

If you'd like to check out this product or any of the other fine products available at goneshopping.ca, please go HERE.

My Friend Wants Me To Get An STD

Since my wife left me, my coworker friend has been bugging me to get an STD (sexually transmitted disease). He wants me to go out and get down with a questionable chick. OK, he just wants me to get it going with any chick I can find. He is, for the most part, saying this in jest, but it got me thinking about what STD's are treatable and what ones are permanent.

First off, there is Chlamydia. It is the most common treatable STD.
Gonorrhea is another such STD. Curable, but can be deadly if left untreated.
Syphilis can also be treated, but can be deadly.

That's probably enough of that.
So my friend asked me to write a song about not getting any STD's since my wife left. Here it is:

The No STD blues
(STD is pronounced ess, tee, dee)

Well I woke up in the morning
It had to be nearly dawn
I looked and looked, but she was gone

It happen long ago
I never did let it go
Friends are telling me to go out and play

I failed them up to now
I swear I don't know how
I'm sitting here with the no STD blues

I got the no STD blues
I've been fillin' up with the booze
I don't know what, I'm gonna do

You see, there's no time to waste
I've been left here in this place
But I'm crying here with the no STD blues

Marimba Solo

Repeat Chorus

I got the no STD blues
I've been fillin' up with the booze
I don't know what, I'm gonna do

You see there is no time to waste
I've been left here in this place
Still crying here with the no STD blues

I Finally Have My iPod Back

My estranged wife sent me my iPod and I could not be happier. OK, you got me, I could be a lot happier, but it did make me smile when I opened the package. Of course, the iPod was filled with all of my wife's favorite EMOtional music. Some of its OK, but most of it just makes me want to cut my fingers off one-by-one and feed them to my cats.
I spent some time filling up the iPod with The Rolling Stones & Wilco, spent some time sitting in the car before work listening and realized that I still miss my estranged wife who lied, cheated and hurt me badly. I don't want her back, but I miss her, and I'm OK with that.
With my daily affirmation finished, I threw the iPod into my bag and headed in to work.

Yea ipod!

He Could Be My Father

There's been nothing exciting happening lately. Nothing to write about. Nothing to post. So, I decided to tell you all about Bob.

We all know a guy who is old, hunched over, has a vaguely familiar odor, mumbles to himself, and shuffled his feet. Usually it’s the homeless guy you pass on your way to the bus, but for me it’s a guy I work with, name Bob, who sits in the cube across from mine.

Over seven years of working together side by side, we haven’t said more than 20 words to each other. Somehow, I still know that his schizophrenic daughter ran away to Arkansas leaving him and his wife to take care of his grandson, he’s Jewish, lives in a condo, has corns on his feet, had a growth removed from his ear, worked 20 years as a traveling salesman, used to live in St Louis and loves country music. Half of that information I gleaned from his loud personal telephone conversations, the remaining info I learned from overhearing his self-mumblings. Bob is a confirmed “loud talker”, so I’m sure others in the office know a lot about him, but I sit nearest to him, so I’m privy to some information that others may not know. If I cared to, I could remind him when his next prostate exam is.

Bob is fond of telling jokes to his coworkers and customers. He’s got George Burns jokes in his repertoire, Dangerfield, all the classics. Although his favorite joke is his very own creation about the “Bob Convention” that he goes to every year.
He sets it up with, “Honest to god, every year there’s a Bob convention.”
Then he brings it home with, “they save a bundle on name tags.”
That is the extent of the joke. I never get to hear the reaction on the other end, but he tells the joke every day with the same enthusiasm, as I’m sure he had the first time he told it.

Three years ago, our department switched from the old dummy terminal computers to actual personal computers. This was the first time Bob had ever seen a PC, much less worked with one. It’s been four long years of Bob asking questions like, “how do I bring up my message thingy?” and, “where did my internets go?”

He’s finally mastered the art of turning his computer on and logging in. He’s able to do his job and read emails, but I still hear him say to customers, “your ad will also be on the inter-webs”, and “we have a huge internets”, and it still makes me giggle like a little schoolboy.

The Beauty of the Potluck

Yesterday, we enjoyed a potluck lunch at my place of employment to celebrate the great fall harvest festival. Or was it Halloween? Anyway, during an average year, I’d say we have 4-5 potlucks, and I always look forward to them for the free food and great conversation.

After a department potluck, I feel compelled to talk about it with my coworkers for the rest of the day.

"Did you get some food?"
"Yeah, that roast was awesome. Did you get dessert yet? Make sure to try the pie.”
"OK, then, have a nice day."

This conversation is repeated throughout the rest of the day between me and every other employee I run into. After much observation over the years, I finally realized my compulsion to talk about the potluck is shared by most of my peers. Over in the corner a widower discussed how she caramelized the onions for her hot dish, while a 30-something single man nodded and sipped on a half empty cup of diet Coke. Out on the sidewalk, two of the younger employees chatted about the merits of eating food that had been left out for 3+ hours.

The beauty of the potluck is that it gives us something to talk about other than the weather or that last belligerent customer who called 2 minutes before closing time. Save for a few small cliques of close friends, my work place, like most, has a bunch of people working together who would not normally be friends, but are forced to coexist and spend considerable amounts of time together. The potluck gives us an entire day of built-in, stress-free, convenient conversation!

Here are a couple of actual conversations I had with coworkers:

Me: So, did you try the homemade macaroni & cheese?
Coworker: Yeah, that was the bomb.
Me: Ever notice how after a potluck, everyone talks about it the rest of the day? It’s great, it gives us something to talk about.
Coworker: Yeah, I suppose. (small chuckle)
Me: Did you try the pie? Amazing!

Coworker 2: Man, that trail mix is good. Go get some, it’s zesty.
Me: Maybe I will.
Me: Wow, that is really good. But I’m pretty sure it’s spicy, not zesty.
Coworker 2: Are you sure, I’m positive it’s zesty.
Me: I’m going with spicy.

"Thank You, Sir"

Do you remember the first time somebody, probably younger than you, called you Sir or Madam? Well, I don't. Who cares. I don't care what people call me. I'd rather a stranger call me sir than call me by my first name.

I have a day job where I work on the phone. I talk to many strangers daily and it just creeps me out, or maybe it just makes me feel violated, when a stranger calls me by my first name. Unfortunately, one of the expectations of my job is to tell the customer right up front what my name is, so it's out there, ready to be turned back at me. Luckily, about 37% of the time, customers are as bad with names as I am, and they forget my name altogether, then there's the other 23% that don't bother using my name, but that leaves the remaining 40% of customers who feel compelled to use my name to shape some sort of rapport out of our three minute phone conversation.

Now, out of the 40% that use my name, there's that rare 4% that are lonely, most-likely elderly, and feel that not only do they need to use my name, but they need to have a conversation about their time in the Navy, or their new great grandchild, or how they use to pay 5 cents per gallon for gas. Somehow, despite my heart being a dark, baron wasteland, I almost don't mind them saying my name. It's those young, brash, "everyone wants to be my friend" douche bags that get to me when throwing around the name my mama gave me.

So, to review my self-righteous rant, I don't mind being called sir, or mister, or big guy, or dude. Just don't call me by my name until you know me.

Libya - Come For the Sand, and Bring Cash

Evidentially, Libya is going to try to get travel sanctions lifted in an attempt to get more tourists to visit. From cnn.com: "U.N. sanctions kept tourists from visiting this North African country for more than a decade. Now the former pariah state best known for its eccentric leader, Moammar Gadhafi, is slowly opening its doors as it tries to shed its rogue state status."

After reading the story, I decided to check out what a possible trip to Libya might be like. From what I've read alcohol is banned in Libya and ATM's are scarce, so there's that.

This is either a hotel or an ancient ruin. Since I have no idea which, and this blog really isn't based in fact, I'm going to say it's a hotel.

From the hotel, it's only a short ride through the desert to another great attraction...

Sand Skiing!

This is Col. Muammar Abu Minyar al-Qadhafi, the leader of Libya. He apparently does not have an official title. He just took over and started to lead. How about that, slackers? This dude just took over a country and started to lead it, and we can't even lead ourselves into the laundry room.

Libya has a thriving mass transit system.

Ladies and gentleman, give it up once again to the great leader of Libya, Col. Muammar Abu Minyar al-Qadhafi!!!

New Feature: CRAZY PHOTO MONDAY!

I wish I could say I was being cool & ironic with the "Crazy Photo Monday" stuff, but that's what's going on here. It's Monday and I'm cleaning out my hard drive, and that's not a sex joke. I found some interesting stuff to share, re-share, whatever. Enjoy, or don't, see what I care!!!

Here is my estranged wife's cat with a superimposed mask:

Here is me with my old band playing on a flat-bed truck in a small town:

Here is Xtina in a white dress:

This is the stuff of dreams:

The guy in front is looking down towards the promised land, oh yeah.

Here is my uncle dropping by for a visit.
Just kidding! It's really not my uncle.
Zing! Bang! Bop! Had you going!

Blow In Her Face?

Yeah, she'll follow you, because you're playing keep-away with the only clean towel.

Green Is One of My Favorite Colors

Green is a great color. Lots of people like green, especially Hunter Green.
"Hunter Green" dates back to 1892. Predictably, hunter green was named for the color worn by hunters in the 19th century. It wasn't as popular a color back then, because they didn't have hunter green Pontiac Bonnevilles.

Libya's flag is green. All green. Just green.
Here is what Wikipedia had listed for the Libyan flag:


Here is a more pleasant example from Google Images:

They Are After Me

They will not rest until they catch me.

Nasty Song About Estranged Wife

I just came across some lyrics to a song I wrote when my wife left me last March. I feel compelled to share it with ya'll. The chorus is pretty mean spirited, but it was what the old man was feeling at that time.

You smell lingers
on your pillow case
I keep it around
Doesn’t take up much space

I’ve taken down your photos
And I’ve packed up your things
I told my friends and family
I’ve taken off my ring

You talked so sweetly
About our future so bright
But when things got tough
You decided on flight

You took my car
And my last paycheck
You’ll always be running
And always a wreck…

Chorus:
Because you’re a lying bitch
and you will burn in hell
But first I hope you suffer
For a great long spell
And when it crashes down
And it’s all nasty weather
Don’t look for me
To put you back together

You think you’re healthy
Hanging with your ‘cult’
You blindly follow
And I fear the result

You might end up
On a spaceship with wings
Heading for a new life
And everything that brings

Chorus:
Because you’re a lying bitch
and you will burn in hell
But first I hope you suffer
For a great long spell
And when it crashes down
And it’s all nasty weather
Don’t look for me
To put you back together

I Bet Andy Rooney Smells Weird

My favorite quotes from last Sunday's Andy Rooney segment on 60 Minutes:

"There's just so much beautiful warm weather I can take. I like a little of this but then I'd want a change."

"Some people who like fall call it autumn. I never use the word "autumn." It sounds pretentious."

"Cold snowy weather is better in every way than hot, dry weather."

Let's all take some time and just think on the great points Andy brought up...OK, that's long enough. Now, who wants cake?

If you'd like to check out Andy's broadcast, follow this link.

Tacos Look Good On TV

I am not proud of most of the things I did as a raging pothead/alcoholic, but as my mind gets more clear day-by-day, I keep remembering previously forgotten events.
This is one I am particularly not proud of:

One evening after a successful pot and booze-fueled practice session with my band, I drove home and turned on the TV. As I sipped on a dangerously cold beer, cloud of smoke hanging overhead, an advertisement appeared on the TV for Taco Bell. They don't have the best food, but they do a pretty good job of making it look appetizing on the TV. Of course, I was under the influence big-time, so my mouth started to water and before I knew what happened I was in my car heading towards yummy town.

I sat for a short time in the line and finally ordered my tacos and I approached the window and handed her a five-dollar bill. I received my change, said thanks and drove out of the parking lot towards my apartment. At a red light, I glanced over and didn’t see my food sitting there. I looked over between the seat and the door, but it was not there either. I looked on the floor, in the back seat and finally realized that I drove off after I paid, but before getting my food.

For those of you that know me, you know there was zero chance of me going back and telling them what happened, so feeling ashamed, stupid and still very hungry, I pulled into Wendy’s, got a burger, went home and ate.

Toss Your Tainted Meat!

With all the news of tainted meat being on the market, I just wanted to warn you all to never eat tainted meat.
If you don't know if your meat is tainted, it is wise to err on the side of caution and just toss your meat.

You can inspect your meat if you wish. Take your meat out and look at it. Does it have a funny color? Does it have an odd smell? I wouldn't touch your meat at this time, just look at it and inspect it visually, and make sure you have adequate lighting while inspecting your meat. If you get a weird feeling about your meat or if you are just not sure if your meat is tainted, again, just toss it.

I Miss My iPod

I recently contacted my estranged wife and asked her nicely to send me my iPod which she absconded with when she left me. It was not "our" iPod, for it was a birthday present to me from my father. Of course, she did use the iPod while we were together, but I don't think I'm out of line thinking that she should have left the iPod with me.
So I ask her via email to send it to me and she responds with one line, "Chill out about the iPod."
Besides the obvious, the fact that she uses the word "the" instead of "your" is very interesting. She obviously is under the impression that it is OUR iPod and not MY iPod.
I'd be angry if it wasn't so damn funny.
I miss my iPod.

Cats & Windchimes

Thursday was a day like any other day. There was a wind-aided chill in the air, cigarettes on the sidewalk and clouds in the sky. Making this day stand out was a sweatshirt worn by my coworker Barb.

Like any office in America, mine has many cubicles, lots of gossip, and a slight cloud of despair hanging overhead. Barb is a senior member of our department, having worked in the same job for almost 20 years. She loves her job and loves to talk about her job. She hops from cube to cube, from ear to ear talking about how she doesn’t have any time to get all her work done. She has a creepy way of being able to segue from talking about work to talking about her latest diet that is making her "doo-doo" green.

This particular Thursday wasn't one of those days, but it was the day I learned all I ever needed to know about my coworker Barb.

Barb was wearing a sweatshirt. The main color of the sweatshirt was light blue. Blue is a very popular color and I like blue just fine, but this blue somehow offended my senses with its blueness. It was as if a rainbow and a kitty had a baby and then that baby threw up all over her sweatshirt, it was just too light and too blue. However, the blueness was not the best part of the sweatshirt, for the front of it pictured a small kitten swatting at a wind chime. As Barb was walking within earshot of my cubical, a familiar older female coworker stopped her. You know the one, the lady with the raspy voice from 40 years of smoking, with eight oversized rings on her fingers, and a name that nobody has used to name a baby since 1940.

She stopped Barb and complimented her on her "great" sweatshirt to which Barb replied, "The second I saw it, I knew I had to have it. It has 2 of my favorite things in the world; Cats and wind chimes."

A little bit of me died that day.

Below is a reproduction of the sweatshirt, not an actual photo of the sweatshirt:

The Man With ill-Fitting Pants

You know how slacks sometimes "tent" in the crotch area when the person wearing them sits down? Some pants tent more than others, while some don't tent at all. Some jeans tent too. Some people call this a "jean penis" or maybe even a "jeanis".

I know this guy, who I have to deal with 3-4 times a week, and he wears wicked ill-fitting pants that tent something fierce. Yeah, he has the usual tenting that occurs in the center, his faux-rection, if you will, but his tenting goes all the way across his lap from pocket to pocket. It appears as though his pants are being inflated with air. Or as if he's hiding a huge salami lengthwise across his lap.
He's a great guy, he deserves to have pants that fit him properly, and I hope that someone close to him helps him rectify the situation.

In a totally unrelated note: Is there anything wrong with a heterosexual man noticing and/or being disturbed by another man's pants tenting?

Slacker at a Staff Meeting

Department meetings have long been the bane of any good slacker’s existence. Take a quiet room, add all the bosses and coworkers, and nothing good can come of that.

What do I usually think about during staff meetings?

Revenue attainment? No.

Attendance policies? No.

Department goals? Hell no.

I usually start by going around the room and guessing who is gay, straight or bisexual. That usually burns about 5 minutes, then it’s on to what I’m going to eat for lunch; will it be a burger, or maybe a slice of pizza? By the time I get done daydreaming about the Three Musketeers bar that I’ll be eating to follow up lunch, 15 minutes are burned up. Only 45 minutes left.

I then usually tune into the meeting for a minute or so just in time to hear, “...and this time we mean it, only one tardy per month, and then its right to the written warning.”

Then my eyes wander around the room again, trying to picture what the older ladies looked like when they were my age. That always leads the gross out portion of the meeting where I think about the old ladies getting it on with their old husbands. After throwing up in my mouth a little, I rinse with some water and move on to the age-old time-waster doodling. On a good day, I can doodle for almost 10 minutes without really trying, and then the meeting is damn near half over. At this point, I’ll think to myself “If they only knew that I had sex in this very conference room…” It was with my wife, but before we were married, so not only should they have fire me, but if the Catholics are right, I’m also going to hell, unless God turns out to be a swinger.

Down to the home stretch I usually start thinking about it is emptying my bladder, so I start tapping my leg and wondering if they plan to upgrade any of the bathrooms on our floor with the automatic flushers like they have in the bathroom across from the CEO’s office. I even think about asking it aloud, but I never do.

At some point during the meeting, clapping will break out because of some award or guest speaker. It’s easy to join in once I hear it, so the bosses think I’m paying attention, but sometimes it breaks me out of a good sex and/or murder fantasy.

By the time we get close to the end, I start tuning in a little to see where we are on the official agenda sitting on the table in front of me, then I show my friend my doodles and like magic, the meeting is over and I didn’t learn or hear a damn thing. Then it’s off to the bathroom.